Oomba, Oomba, Oomba, oomba

I heard that you were running out of time
I heard that shit was getting really bad
I know your paper’s getting really thin
But you’re lyin bout it and that shit is sad

So I don’t think I’m coming round again
I don’t think I’m coming round again
I don’t think it’s getting through your head

You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone

I don’t think you’re worthy of my time
Even though you act like you’re a saint
Now you got your tail between your legs
And I don’t think you’re worthy of a thing