Insane Clown Posse - Radio Stars lyrics

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 endeavors, in a
Vain attempt to appeal to the
Public at large behold, the metamorphosis:

Uh, fuck platinum, platinum just ain't enough
We need more money
More house and cars and stuff
I'm sick of Juggalos, I want them other hoes
I want them shitty hoes
You get with radio and videos
We'll do whatever it takes to
Get some air play
We'll make that bounce shit
Triple our sales and pay
Yeah, 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, look at that lady go, lady go
Love me, I'm on that 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 continues 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 rapping
Well I don't know how to play a guitar
I'll play the skin flute to be a radio star
I'm sick of keeping it real, yeah
And underground i want the ten millions
Fans sellout radio sound
Even though we'll be played next summer
Show me a radio dick
And I'll show you a hummer
Here we go, oh my god

Joey fell in love with a college girl
She had a backpack and a pony tail
She said her name was Lisa but I do not know
She drinks disco lemonade and cherry Jell-O
I can put my Buddy Holly glasses on
I can even sing one of these faggot songs
I can play in checkered pants and never smile
Whatever's cool for your radio dial
Tommy fell in love with a college- fuck!

The boorish
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 hit's
You're doing nothing
You wrote the crunk shit, but did it work? No
It flopped on it's ass at
Least I tried though
Alright, ain't no need to be
Fighting with each other
We need to start talking about
Relationships and lovers why?
Can you sing? No neither can I
If we're gonna be radio stars
We at least gotta try

Production, remix, uh, remix, Clownboy, uh
Feel me touch me, Clownboy, remix, uh
Girl, I gotta let you know, on radio
I wanna lick you from head to toe
Girl, your perfume, it's smelling so sweet
I wanna make love, between the sheets
Girl, play my song
When I'm on the phone long
I'm a radio man, and I
Know that I can't sing, yes I can
Give me one more chance
And I'll make you dance
Girl, we make radio songs, for radio fans
We can't go wrong
Girl, we make radio songs, for radio fans
We can't go wrong
Girl, we make radio songs, for radio fans
We can't go wrong
Girl, we make radio songs, for radio fans
We can't go wrong
Girl, so you fucked my boy
I don't give a fuck

After 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