She calls him a…

Sell-out, Pork Eater,
Asks "where the hell did he meet her?!
Money must have run out of the meter,
For him to wanna park on the other side of the street.
No ass, no hips or lips and he prefers to kiss that?
Can she even cook or plait?!
Seems he forgot where he’s from, trying to be where he’s at".

She brushes her weave from her eyes,
Waves left hand high and sighs,
While asking what happened to all the Good Black Guys.
She calls him weak and susceptible to the White Meat Fetish,
As she applies the Pink Mac to her lips,
She puckers up and accuses him of not being “Man enough to handle this�.

Grabs her Italian Designer purse and continues the cursing,
Rummaging through gym membership and loyalty cards,
She discards the empty cigarette box and repeats famous verses...
#Ain’t nothing going on but the rent#...
Then suggests that “his kind� are the reason Black Sons have no respect.
Maybe she’s right.

She seals the jar of Fade Cream,
Uses the synthetic nail on her little finger to get a small spec of lipstick off her teeth,
While using the reflection in the mirror
To catch the last few minutes of Americas Next Top Model on TV.
For a while, she forgets her gripe, wipes the excess pencil from her eyebrows
And smiles, as she says; “I’d give anything to look like her�.

wow....dats some food for thought...something like dat makes one just stop and think

keep up the good work