The Radio

I climbed the foggy hill
I'm standing extra still
'Cause that's what fog tells you to do
I know how high I am

You're down four miles in the Trans-Am
Chewing gum, I can't see you
But you always chew gum, so I know what you're doin'

I pretend I'm lost, 'cause I can't see three feet ahead (I pretend I'm lost, 'cause I can't see three feet ahead)
I know everything, oh yes, I'm pretty good with a pretty good guess (I know everything, oh yes, I'm pretty good with a pretty good guess)

Na-na-na-na-na-na-na goes the radio (Na-na-na-na-na-na-na goes the radio)
Through the T-top; out of the stereo
Na-na-na-na-na-na-na goes the Adams tune (Na-na-na-na-na-na-na)

You're where we parked the car
Right down where the fog starts
I got out and walked, I had to get to the top

You're not the walking type
I let you do what you like
It's a small town and I need this hill to make things bigger

I pretend I'm lost, 'cause I can't see three feet ahead (I pretend I'm lost, 'cause I can't see three feet ahead)
I know everywhere, I guess I'm pretty good with a pretty good guess (I know everywhere, I guess I'm pretty good with a pretty good guess)

Na-na-na-na-na-na-na goes the radio (Na-na-na-na-na-na-na goes the radio)
Na-na-na-na-na-na-na some kind of Coolio

Through the T-top; out of the stereo
Na-na-na-na-na-na-na like a comfort food
Na-na-na-na-na-na-na my dad's Wilson Picket tune
Na-na-na-na-na-na-na goes the radio