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 bullshit brats 
Cocaine 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 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 



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