There Ain’t Nothin’ Wrong With The Radio

Simon:
Mr. Tippin, so pleased to meet you!

Aaron:
Just call me Aaron

Simon:
Well, Aaron
I can't tell you what an honor it is to sing your song

Aaron:
Ah, thank you, Simon

Simon:
I just have a few minor changes
But you probably won't even notice

Aaron:
Ah, did he say changes?

Simon:
Sometimes she runs, sometimes she doesn't

Aaron:
It's supposed to be "sometimes she don't."

Simon:
More than once she's left me on the side of the road
The older she gets
The slower we go
But there isn't anything wrong with the radio

Aaron:
'Cuse me, 'cuse me. Stop
Stop the tape please
'Cuse me Simon

Simon:
Yes, Mr. Tippin?

Aaron:
Aaron
It's ah, "ain't nothin' wrong with the radio."

Simon:
Yes Mr. Tippin but-

Aaron:
Aaron

Simon:
But you see it's grammatically incorrect

Aaron:
I know that, but it's
It's a license we songwriters use to
To get the proper feeling

Simon:
Trust me, Mr. Tippin
Hit it, boys!

She needs a carburetor
A set of plug wires
She's riding me around on four bald tires

The wipers don't work
And the horn doesn't blow
But there isn't anything wrong

Aaron:
Ah, Simon

Simon:
With the radio

I've got sixteen speakers
Crossin' my back dash
A little bobbin' dog watchin' everybody pass
Dual antennas whippin' in the wind
Lord, there isn't a country station that

Aaron:
Oh, brother

Simon:
I can't tune in
She isn't a Cadillac
And she isn't a Rolls
But there isn't anything wrong with the radio

Aaron:
Ah, Simon, Simon, Simon

Simon:
Yes, Mr. Tippin

Aaron:
Call me Aaron
It's well, it's sounding real good
But replacing "ain't" with "isn't" ain't cutting it for me, pal

Simon:
But educationally speaking...

Aaron:
Look, Simon
It's more fun to sing it that way
It's more soulful

Simon:
Well, I'll just put more soul into "isn't" Aaron

Aaron:
It's Mr. Tippin, pal
And just sing the song that way I wrote it

Simon:
Yes, sir

I got stopped by a cop late last night
Out-of-date tags and no tail lights
He said I oughta run you in
But I'm lettin' you go
Because there ain't nothin' wrong with your radio

I got the best lookin' gal in my hometown
I asked her last time that I took her out
Honey, tell me what it is that makes you love me so
She said there, ah
Ain't nothin' wrong with your radio

I've got sixteen speakers
Crossin' my back dash
A little bobbin' dog watchin' everybody pass
Dual antennas whippin' in the wind

Lord, there ain't a country station that I can't tune in
She ain't a Cadillac
And she ain't a Rolls
But there ain't nothin' wrong with the radio

No, she ain't a Cadillac
And she ain't a Rolls
But there isn't anything wrong with the radio

Aaron:
I give up

Simon:
Aaron, Aaron!
I've got a great idea

What do you think of a whole new album of grammatically correct songs?
Like "You Aren't Anything But A Hound Dog" or "Isn't That A Shame."
We could call the album "There Isn't A Mountain High Enough."
Why it'll give school teachers goosebumps

Aaron:
Yeah, yeah, right
Ah, you know Simon
I think Garth Brooks has a couple songs that could use some of your rewriting
Let me give you his number

Simon:
Oh, that would be great!

Aaron:
And, ah, Clint Black loves to collaborate with young up and comers