Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song TV In The Radio, artist - Wale. Date of issue: 31.12.2008
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
TV In The Radio |
| I wear my Nike boots in Gucci |
| I don’t wear no Timbo |
| I kick it any tempo |
| I’m lifted off the indo |
| I’m poppin champagne, drinkin till I’m jumpin out the windooow, |
| haha If the autotune’s gone bet they’ll all tune in |
| So I’mma do it bigger than an Audemar wrist watch |
| Hip-Hop slackin, why they gettin Grammies when these niggas is actin? |
| They phony, should get Tonies for the thing that they be yappin |
| It’s utterly bologna so I’m Muslim to these rappers |
| Fuck yappin they lucky we don’t clap em |
| And have them people leakin like they’re CD isn’t mastered |
| CD is in plasic, these niggas is has-beens |
| We ain’t makin friends while these niggas is Anistons |
| Dig, these niggas is fake joe |
| Hip-Hop need to wake up, we the fuckin clock radios |
| We original officially the most original |
| If we wasn’t so original then we’d be criminal |
| Wale and K’naan they don’t know is they’re radio |
| How the hell did they fit the TV in the radiooo |
| They told me go in, no problem I’mma go in |
| And shy away from drama, I ain’t run away from no man |
| And there ain’t been no buster prepared for you suckas |
| Then they’ll play with Mario Brothers when it was duck hunt |
| That’s words to my mama, since I was in a starter |
| A nigga been a star before I forfeited my scholar |
| Shit didn’t finish college, shit wasn’t a problem |
| Shit my homecoming is here I’m who they call up |
| So I still be on that yard with a feely of that Marley |
| From the city the Philly women willing to menage |
| Though I put em on pause since Manilli been involved |
| Though everybody’s on me like the Milli V part |
| Now I’m from the D Dot where we not no beatboxers |
| We talkin B blockers keep us with deep pockets |
| See not no fad or no internet phenom |
| But he be’s on that web like he be’s with Pete Parker |
| Me I’m not shy and my partner’s Somalian |
| K’naan and my buzz is too big like Comala |
| Ballin, Folarin so goddamn hard |
| Fat rhymes everytime bitch Roseanne bars… Wale |
| I don’t know why the industry wanna keep me a secret |
| And Wale been tellin other rappers take a deep breath |
| And don’t perform after him or you might regret |
| I guess they didn’t get the memo or the leaflet |
| You know if you was harder than me then you’d be led |
| And if you had more street cred then you’d be dead |
| And I’m Somali so I guess I’m just trynna eat bread |
| Fuckin with my people well that’s called the Heath Ledge |
| Needless to say I turn rap beef to piglets |
| Make you speechless, make you bloody, make you teethless |
| Then the blood drip on the floor poison pieces |
| I been on more red carpets than Ryan Seacrest |
| Don’t cross me cause my friend I’m no Jesus |
| I don’t turn cheecks or draw blood like leeches |
| And my friend’s a nut me spark in heaters |
| Get your ass privileges with parking meters |
| Do I condone it or is this some kinda small talk? |
| Course not, I’m big like horse nut |
| Under pressure I don’t sweat like my pores shut |
| I’m from the ten shacks where mishaps get fix fast by klick klacks and big bwaps |
| And inside they think rap soft |
| My pen sparks the benchmark I fench off tar |
| No sixteen, no vaccine, I’m so sick my ten bars cough |
| Now I’m off |
| Hold up, hold up, hold up |