Any kind of muscleman or freak of nature ape Or hairy, bad breath, smelly body, covered up in brut He likes his beef and protein smothered in tabasco And he beats his wife at lunch And I say I don't like you I don't like you Flashy, glitter metalboy with poodlehead attire Wearing spandex shirts with the rips in the right place Worshipping the wannabes who pay to play the Whisky And their full page ad in Bam And I say I don't like you I don't like you Alright! Mr. three martini lunch about to make a deal He's got his briefcase, suitcase all packed for Rome He's got a wife in limbo, kids in Chicago And no time left for home And I say I don't like you I don't like you I don't like you I don't like you Alright! Alright, alright