I would start by telling you about my dick, but that’d be a long story. And, to be truthful, I don’t have a dick which means I obviously don’t have a dick that my woman would think could be the next black president, and furthermore I’m not black. But if I did have a dick, regardless of race, I’d rule the world with it and let all these women ride it, like a carpool. Also, if I had a penis I would, of course, ask for you to suck it and then swallow my ejaculate. And you’d like it, because, you know, it’d be nutty like a Penis Colada should be.
All of that said, I’m a lesbian and my lesbian lover does not need nor want me to have a penis. I mean, as long as I have a face, she’ll have a place to sit. Due to the fact that I provide this service, I’m considered the best thing since wet pussy. This is true. I’m the only one that can get the job done, which is why my woman calls me up so I can come make it juicy for her. While at her place, I eat that cat just like a lion, and when I leave she blows kisses at me with her pussy lips. Smooches! I always leave knowing I’ll be back there tomorrow. In fact, first I’ll fuck her at her job (because that’s real romance), and then we’ll speak in tongues every time we speak in private. And when we’re in private I French-kiss that pussy, like mwah. Yes, I’ll lift up her mini-skirt because she’s my dinner, dessert. Thus, when she sits on my face. M-U-A-H, indeed. I spell that out for you, because you need to know that I walk it like I talk it, that I have legs on my words. Watch me go.
Suffice to say, Americans hate that I’m American. I’m for certain this document will be banned and burned. But sometimes I need someone to talk to, because in the eyes of those who are in charge, I am not a human being.
You know what, though? Regardless of society’s despite for dykes, I don’t have no worries. I stick her pussy in my face, and no, like I said, I don’t have no worries. I say only God can judge me. So if you have a problem with me, I can fix it like a mathematician: 2 minus 1 equals 1, which is another way of saying that you’ll be jumping off the porch, while I’m thumbing up the steps. Yes, I’m talking here about shooting down those who do not respect me because if you don’t understand me, then I guess you stand under me.
After all, tables turn, so where are your table manners? As you can see, I wear my heart on my sleeve, so don’t be breaking my arm just because I break the norm. Do you really know who you’re talking to? I mean, you can’t blame me for wondering since all my words are precious and I’m so fucking hot I ssssssssssssss, well I’m going to need some more S’s. And so, if you do think you’re better than me, then go ahead, bury me. And then watch me phoenix. I do, indeed, have a pocket full of ass-whoopings, and your ass will be grass, so get a lawn chair. But to tell you the truth, I don’t care who’s looking at me and my woman. If you still think you’re the He-Man of morality, then all I have to say to you is pow pow, the end.
Crab Fat Literary Magazine and the writer, Chelsey Clammer, do not claim ownership of any lyrics presented herein. There is no intent for copyright infringement or plagiarism. With that said, Lil’ Wayne please don’t sue us.