Insane Clown Posse

* send all corrections to this typist
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 endeavours, in a
vain attempt to appeal to the public at large.
Behold, the metamorphisis:
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