#1 Customer

by Your Mom

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lyrics

Why don't you know your own phone number
Why don't you know where you fucking are
Why don't you read our menu before you call
and waste my fucking time
Why can't you read the coupon
I don't have time to hold your fucking hand
Why you pay with a hundred? You live in a
goddamned trailer park

<CHORUS>
Don't fucking dare call back
It's only been ten minutes
It'll get there when it fucking get's there
You're lucky if I don't shit in it
</CHORUS>

Why. Don't. You. Ever. Fucking. Tip me.
I spend time alone with your food
I've seen flipper babies answer the door
MUCH faster than you
Why can't you place your order without making
me want to fucking die
Do you really think Diet Coke makes up for
triple cheese
I pray you choke on it, you mouth-breathing-
fuckchop-mongoloid

<CHORUS></CHORUS>

May I interest you in a Pocket? We fill it with
the freshest death
What kind of chips would you like with that?
SPRITE’S NOT CHIPS!
Why don't you know your own phone number
Why don't you know where you fucking live
Why can't you just read the goddamned
coupon
I don't have time to hold your fucking hand

<CHORUS></CHORUS>

credits

released January 1, 2003

license

all rights reserved

tags

about

Your Mom Oklahoma City, Oklahoma

It's five guys playing loud punk.
Some of us are old, some of us are not.
Some are fat, some not so much.
One wears a dress, because Your Mom wears a dress.
There's only one original member, but no one really cares.

These are old recordings. We now sound more full and louder (2 guitars instead of 1). New recordings are coming.
... more

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