It's a little bit sappy, this music inside
These store and the markets, I just want to cry
The volume ain't funny, it's popping my drums
I've griped till I'm hoarse and sore in the gums

The tone-deafened people are all on the go
And they don't even notice the brain-wash audio
Subliminal mush is what programmers do
They sell you a song that is thin as brew

Though it will sell everybody, it's poor song
It may be quite sampled and it's way too long
You pay it no mind
You pay it no mind, you don't hear all the words
How radio sucks and you just want to hurl

I sat in my car and thumped on the wall
Then I heard a few verses that meant nothing at all
But the satellite's here for a real good song
It's for people that pay and get it turned on

So excuse me for griping, but these things are bull
The music's gone rotten, so has my T.V., too
Anyway the singers are all noodling
They don't get decent songs to get to sing

Though it will sell everybody, it's poor song
It may be quite sampled and it's way too long
You pay it no mind
You pay it no mind, you don't hear all the words
How radio sucks and you just want to hurl