Radio Stars - Insane Clown Posse

To attempt to change their so-called artistic endeavours, 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!

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 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 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 (?)

Tommy fell in love with a college…

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 hits, you’re doing nothing

You wrote the crunk 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. Niether can I

If we’re gonna be radio stars, we atleast gotta try

?

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 (4x)

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