Radio operator, in a tiny foreign room We can hear you now and later Calling out and coming through Radio operator, you're a voice so far from home With
me so? Or would you turn me off your stereo, stereo? Will you be at the show screaming one last song tonight? Radio, radio, one last song tonight Radio, radio, radio, radio
out on the club Working late, it never stops I'll be your electric shock And with a song, I'll have your heart unlocked If I'm on the radio, radio-o
Radio operator, in a tiny foreign room We can hear you now and later Calling out and coming through Radio operator, you're a voice so far from home
Превод: Готовине милионера. Пројекат Цхицк (Цлеан / Радио Версион).
Превод: Росеанне Готовина. Радиотелеграфиста.
nights out on the club Working late, it never stops I'll be your electric shock And with a song, I'll have your heart unlocked If I'm on the radio, radio
you Doin' your thing, g-string, shoe string point of view, hey Lend me ya body, you got me in a zone Bet a million and a half cash, I can make you explode
you, country music without prejudice, hey Country boys don't rock and roll Yeah, the record man told me so You'll never get it on the radio Why they
made Lifestyle plush,females rush This high profile personality,who earns his pay illegally Professional liar,schoolboys admire Young girls desire,very few live to retire Cash
tellin' Johnny Cash how to sing about his horse You go on tour, the white agency says you're wild Tone down your style The radio jocks are all pop So
meetin' Cash money makin', movin' shakin' Corporate jet glidin', limousine ridin' Writin' hits, filthy rich straight up nigga That's right, I'm a nigga Now I'ma write this song though the radio
city ( ? ) Born in Brooklyn, can tell by the way that I walk and talk Strollin with a slight limp Flyer than any big city pimp [ ROUND 1: Shaquel Shabazz ] Gold, girls, cold cash
problems, but a bitch ain't one I got the Rap Patrol on the gat patrol Foes that wanna make sure my casket's closed Rap critics that say he's 'Money, Cash
troops They're all still there In a fucking war It's no good Whose idea was that? I've got hope But you cant eat hope I'm not done Not giving up Not cashing
car Hocking my guitar, yeah I?m gonna be a star Now, me and Deliah singing every Sunday Watching the children and the garden grow We listen to the radio
, "Next window please, That'll be five dollars and eighty two cents" So we inched ahead in line Movin' painfully slow I got a little bored So I turned on the radio
