Songtexte: Blanks 77. C.B.H.. C.B.H..

I hate your guts you cunt bitch whore
I wish that you would walk out the door
I've heard your stories and fed your lies
This thime there's no alibis

I'm sick, I'm sick, I'm sick sick of you

Your skins a shell to save your soul
But fuckin' up is your main goal
A touch of dirt, a pice of class
A schoolboy's dream, a piece of ass
Now daddy's here to pay your debts
To dry your tears you cried and wept
Your bags are packed, you're leaving fast
Outta town to the unseen class