09 Don’t Wanna Hear It Pt. 2

wonder brown: know what im saying, im tired of all this, you can’t even turn on the radio.

wb: turning on your radio, save yourself those "baby, oh baby" flows/ i wanna hear something from the Dave, Pos, and Maseo's/ Kweli, Mos, and maybe Coldplay for rainy roads/ mostly to take me wherever the love could save my soul, see/ but the soulclap's been strapped for the gunclap/ dan dadda dunny, i find it funny we love that/ death trap, spun a web woven to run that/ when there's so many lost in the search for the one track/ run it back, walk it out, i need something talking 'bout/ nostalgia of the past and no future in your frontin' route/ yeah, the boomin' system bumping out the sweat sounds of pete rock beats/ poundin' your pimpin' out, but/ i heard they're only playing for pay/ so i paid it forward from boredom while claiming the change/ left to clef the why, hefty with mine/ and no time to tie trash bags left behind/ to sift the rubble of another heap of garbage markets, rap targets spend money on which artists act hardest/ back in the day, taught to act right/ remember they started to rap, but now they pack right?/ even the backpack rap claims the gun talk/ sweater-vested slick talk and slangin' the smut-talk/ playing the race-card for low pay when the fund's gone/ claiming the hate hard, then put it in a love song?

sl & wb: your endless hustle for dough
i don't wanna hear it
who's got the sickest flow
i ain't trying to hear it
how you can't take being po'
if it's of that spirit
when your whole steelo is so-so
i don't wanna hear it, homie

sean little: rap cats yap mac's and k's/ only mac they pack in their dame make-up bags/ once they paid with fame/ stack k's on escalade's/ blast paper frames at a range/ re-arrange in their statement/ with the strength of paper mache ripped/ the growth of your noses imposes you got pinochiosis promoting what don't exist/ supercalifragilisticexpialidocious/ over boisterous i post no toasters/ cincinnati's own like larosa's or pete rose is/ the truth is beautiful the aroma of roses/ the tongue's power life and death they breath ferocious/ halitosis how do i expose this/ shed light liars scatter like roaches/ chit chatters quite bogus/ whether it matters to the novice average or posers/ i want more from these rappers and their culprits/ who turned culture corporate/ sold out sold it stole out more than they sowed in/ from semi's in their holsters to pennies in their loafers/ sip remy slow sit skimming where the loaf is/ a glimpse into my focus/ the skinny on my approach is to be known as/ an artist on his craft honest in all of his rap

chorus

wb: i wanna hear something, not from those that fear nothing/ but from those that fear something that propose revere nothing but God/ like-minds who know that steering is lost/ when your eyes show that sight's blind and nearly the cost/ for your lifeline, right time, wrong way, right idea/ that life's time to find why the wrong way is so severe when trials find/ no matter whether or not you're living right/ might as well be giving light to supplement the frigid night/ though most percentage are constantly seeking vintage/ they can never find the love that lies in front of their self-image in their eyes/ seeking stars for meanings of whys/ when what's wise is to live within the cut of your slice/ the code of the street is so incomplete and discreet/ don't do nothing when we all know there's defeat/ see, so we flow where the green means go/ but we ain't trying to hear how the streets be cold/ teeter totter tito rolls with his bandino/ swing low, the steelo representin' his people/ city streets illegal simply means that we know/ that he can make a dollar outta fifteen fritos/ running game, stacking chips in his regal/ frontin' like his position at night isn't the fetal/ keep frontin' like you're bugsy segal in a casino/ but we ain't trying to hear how another man can freeload.../ shut up!