Seconds

Pipe down baby, why so fake loud?
You've lied now 10,000 times
It's show business anyhow
Why don't you put that tongue back in your mouth?
(Whoa) whoa, oh-oh

You make me sick, sick, sick, sick
Sick, sick, sick, sick, sick, sick

Where'd you get all the attention
Your dad's money too base to mention
His coattails are looking worn
You've had a nice ride, that's for sure
Better thank your brain-dead clientele
For all the money that you'll spend in hell

You make me sick, you make me
You make me so, you make me so sick, sick, sick, sick

(Whoa) whoa, oh-oh

You make me sick, sick, sick, sick
Sick, sick, sick, sick, sick, sick

Wanna percent of every nation
You're the type to rise to that occasion
Stole the race, no surprise there
The elevator always beats the stairs

You make me sick, so sick, you make me sick
You make me sick, so sick, you make me so sick

On a golf cart
Wearing some uniform
Bombing in the night-time
Lying on TV
(Whoa) whoa, oh-oh

You make me sick, sick, sick, sick
Sick



Credits
Writer(s): Kathleen M Hanna, Jocelyn Samson, Johanna Fateman
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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