it's time for the Ice crush
So listen to my words I bring much
Sense, as I commence,
my lyrics intense
Your telephoto, break out your big lens
Look, check out the sales charts
My record's kickin',
I'm breakin' P.D.'s hearts
They banned me from
their shows
'Cause they said I'm too hard
But no sell- out, I guess I'm just barred
I ain't changin' mine for no body
They bleeped words
from Doug's LA- DE- DA- DE
I can't get a bleep? What's the deal?
Maybe my words are just
too real
It's not profanity,
it's just the man and me
He doesn't want you to
see what I see
Doesn't want you to be
what you can be
Word, censorship of reality
Radio
Suckers don't, but some do
The real troopers bring the ICE to you
And close friends to me, yeah,
Public Enemy
These stations have high intellect
They don't pretend to be,
too bourgeois to rock a jam raw
Understand what I'm sayin',
they're down by law
They play the jams that are right,
sometimes not polite
They realize you gotta
get some people uptight
Speak the word,
your voice will definitely be heard
Lie to yourself,
you're destined to be to the curb
Some stations don't care, they'll
never put on the air
Nothin' but commercial junk,
their brain power's impaired
They don't listen or try
to hear what I write
Maybe just think once,
or try some school at night
They're makin' radio wack,
people have to escape
But even if I'm banned,
I'll sell a million tapes
I make records for music,
not for the money
To some of you that might sound funny
But I ain't broke, and I don't joke
And my lyrics are known
to make ears smoke
Clear as a gun scope,
I speak the pure dope
Can the radio handle the truth? Nope
Uncut, no edits, no censors
You can get a plastic rapper
from any old dispenser
A penny a yard,
to make a record ain't hard
But to make it mean something,
that's a job
But then we do it, they refuse it
So I tell them duck suckers to cold
go screw it
We shouldn't sell out, we
should just yell out
And get them wack motherfuckers the
hell out
Cruisin' down the street what do I see?
Crash Task Force, L.A.P.D.
Gangs illin', wildin' and killin'
Hustlers on a roll, like they got a million
Girls in the strap and you know that
You know the guys will stop wildin'
if you stop that crap
But you can't,
you want money so bad
You'll jock anything with
a Gucci tag
You gotta have it,
so the men go get it
Robbin' and stealin', soon to regret it
Livin' in a jail cell,
feelin' like a dumbbell
While you jump the next jock, well
That's reality, that's what I see
Nobody says that you got to agree
Censorship that ain't the way to be
I thought you said this country was free?
Ra
Tone it down, is what they say to me
The FCC will not allow profanity
Your subject matter's too hard,
make a love song
You better get real, come on
I ain't no lover, I'm a fighter
Hard core radical rap rhyme writer
Pushin' the button,
E does the cuttin'
Everything I say amounts to something
More than a simple rap, I'm too deep for that
I lay my lyrics with logic, press the wax
Play it on your tape deck, feel the effect
If you can't take the heat, eject
But I know you can,
'cause you're an ICE- T fan
No sell- outs here, my man
