Luyện nghe bài hát Radio Stars

{Occasionally, the temptation to reach
The pinnacle of the pop music genre, will even
The most examples of the underground music scene
To attempt to change their so-called artistic
In a vain attempt to appeal to the public at
Behold, the

Uh, fuck platinum, platinum just ain't
We more money, more houses and cars and stuff
I'm of juggalos, I want them other hoes
I want them shitty hoes, you get with and videos
We'll do it takes to get some air play
We'll make that bounce shit, our sales and pay
Yeah, come on Shaggy, What? Follow my lead, go
It's time we change our shit up to get what we need, on

Uh, play
Yo! yo! Come on and me, ride me
Pull, pull! on and hide me, hide me
Cat black, I'm grow one, gold one
cat, you want them old ones, old ones
Black, black, look at that lady go, go
Look at me, I'm on the radio,
Cut, cut, we gonna throw it away, it away
Give up, us the radio play, radio play

What? hey! what? what? hey! what?
what? hey
What? hey! what? what? what? hey!
What? hey

{The pathetic attempts never
The musical onslaught continues to insult
The intelligence of the consumer
How much more can an audience be to endure?}

Didn't work, ah fuck, happened?
They told us that we sucked at rapping
Well I don't know how to play a
I'll play the flute to be a radio star
I'm of keeping it real, and underground
I want the ten millions fans sell out radio sound
Even though we'll be played next
Show me a radio dick, and I'll show you a
we go, oh my God

Joey in love with a college girl
She had a backpack and a pony
She said her name was but I do not know
She drinks disco lemonade and cherry
I can put my Buddy glasses on
I can sing one of these faggot songs
I can wear checkered pants and smile
Whatever's cool for your radio
fell in love with a college

{The borish, bumbling buffoons are in their journey
Through the business
Each sonnet is ridiculous than the last
Their strides towards musical
Are little than a stumble into complete failure}

That was bullshit, what the You think of something
I'm sitting here trying to write hits, doing nothing
You wrote the crump shit, but did it No
It flopped on its ass, at I tried though
Alright, ain't no need to be fighting each other
We to start talking about relationships and lovers. why?
Can you sing? No, can I
If we're gonna be radio stars, we at gotta try

Remix, uh, remix, boy, uh, feel me
me, clown boy, remix, uh
Girl, I gotta let you know, on
I wanna lick you from to toe
Girl, your perfume, it's smelling so
I make love, between the sheets

Girl, play my song, while I'm on the phone
I'm a radio man, and I know that I sing, yes I can
Give me one more chance, and I'll you dance
Girl, we make radio songs, for radio fans, we can't go
Girl, we make radio songs, for radio fans, we can't go
Girl, we make radio songs, for radio fans, we can't go
Girl, we radio songs, for radio fans, we can't go wrong
Girl, so you fucked my boy, I don't a fuck

{After years of attempts, ICP received almost no radio play
the two dim witted idiots
Decided to stay with the wicked shit for