Who died and made you god’s gift to all women?
I don’t not hear a man, I only hear the voice of a boy wearing
men’s clothing. Gliding around with black and shiny steel toe
loafers, and a clean-cut suit. Do you think wearing dead animals
makes you a man; God’s gift to women.
Standing at a height of 6’0, with a chocolate complexion you charm
your way into the heart of the weak and naive. Your body is
the picture of a strong mountain, with soft brown eyes of
a baby cub.
When you speak, I hear the voice of a frog being crushed by a
hammer. The cloths of dead animals you wear, yanked off
your body and sold at the highest bid to feed the poor.
That marble floor is smudged with the blood of your legs. I took
back 10 feet.That slivering tongue of filth outa be lit on fire
That muscle car you drive buried under a pile of dirt, and that sweet
chocolate skin rotted off your body and fed to wild hogs.
And I say, “God’s gift to who again?”
Oh, that’s right. You can’t speak, you have no mouth. The hogs are
fighting over the few scraps left.