|
I'm sick and tired of you calling me names |
|
I'm sick and tired of your childish games |
|
I'm sick and tired of your bullshit brats |
|
Cocaine stupor and anxiety attacks |
|
Picked up the magazine, |
|
I see your face |
|
You're nothin' boy, a goddamn waste |
|
With the lamest fashions on your back |
|
You're never happy, a hypochondriac |
|
Don't bust my chops |
|
Baby, don't bust my chops |
|
Don't bust my chops |
|
Baby, don't bust my chops, yeah |
|
You're a styling queen and an alley cat |
|
Too many chocolates keep a fat man fat |
|
You're a pain in the ass, and your on the loose |
|
All I get from you is your bad attitude |
|
Dirty mouth, it's all |
|
I can bear |
|
Get outta here bitch, 'cause you're nowhere |
|
Always wearin' that cheap perfume |
|
I can always tell when you're in your room |
|
Don't bust my chops |
|
Baby, don't bust my chops |
|
Don't bust my chops |
|
Baby, don't bust my chops, ah |
|
Don't bust my chops |
|
Baby, don't bust my chops |
|
Don't bust my chops |
|
Baby, don't bust my chops |
|
Don't bust my chops |
|
Baby, don't bust my chops |
|
Don't bust my chops |
|
Yeah, don't bust my chops, alright |
