This is a story about a girl named Britney

Early morning, I wake up
Knock, knock, knock on the door,
Time to get married, once again
Just like J-Lo my hero
I ask,
Who's my next ex? My back-up dancer?
Sure, okay

I'm so lucky, I'm a star
But I cry, cry, cry in my every song, thinking
If the media won't let me be
Then I'll keep on whining all the time

Livin' a life more like a dream
But I just complain 'cause it's too tough
My songs keep on sucking, and I keep on whining
They tell me shut up, just give it up
They go,
"Isn't she a joke, this Hollywood girl?"
And I say,

I'm so lucky, I'm a star
But I cry, cry, cry in my every song, wondering
Why the people say that I'm a slut
Just because I take off all my clothes

"Worst singer, and the winner is? Britney!"
"I'm Roger Johnson for Pop News standing outside waiting to throw
tomatoes."
"Get ready, here she comes!"

Isn't she a joke, this Hollywood girl?
She is so slutty, and that's why she cries
They doctor her voice in every song
Still it doesn't sound right

She's so lucky, she's a star
But she cry, cry, cries in her every song, thinking
If there's nothing missing in her life
Then why won't she stop her whining