Any kind of muscleman or freak of nature ape
Or hairy, bad breath, smelly body, covered up in brut
He likes his beef and protein smothered in tabasco
And he beats his wife at lunch
And I say
I don't like you
I don't like you
Flashy, glitter metalboy with poodlehead attire
Wearing spandex shirts with the rips in the right place
Worshipping the wannabes who pay to play the Whisky
And their full page ad in Bam
And I say
I don't like you
I don't like you
Alright!
Mr. three martini lunch about to make a deal
He's got his briefcase, suitcase all packed for Rome
He's got a wife in limbo, kids in Chicago
And no time left for home
And I say
I don't like you
I don't like you
I don't like you
I don't like you
Alright!
Alright, alright
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