She said
Don't worry I've got the bread
Check's in the mail
Full speed ahead
Check's in the mail
I won't come in your mouth
Got some great gigs for you way down south
Trust me you'll go far
Trust me you'll drive far
Drive motherfuckers!
You got great shows
But nobody knows
Joke's on you
HAHAHAHAHA
She said
She said
Spoiled brats green behind the knees
Need their mom to wipe their nose
Every time they sneeze
That's a fucking rock star when
They had a taste of fame
They don't understand
They got to play the goddamn game
And then she said
She said
She said
Yeah you fucking rock stars
Rooting out that groupie head
APB on the mic
Each night for a bed
Where's your fucking 8-ball
And presidential suite?
At the Parc Hotel
And a sports car with 2 seats
She said
She said
You're fired you lousy bum
You're having too much fun
And then we said
Hey wait a minute
We ain't no fucking rock stars
What the hell?
Honey it's not true
We live on Frito-Lay
We sleep out in the snow
And we don't get paid
As far as groupies go
We're too tired to get laid
We do it cuz we love punk rock
There's no cash to be made
We ain't no sleazy sellouts
We really hate LA