If I were to try to read, much less answer, all the attacks made on me, this shop might as well be closed for any other business.
She looks at me like I’m a trend and she’s so over it.
Haters call me ho-ish. Hoes call me sleazy. b*tch, I’m exclusive. Two words: be easy.
I’m a teenage actor surrounded by teenage critics. The critics don’t like me much but that’s okay because I don’t like them, either.
There are plenty of good reasons to hate me. I just don’t want people to hate me because of half-truths, partial truths, and rumors.
Haters only hate the things that they can’t get and the people they can’t be.
You think you know me but you really don’t. You think I’ll cry but I really won’t. I don’t see why you hate me. Maybe it’s just because you ain’t me.
If you don’t like me there’s nothing I can do. Newsflash, b*tch – I don’t live to please you.
Through the toughest times you made me sad. Gotta put sh*t in my face to make me mad. I’ve had enough of all that you do. Think you got me conquered over? Well f*ck you, too.
Haters wanna play hard. I won’t pretend to be mad. I’ll just disregard you like my memory’s bad.
It seems like whatever I do and wherever I go I’m always getting eyed by some hating ass ho.
Too many haters, not enough appreciators, but you know how we do. That’s me and my crew.
Hating me is just a waste of time because you can’t beat me and you sure as hell can’t join me.
It’s funny when people say, “I don’t think she likes me.” Honey, if I didn’t like you you’re gonna know about it.