You showed up uninvited, boots on my floor

Drinking my beers, acting like you want more

You talk too loud, smell like regret

This ain't a party, it's a cigarette

Burnin’ out quick, so take the hint—

The queen of this joint says get out, sprint!

Go home, losers, you're killing the vibe!

This ain’t your scene, and it sure ain’t live

Go home, clingers, you’re crashing my throne

I dance alone—now leave me alone!

Yeah, go, go, go—go home!

You think you're cool with that thrift store hat

Flexin’ your band, but your demo’s flat

You called me "sweetheart"—that's your mistake

My middle finger's frosted like a birthday cake

I’m not your muse, I’m not your prize

I’m the girl who tells you—bye-bye, guys!

Go home, weirdos, I'm locking the door

Your drama's stale and your jokes are a chore

Go home, heartbreaks, take your guitars

And cry in your vans or some dive bar stars

Yeah, go, go, go—go home!

Not your babysitter!

Not your midnight fix!

Not your background extra

In your punk rock flick!

Go home, creepers, you’ve worn out your stay

Your ego’s big, but your tips don’t pay

Go home, posers, the queen’s had enough

I’m punk, I’m fire, I’m calling your bluff

Yeah, go, go, go—go home!