Don't Bust My Chops

Don't Bust My Chops

I'm sick and tired of you calling my names

I'm sick and tired of your childish games

I'm sick and tired of your ******** brats

******* stupor and 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 and an alley cat

Too many chocolates, getting fat fat 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 *****, '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