Don't Bust My Chops
I'm sick & tired of you calling my names
I'm sick & tired of your childish games
I'm sick & tired of your bullshit brats
Cocaine stupor & anxiety attacks
Picked up a magazine, I see your face
You're nothin' but a goddamn waste
With the lamest fashion 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 stylish queen & an alley cat
Too many chocolates, getting fat fat fat
You're a pain in the ass, & 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 the room
Don't bust my chops
Baby, don't bust my chops
Don't bust my chops
Baby, don't bust my chops
Aah
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
