Thought you'd get the money, too
Greedy, greedy, greedy
Try to have the cake and eat it, too.
Sharp shooter into breakin' hearts
A baby gigolo, a sex pistol
Hollerin at everything that walks
No substance, just small talk
Know why you're feelin
On that girls behind,
You got a sleazy, one track mind
Workin your work until you find
Who's goin home with you tonight.
I betcha think this song is about you,
I betcha think this song is about you,
I betcha think this song is about you,
I betcha think this song is about you,
Don't you, don't you, don't you.
Sweatin me but I'm not you're type,
You think you irk me, and you're so right,
I'd rather keep the trash and throw you out,
Stupid bitch in my beach house
No, I ain't gonna go and act a fool,
And be the lead story, on the fucking news
Not me, sucker, I'd never be your lover,
I'd rather make you suffer, you stupid motherfucker
Got a chip upon your shoulder,
I just knocked it off,
Show me what you're gonna do,
I ain't bout to run,
You have just run out of ammunition,
Shootin blanks now, you son of a gun.
I betcha think this song is about you,
I betcha think this song is about you,
I betcha think this song is about you,
I betcha think this song is about you,
Don't you, don't you, don't you.
Ha, ha, who, who
Thought you'd get the money, too
Greedy, greedy, greedy