| What’s the matter with you
|
| Ain’t you got nothing better to do
|
| Than to dance your life away
|
| At the local disco (disco, disco, disco)
|
| You’re polyester punk to the bone
|
| No wonder you came alone
|
| We’re all grossed out
|
| ‘Cause you spit when you talk
|
| Say yah, you know
|
| Keep singing yah, you know
|
| Yah, you know
|
| There’s more to life than spitting when you talk
|
| Saying yah, you know
|
| What’s the matter with you
|
| You smell like diesel fume
|
| Whoever told you it was cool to drink Perrier
|
| Even a blind man knows
|
| That black looks better in the snow
|
| We’re all grossed out
|
| ‘Cause you spit when you talk
|
| Say yah, you know
|
| Keep singing yah, you know
|
| Yah, you know
|
| There’s more to life than spitting when you talk
|
| Saying yah, you know
|
| Yah, you know (oh, yeah)
|
| Yah, you know
|
| What’s the matter with you
|
| Ain’t you got nothing better to do
|
| Than to sit unemployed watching television like a fool
|
| Living in a bag of fast food
|
| I guess it wouldn’t seem so crude
|
| But everybody’s grossed
|
| ‘Cause you spit when you talk
|
| Say yah, you know
|
| Keep singing yah, you know
|
| Yah, you know
|
| There’s more to life than spitting when you talk
|
| Saying yah, you know
|
| Yah, you know
|
| Yah, you know
|
| There’s more to life than spitting when you talk
|
| Saying yah, you know
|
| Yah, you know, like, I would get a job
|
| But the world’s gonna end soon
|
| You got any 'ludes? |