Don't Bust My Chops (Live)

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 bulls*it brats

C*****e stupor and anxiety attacks

Picked up the magazine,

I see your face

You're nothin' boy, a goddamn waste

With the lamest fas*ions 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 *****, '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