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Текст песни Insane Clown Posse - Radio Stars

Insane Clown Posse - Radio Stars слова песни

* send all corrections to this typist Occasionally, the overwhelming temptation to reach the pinnacle of the pop music genre, will reduce even the most deplorable examples of the underground music scene to attempt to change their so-called artistic endeavours, in a vain attempt to appeal to the public at large. Behold, the metamorphisis:Uh, fuck platinum, platinum just ain`t enoughWe need more money, more house and cars and stuffI`m sick of juggalos, I want them other hoesI want them shitty hoes, you get with radio and videosWe`ll do whatever it takes to get some air playWe`ll make that bounce shit, triple our sales and payYeah, come on Shaggy. What? Follow my lead. Let`s go. It`s time we change our shit up to get what we need. Come on.Uh, radio play! Yo! Yo! Come on and ride me, ride me,Pull! Pull!! Come on and hide me, hide me,Cat black(?) I`m gonna grow(?) one, gold one,Club Cat(?) You want them old ones, old ones,Black, black, ???Love me, I`m on the radio, radio,Cut, cut, We gonna throw it away, throw it away,Give up, Give us the radio play, radio play,What? Hey! What? What? What? Hey! What? What? What? Hey!What? Hey! What? What? What? Hey! What? What? What? Hey!???The pathetic attempts never cease. The moronic musical onslaught contiues to insult the intelligence of the savvy consumer. How much more can an audience be asked to endure?Didn`t work, ah fuck, what happened?They always told us that we sucked at rappingWell I don`t know how to play a guitarI`ll play the skin flute to be a radio starI`m sick of keeping it real, and undergroundI want the ten millions fans sellout radio soundEven though we`ll be played next summerShow me a radio dick, and I`ll show you a hummerHere we go, oh my godJoey fell in love with a college girlShe had a backpack and a pony tailShe said her name was Lisa but I do not know,She drinks disco lemonade and cherry jelloI can put my Buddy Holly glasses onI can even sing one of these faggot songsI can play in checkered pants and never smileWhatever`s cool for your radio (?)Tommy fell in love with a college...The borish, bumbling buffoons are baffled in their journey through the music business. Each sonnet is more ridiculous than the last. Their strides towards musical success are little more than a stumble into complete failure.That was bullshit. What the fuck? You think of something!I`m sitting here trying to write hits, your doing nothingYou wrote the crump(?) shit, but did it work? No.It flopped on its ass. At least I tried though.Alright, ain`t no need to be fighting with each otherWe need to start talking about relationships and lovers. Why?Can you sing? No. Niether can I. If we`re gonna be radio stars, we atleast gotta try. ? Remix, uh, remix, Clownboy, uh, feel metouch me, Clownboy, remix, uhGirl, I gotta let you know, on radioI wanna lick you from head to toeGirl, your perfume, it`s smelling so sweetI wanna make love, between the sheetsGirl, play my song, when I`m on the phone longI`m a radio man, and I know that I can`t sing, yes I canGive me one more chance, and I`ll make you danceGirl, we make radio songs, for radio fans, we can`t go wrong (4x)Girl, so you fucked my boy, I don`t give a fuckAfter years of endless attempts, ICP received almost no radio play. Finally, the two dim witted idiots decided to stay with the wicked shit for life.

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