Well you run down to the corner baby, see what you can cop
You buy some for your sister and you take yours off the top
Run into the bathroom, fixing up a shot
Tie it up, shoot it up, bang your head and throw it up

Too much junkie business
Too much junkie business
Too much junkie business
I don't wanna fuck around with you

Your life becomes as sickening as that mess you call your face
The pig you call your girlfriend is dead from shooting mace
Climbing up the walls, you're shooting all my balls (/old moth balls?)
Wrap it up, call it art, now your record makes the chart

Too much junkie business
Too much junkie business
Too much junkie business
I don't wanna fuck around with you

Too much junk, too much junk
Too much junk, too much junk
Too much junk, too much junk
I don't wanna see her hanging out with you

Well you're the coolest thing in town, with your face right on the ground
Friends went through your pockets as the coffin went down
You overdosed at last, spike stuck in your head
Now you're deadâ?¦ dead! dead! dead!

Too much junkie business
Too much junkie business
Too much junkie business
I don't wanna fuck around with you

Too much junk, too much junk
Too much junk, in your head

Copyright: BMG RIGHTS MANAGEMENT US, LLC
Writer(s): J. THUNDERS, W. LURE