| 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 |
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