Oh Baby baby how was she supposed to know, that stardom doesn't mean slut.

Oh Bitchy Britney, they should've let you go. And now you out of control.

Show them how you got your implants. Tell us Britney, cause we need to know how much you paid.

Chorus:
Your fake breasts are killing me, and I, I must confess they still must be, silicone.
When I'm convince I might be just fine, you show up again, and slutted baby one more time.

Oh Snotty Britney, the reason we grieve is you. You are such a baby!
Oh Little Britney, there's nothing that I wouldn't do. To avoid your publications.
Show me how you wanted to be, a role model, but you act like a little whore.

Chorus.

Oh Britney Britney, how were we supposed to know?
Oh Britney Britney, they shouldn't have let you show.

I must confess that you're fake breasts, are killing me now.
Don't you know they are no good.
That you are no good, and there's a sign, that Bob Dole hit it more than one time.

Chorus.