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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 on truth devoured
A silent play on the shadow of power
A spectacle monopolized
The camera's eye on choice disguised
Lights out, guerilla radio
Turn that shit up
Lights out, guerilla radio
Turn that shit up
Was it cast for the mass who burn and toil
Or for the vultures who thirst for blood and oil?
A spectacle monopolized
They hold the reins and stole your eyes
The fistagons, 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, guerilla radio
Turn that shit up
Lights out, guerilla radio
Turn that shit up
Lights out, guerilla radio
Turn that shit up
Guerilla radio
Quit it now
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