Puke
There I go–thinking of you again
You don’t know how sick you make meYou make me fuckin’ sick to my stomachEvery time I think of you, I pukeYou must just not know–whoa-whoa-whoa-whoaYou may not think you do, but you doEvery time I think of you I puke
I was gonna take the time to sit down and write you a little poemBut off of the dome would probably be a little more, more suitable for this type of song–whoaI got a million reasons off the top of my head that I could think ofSixteen bars, this ain’t enough to put some ink toSo fuck it, I’ma start right here I’ll just be brief I’mBout to rattle off some of the reasonsI knew I shouldn’t go and get another tattoo of youOn my arm, but what do I go and doI go and get another one, now I got twoOoh ooh ooh ooh ooh ooh oohNow I’m sittin’ here with your name on my skinI can’t believe I went and did this stupid shit againMy next girlfriend, now her name’s gotta be KimShi-ii-ii-ii-ii-ii-itIf you only knew how much I hated youFor every motherfuckin’ thing you ever put us throughThen I wouldn’t be standing here crying over youBoo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-who
You don’t know how sick you make meYou make me fuckin’ sick to my stomachEvery time I think of you, I pukeYou must just not know–whoa-whoa-whoa-whoaYou may not think you do, but you doEvery time I think of you I puke
I was gonna take the time to sit down and write you a little letterBut I thought a song would probably be a little betterInstead of a letterThat you’d probably just shred up–yeahI stumbled on your picture yesterday and it made me stop and think ofHow much of a waste it’d be for me to put some ink ta, a stupid piece aPaper, I’d rather let you see howMuch I fuckin’ hate you in a freestyleYou’re a fuckin’ coke-head slut, I hope you fuckin’ dieI hope you get to hell and Satan sticks a needle in your eyeI hate your fuckin’ guts, you fuckin’ slut, I hope you dieDi-ii-ii-ii-ii-ii-ieBut please don’t get me wrong, I’m not bitter or madIt’s not that I still love you, it’s not ’cause I want you backIt’s just that when I think of you, it makes me wannaYack-aa-aa-aa-aa-aa-aa-ackWhat else can I do, I haven’t got a clueNow I guess I’ll just move on, I have no choice but toBut every time I think of you now, I’ll I wanna doIs pu-uu-uu-uu-uu-uu-uke
You don’t know how sick you make meYou make me fuc*in’ sick to my stomachEvery time I think of you, I pukeYou must just not know–whoa-whoa-whoa-whoaYou may not think you do, but you doEvery time I think of you, I puke
Fuc*in’ bitc*