Radio Stars Lyrics - Bizzar - Insane Clown Posse

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, ? 

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! 

We in this woodie, what! 

We seeing forty forty 

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, 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 jello 

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 show 

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 nothing 

You 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 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. 

Correction, remix, uh, remix, Clownboy, uh, feel me 

Touch me, Clownboy, remix, uh 

Girl, I gotta let you know, on radio 

I want to lick you from head to toe 

Girl, your perfume, it's smelling so sweet 

I want to 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.