You think you are so hot You own the whole wide world That everybody depends on you You think thatyou are their muse Their only hope and cure So why make it hard When you could untherstand That nobody is your fan That you are nothing more Than a tiny hore
Chorus
Iґll have allways thought of you As a bitch I know all you do is Smoke weed So why think you are a God When all you are is a slot
No matter what I say Youґll allways be the same So why bother and talk straight When all I can do is Walk away.
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