I been swamped by the rain, skies are full o’ smoke.
The water’s dirty; everything is broke.
But they’re still billin’.
I paid off one big tab in ’99—
collectors call me, say, “Your ass will be mine!”
Assholes, grab-for-swag trolls.

Made good at Neiman, Whole Foods, and Macy’s,
at Amazon and on my car.
Still they come after me, even after I’ve paid.
Rippin’ up bogus bills becomes my new trade.

Also, I skip their pleas, cries, and whines…
give them a finger sign.
They’re still billin’; I say, “Screw ’em!”

I am sick of this sh*t but can’t defeat
them that won’t relent, but I won’t retreat from ill billlin’.
I treat them as a joke, these folks that vex me so.
It’s kinda fun to turn the tables and hex these schmoes—that’s the drill.

Laugh at their scheming and drive ’em crazy
by cacklin’ at them when they call.
Shtik’s to come after me, even after I’ve paid.
Rippin’ them a new sphincter’s become my new trade.

Also, I rip their pleas, cries, and whines…
give them two finger signs.
They’re still billin’; I eschew ’em.