Lyrical Breakdown of How To Kill A Radio Consultant - A Journey through Words and Rhymes

Welcome to the detailed analysis of "How To Kill A Radio Consultant" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.

• Lyric Overview: Witness how Public Enemy weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "How To Kill A Radio Consultant" is a testament to masterful songwriting.
• Rhyme and Rhythm Analysis: Our Lazyjot editor highlights the ingenious use of multi-syllabic rhymes and the rhythm pattern that Public Enemy employs. Understand the construction of each verse and how it contributes to the song's overall impact.
• Syllable Pattern Insights: Dive deeper into the structural elements of the lyrics. See how the syllable count varies across the song, adding a unique rhythm and flow to Public Enemy's narrative.

This lyrical analysis of "How To Kill A Radio Consultant" not only celebrates Public Enemy's artistic prowess but also serves as an educational tool for aspiring songwriters. If this analysis inspires you and you'd like to see your own songs analyzed in this way, join the Lazyjot community. Register at Lazyjot and start exploring the full potential of your lyrical creativity. Turn your thoughts into rhymes and your rhymes into songs with Lazyjot!

Pusher of the button Talkin' loud ain't sayin' nothin' The mack of the format gettin' fat It ain't funny 'cause my neighborhood is flowin' money Thank God for the boulevard They keep the motor runnin' The rappers coincide wit' the tape flow Bootleggers go inside and record the record low They get me, get this, how can you freestyle? Freestyle no styles free, except da radio But the radio's controlled by the sucker move Who moved away, got away after plannin' a getaway And now he wanna play what he wanna play An' got say on what is bumpin', of course he's gettin' somethin' Never know what's good to tha neighborhood I swear I never seen da sucker in my necka da wood The ass is connected to the brain stem Ah so I sing a simple song, so you can see the sucker in 'em (Hello, hello, hello?) gone (Hello, hello, hello?) gone (Hello, hello, hello?) yo My man ain't playing nothin' chuck, man Hey, yo, I don't think ya heard me kid My man ain't playin' nothin' Hey, yo, I ain't playin' either, 'cause he ain't playin' nothin' People got to make a call To hear the yes, y'all While the phone keep on ringin' you hear some singer singin' Why don't dey play the jammy in the daytime? People think it's slammin', plus the rhyme is hot an' got me tunin' The afternoon is FM in the PM If only they could see 'im out of town and not down, I think they'll dis him Up goes the season, pop goes the weasel (hey) Damn gimme rap, no band, I want some x-clan, I know dey even got it from the giddy Stacked in the back Only black radio station in the city Programmed by a sucker in a suit Has slick black hair, he don't even live here Raps the number one pick, so I draft it I don't give a damn about all the other demographics When the quiet storm comes on, I fall asleep What dey need is Arbitron on the fuckin' funky jeep Too bad it's goin' on, in fact my word is bond To pull a disappearin' act attack until he gone The whacker jam he play, they pay 'im in a day I don't think we gonna miss 'im, we don't need 'im anyway (Hello, hello, hello?) gone (Hello, hello, hello?) gone (Hello, hello, hello?) gone I don't know what you tryna do home But yo, you tryna play us out, you know what I say? 'Cause you ain't playin' nothin' I ain't playin' nothin' either, man, you know what I say? I ain't playin', but you ain't playin' Ay yo chuck, man Wanna chuck to the Durag I ain't playin', play somethin', man Can I kick it? Who the hell is on the radio? Or who's behind? Do you really think they'll mind To play the funky jams that everybody wit'? Some Def Jef or Ice T Show they rollin' wit' the syndicate Or can dey get funky wit' the underground? Master ace get a taste Bomb squad gettin' hard Marley mart makin' hipper Trax for Jack The Ripper Pumpin' Eric B or Papa San Dey rollin' wit' run Did you think that ever? In fact, you thought they never Controlled your soul By a suit and a tie And then you wonder why, why you never hear a rhyme 'Til I hear some King Sun, I say we do 'im 'til he's done Yo, I say we do 'im 'til he's done, too, G Yo chuck 'til he's done, done, G, come on G, yo They know why I left the jam, you know what I say? I know, I can't live without my radio