Don't Wanna Hear It Pt. 2 by Sean Little & Wonder Brown Lyrics

Quote from the song “Don't Wanna Hear It Pt. 2” by Sean Little & Wonder Brown

Know what im saying, im tired of all this
You can’t even turn on the radio

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Perfect Lyrics of the Song “Don't Wanna Hear It Pt. 2” Released in 2010

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[Intro: Wonder Brown]

Know what im saying, im tired of all this
You can’t even turn on the radio

[Verse 1: Wonder Brown]

Turning on your radio, save yourself those "baby, oh baby" flows
I wanna hear something from the Dave, Pos, and Maseo's
Kweli, Mos, and maybe Coldplay for rainy roads
Mostly to take me wherever the love could save my soul, see
But the soulclap's been strapped for the gunclap
Dan dadda dunny, i find it funny we love that
Death trap, spun a web woven to run that
When there's so many lost in the search for the one track
Run it back, walk it out, i need something talking 'bout
Nostalgia of the past and no future in your frontin' route
Yeah, the boomin' system bumping out the sweat sounds of pete rock beats
Poundin' your pimpin' out, but
I heard they're only playing for pay
So i paid it forward from boredom while claiming the change
Left to clef the why, hefty with mine
And no time to tie trash bags left behind
To sift the rubble of another heap of garbage markets
Rap targets spend money on which artists act hardest
Back in the day, taught to act right/ remember they started to rap
But now they pack right?
Even the backpack rap claims the gun talk
Sweater-vested slick talk and slangin' the smut-talk
Playing the race-card for low pay when the fund's gone
Claiming the hate hard, then put it in a love song?

[Hook: Wonder Brown & Sean Little]

Your endless hustle for dough
I don't wanna hear it
Who's got the sickest flow
I ain't trying to hear it
How you can't take being po'
If it's of that spirit
When your whole steelo is so-so
I don't wanna hear it, homie

[Verse 2: Sean Little]

Rap cats yap mac's and k's
Only mac they pack in their dame make-up bags
Once they paid with fame
Stack k's on escalade's
Blast paper frames at a range
Re-arrange in their statement
With the strength of paper mache ripped
The growth of your noses imposes you got pinochiosis promoting what don't exist
Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious
Over boisterous i post no toasters
Cincinnati's own like larosa's or pete rose is
The truth is beautiful the aroma of roses
The tongue's power life and death they breath ferocious
Halitosis how do i expose this
Shed light liars scatter like roaches
Chit chatters quite bogus
Whether it matters to the novice average or posers
I want more from these rappers and their culprits
Who turned culture corporate
Sold out sold it stole out more than they sowed in
From semi's in their holsters to pennies in their loafers
Sip remy slow sit skimming where the loaf is
A glimpse into my focus
The skinny on my approach is to be known as
An artist on his craft honest in all of his rap

[Hook: Wonder Brown & Sean Little]

Your endless hustle for dough
I don't wanna hear it
Who's got the sickest flow
I ain't trying to hear it
How you can't take being po'
If it's of that spirit
When your whole steelo is so-so
I don't wanna hear it, homie

[Verse 3: Wonder Brown]

I wanna hear something, not from those that fear nothing
But from those that fear something that propose revere nothing but God
Like-minds who know that steering is lost
When your eyes show that sight's blind and nearly the cost
For your lifeline, right time, wrong way, right idea
That life's time to find why the wrong way is so severe when trials find
No matter whether or not you're living right
Might as well be giving light to supplement the frigid night
Though most percentage are constantly seeking vintage
They can never find the love that lies in front of their self-image in their eyes
Seeking stars for meanings of whys
When what's wise is to live within the cut of your slice
The code of the street is so incomplete and discreet
Don't do nothing when we all know there's defeat
See, so we flow where the green means go
But we ain't trying to hear how the streets be cold
Teeter totter tito rolls with his bandino
Swing low, the steelo representin' his people
City streets illegal simply means that we know
That he can make a dollar outta fifteen fritos
Running game, stacking chips in his regal
Frontin' like his position at night isn't the fetal
Keep frontin' like you're bugsy segal in a casino
But we ain't trying to hear how another man can freeload...
Shut up!