Lyrics

People curse at me and ask what have I done
"No more radio fun
Should we blame it on your son?"
There will be no Sheehan here, no more model runs
Extremely dumb
Now the forecast’s lookin’ glum

But watcha mean we ain’t got money?
That kind of joke isn’t funny
Somebody had better bring the straight cash homie
Four in the morning when I rise
I walk the dog who leaves her surprise
A gift that like this show is gonna stink on ice

Was it just a month ago I was ridin’ high?
Didn’t need no podcast file
I guess I still got PTI
Now I sit alone at night and rue the day
Just repeat that old refrain
The show is never gonna change

But watcha mean we ain’t got money?
That kind of joke isn’t funny
Somebody had better bring the straight cash homie
Four in the morning when I rise
I walk the dog who leaves her surprise
A gift that like this show is gonna stink on ice.

From the Kenny Loggins's original