Luyện nghe bài hát Radio Stars

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

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

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

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

{The pathetic attempts never
The moronic musical onslaught continues to
The intelligence of the savvy
How much more can an audience be asked to

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

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

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

That was bullshit, the fuck? You think of something
I'm sitting here trying to write hits, your nothing
You wrote the crump shit, but did it No
It flopped on its ass, at least I though
Alright, ain't no need to be with each other
We need to start talking about relationships and lovers.
Can you No, neither can I
If we're gonna be stars, we at least gotta try

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

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

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