Transmission, Third World War, third round
A decade of the weapon of sound above ground
Ain’t no shelter if you’re looking for shade
I lick shots at the brutal charade

As the polls close like a casket
Our truth devours a silent play in the shadow of power
A spectacle monopolized
The camera’s eyes on choice disguised

Was it cast for the mass who burn and toil?
Or for the vultures who thirst for blood and oil?
It’s a spectacle monopolized
They hold the reins, stole your eyes

The Fistagon’s bullets and bombs
Who stuff the banks, who staff the party ranks
More for Gore or the son of a drug lord?
None of the above, fuck it, cut the cord

Lights out, guerrilla radio
Turn that shit up
Lights out, guerrilla radio
Turn that shit up
Lights out, guerrilla radio
Turn that shit up
Lights out, guerrilla radio

Contact, I hijack the frequencies
Blockin’ the Beltway, move on D. C.
Way past the days of bombin’ MCs
Sound off, Mumia Guan, be free

Who got ’em, yo, check the federal file
All you pen devils know the trial was vile
All of you pigs trying to silence my style
Off ’em all out that box, it’s my radio dial

Lights out guerrilla radio
Turn that shit up
Lights out guerrilla radio
Turn that shit up
Lights out guerrilla radio
Turn that shit up
Lights out guerrilla radio
Turn that shit up

It has to start somewhere
It has to start sometime
What better place than here?
What better time than now?

All hell can’t stop us now
All hell can’t stop us now
All hell can’t stop us now
All hell can’t stop us now
All hell can’t stop us now
All hell can’t stop us now