No Airplay

(Album: Mr Smith - 1995)

Y'all wanna put it on tape and do all the real shit?
Ya just wanna go straight to DAT? Aight
You don't wanna mix it or nothin'? Aight let's do it
You want me to do the hook part too?
Check it out uh, check it out uh
Yeah it's that Uncle L shit, you know, word up
Ain't no doubt about this, I'm setting this shit right in here
Yeah yeah yeah, I'm gonna sex this up, yeah go like this here
Check it out

I'm beating niggas the fuck up out their boots
Flame throwing their troops, they can't recoup from drinking acid soup
Spectacular, binocular, miraculous raw shit
Scooped off the concrete to make a hit
Tearing niggas out the hinges, competition cringes
In the trenches, killing for mere inches
Word to mama, I tongue kiss a piranha
Electrocute a barracuda for trying to bring the drama
I get more ass than a toilet seat
So put your ballerina shoes on and tiptoe down my meat
Your motherfucking death wish will be soloist
R-double O-K-I-E you ain't stylish
It's motherfucking arson from here to Parsons
You're fucking Dawson, it's murder, when I step in the door run
For your motherfucking life, get ghost
Or taste the toast and get your nuts hung on a goalpost
Starting at your neck to check ya for respect
Ya back get snapped, your lower spine gets wet
Hips get ripped and then your thighs start to slide
I'm up through your asshole and fucking up your inside

And don't be getting no airplay
A jam that you love, a jam that you love
It's a jam that you love that don't be getting no airplay
A jam that you love, a jam that you love

Yeah, the rugged ass style I possess
They got the niggas going from Bel Air to bagging up sess
Shit, motherfucking right niggas in his corn
You shoulda never put me on this mic, you was warned
I got niggas chasing behind my path for garbage bags
Hoping and praying I throw an old rhyme to one of the fags
Huh, I'm on my motherfucking game like that
I put it in your chest and make your heart go flat
All the motherfucking tracks in the world can't save ya
When I drop these chains on ya brain and enslave ya
Once you was on a pedestal now ya getting ridiculed
Shit is critical, we're fighting at the pinnacle
I'm burning niggas like a cracker do a cross
Ain't no three-in-a-row tic-tac-toe, this is a real flow boss
Making niggas understand my language
Then they rap and vanish and camouflage the damage

To whom it may concern, you know whut I'm saying?
We're gonna do this right here, word is bond, huh huh
'Cause it's a jam that you love that don't be getting no airplay
(A jam that you love that don't be getting no airplay)
I wanna do that one right yo

To whom it may concern on this motherfucking test
I got the zest to clip ya through ya vest
Little shorties with big 40s talking loud, acting proud
Blaow! Now ya choking off a black cloud
Rolling Els 'til your brain swells
Inhale deep sleep and dust me off them old ass Rock The Bells
You motherfucking, you fruitcakes, you faking jacks
You niggas don't want it, I'm burning up the wax
I'm a trailblazing, gun toting, renegade
Black ass New York niggas chopping like a blade
Bullshinanigans, country ass mannequins
Motherfucking fronting and I bet you ain't no slam again
Yeah what? I said it and niggas sweat it
What? You catch a heat-seeking missile in ya gut

Ha ha, word is bond yo
It's a jam that you love that don't be getting no airplay
Yeah, ha ha, word is bond
Y'know what I'm saying? I'm catching motherfucking wreck in here
Know I'm saying?
Pissing on all them rookies niggas word up ha ha
Yo I got the laugh, word, know I'm saying?
And sometimes niggas so skillful, you just gotta laugh at
Motherfucking
Ha ha, yeah uh
A jam that you love that don't be getting no airplay
A jam that you love, a jam that you love
Yeah, I wanna shout it out to my mother around
Farmers
My nigga Zeus, know I'm saying? My motherfucking minnan right
Diddere
Spit at the tiss turn t-t-t-tables all L willing a-a-a-able
You know I'm saying?
Get mad busy in this motherfucker, y'know I'm saying?
My niggas don't give a fuck, word up
Set that shit off right, uh