You're one of those horrible b**hes
That eats whatever is in your way
You don't even own a pair of britches
That didn't come out of someone's pay
You blackmailing, man-using son of a b**h
You seem to get everybody on your side
I hate my guts that I ever got the itch
To lay a finger on your rotten hide
But why am I always the guy that falls like a clown
For every two-bit grifter that sticks me up or shakes me down