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


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