I Punk’d Out the whole situation
Excuse to somebody's face in, yeah
That crock of shit is getting rancid
So wake up and stop your little fantasey

You so bad, bad, bad, bad, you're totally wack
You sound nothing like Guns and Roses
you've got a shit band, you cannot play
You maybe selling records, but didn't anybody tell you...

Capital Radio is so passé
So who cares if your number one

You broke up our friendship was it worth it?
And who cares, I'm bringing up the past shit

It's all, all about your jealousy
People, say that he is f*cking she
Sift through the crap that you can't see
Total lack of faith, It ain't your philosophy

You talk blah, blah, blah, blah, all that shhhhhh (shit)
You talk down to me, make me sick
You don't even know me, but my god, you kill me
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Your a Pop Bitch!, and you don't care
a myspace whore

You wanna be popular, a Top Cat
Second only to none

You gossip like it was so yesterday
You get away with murder the things you say

(Guess what I, think of you now)

I showed love, love, you threw it back in my face
Then you flasshed that pretty smile and then you
dumped me for a rock star boy
to be popular

And even Paris Hilton don't bitch that way
so I'm better on my own
on my own,
on my own

Popbitch!
(c) 2009 R.Madawho / Latvian Spice