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I got the call |
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Monday mornin' |
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Sometime around 9 a.m. |
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I felt down and out, left for dead, |
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Lost without a friend |
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Now how you live with yourself |
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Well child, |
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I just don't know |
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But as far as |
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I'm concerned |
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I think ya |
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Really suck, you're rotten and you really blow |
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I hate your guts |
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I wish that you was dead |
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I hate your guts |
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You're damn right that's what |
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I said I hate your guts |
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And I wish that you was dead |
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I'd dig the holy myself |
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But I'd rather run ya over with my truck instead |
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Your first name should be ass |
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Your last name should be wipe |
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Believe me when |
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I say this |
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Cus I've been shit on more than twice |
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Well it's funny how it works |
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It just seems to never end |
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Just when ya think ya had enough |
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They'll bend ya over and fuck ya once again ! |
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I hate your guts |
|
I wish that you was dead |
|
I hate your guts |
|
You're damn right that's what |
|
I said I hate your guts |
|
And I wish that you was dead |
|
I'd dig the hole myself |
|
But I'd rather run ya over with my truck instead |
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What's mine is mine |
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What's yours is mine |
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And that's the way it's gonna be |
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If ya got a problem with that ya little bastard |
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Don't ya come around to me |
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Now I've been doin' this now |
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For quite a many day |
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I'll rip off your nuts and |
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Shove them down your throat and |
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Head off on my merry way |
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Money-hungry and greedy |
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Child you're just downright wrong |
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Ya pissed me off so many times |
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I just had to write this song |
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Everyone's got their problems |
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And I know you sure got yours |
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But you make livin' child |
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Seem like a back breakin' chore |
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I hate your guts |
|
I wish that you was dead |
|
I hate your guts |
|
You're damn right that's what |
|
I said I hate your guts |
|
And I wish that you was dead |
|
I'd dig the hole myself |
|
But, I'd rather run ya over with my truck instead |
