My radio, it doesn't work It's been shot up The wires are burned Someone yanked it just a little too hard My radio, it doesn't work It's been shot up
Traducere: Trotuar. Radio meu.
my sunshine, I want my sunlight Same old story, over and over Somebody tryin to take knowledge over So I fight back with a native dance Sing my song
the radio, after a play now I jump on the aeroplane, pass though the A since my album came out been starving the game hustle on video, hard shxt again my
shine designed by Christ You about to see dead people without the "Sixth Sense" And yeah, takin food off my mother's table'll get you killed regardless, like my brother's label My
gimmicks of emblem Assemble my ensemble Caught upon the problem Hunger still fierce stomach still grumbles Still pounding the pavement watch concrete
a slave to the rhythm, victims I'm like alien About to put that shit up in 'em I can't live without my radio A 100 miles and runnin' T2 Judgment comin
hop, and rocks for hip-hop Not R&B because to me that's not my style and The R-double-O-quotes ain't for radio, but major soul The ones that's hip won
Well my ladies and gentlemen This is a rapsession and my name is "KRS-One!" And when I talk about "Hip-Hop Music!", I know [Kris
futuristic balastic brain gumma hella contagious you been fair warned I got a gang a radio stations makin me airborne no allemia lukemia nor sickle-cell anemia my
Flower girls play lover Grave games in the courtyard I heard her Screaming like a radio Mary Lou left marks on you She just screams at the walls The kite
getting dressed She nearly looked away. And the big round sun was falling down It grazed the pavement, touched upon her gray This is what I saw {chorus} Sipping beer on aging porches Crooked walls, built before my
shit about us, but that shit is foul When I'm tryin' to feed my son and drop multi-platinum albums Make my mother proud that her son made it out But
heat in harlem the heat in harlem A b And the heat of the soul Ring that number hear that timbre Watch my senses go right out the door Born on the pavement
and the sound The pen and paper plays my savior while I'm getting down Pray for my nieghbors as a favor for holding me down Slave for my papers as I savor
jaw drop to the pavement Why y'all testin' my gangsta? These bitches testin' my gangsta Why y'all testin' my gangsta? These bitches testin' my gangsta Why y'all testin' my
one step ahead But the jiggy was always there Upon the project pavement There was death, enslavement of the mind Single mothers are filled with stress As I lay there with my
