I hear the sound of paradise lost,
In this playground we roam, confusion the cost,
On the crest of a dream I see fat man and little boy,
It aint all what it seems,
Playboys with dangerous toys.
Dreams are shattered,
Lives been tattered,
A flash before our eyes,
Dancing with the devil in the pale moonlight.
Whoa, on the radio bikini,
Whoa, counting down the hits,
Whoa, on the radio bikini.
Whoa.
Well, this new age of love is an old-time shame, a baptism of fire,
And this greenhouse haze, destruction maze,
Wallowing in the mire.
Now we look on, it’s the same old song and there’s casualties of modern man.
There’s faith, hope and rage but who’s in the cage and where do we stand?
Whoa, on the radio bikini,
Whoa, counting down the hits,
Whoa, on the radio bikini.
Whoa.
Whoa, on the radio bikini,
Whoa, counting down the hits,
Whoa, on the radio bikini
Whoa, burning up the charts.
Whoa, bikini,
Whoa, radio bikini,
Whoa, bikini,
Whoa.
