You reap what you sow, to plant what you’re almost sure you know,
A harvest of wrongs at the end of each September song.
Opinions arouse with the touch of consensus from the crowd,
A reveal of the truth dressed in t-shirts and cowboy boots, and faded
Suits…
But I have something to say,
The microphone falters and crackles away. Radio…
Let me go, Radio!
Let me go, Radio!
Let me go, Radio!
Bearing the soul ‘tween the hours of noon and 4.
Choose for yourself with the ears of everyone else.
Don’t tell me what to do: Cause I can’t hear you, cause I can’t hear you,
Cause I can’t hear you, cause I can’t…
And I have something to hide,
The frequency cuts through the inside and outside. Radio…
Let me go, Radio!
Let me go, Radio!
Let me go, Radio!
Cause I can’t take this any longer, Cause I can’t take this any longer…
But I have something to say,
The microphone falters and crackles away.
Let me go, Radio!
Let me go, Radio!
Let me go, Radio!
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