| Lyrics: | 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
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 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, baby, don't bust my chops Alright |
