I Thought I Was Doing Some Shit

but I wasn't.

All weaved up and permed down to the white meat thinking I was making it rain, though rain was the enemy even as I

wandered through the dessert, thirsty with my scalp on fire drinking from mirages wondering why oh why lord...

was I so replaceable

because although I attracted dudes with my fake straight long hair,

the real thing was always out there making me look fraudulent and desperate.

and the shit itched,

plus my scalp was scabbed up half the time from chemical burns

and don't let my weave be new...

I'm popping tylenol 3's like penny candy ducking around corners patting my head on the low like I could make money fall out my ears, yet coming back trying to act like I wasn't ready to jump out the first open window just to get a moment of relief.

Those chicks giving you the stank face...

I know what's really going on with them because I was one of them.

Their weaves are tight

their scalps are raw

their ends are chopped and screwed.

They're trapped in that vicious cycle trying not to be found out because that's what they think they have to do to be that chick.

I was like them a hot minute ago

that Chrysler 300 that Kat Williams talked about...

it's all good until that Phantom pulls up next to your azz, then you look bootleg and janky.

That was me with my wanna be straight hair.

My swagger was suspect on a good day.

I was deluded and so insecer but like those counterfeit chicks, you still couldn't tell me nothing.

But Now it's all me?

I'm that chick that can throw on something simple with some lip gloss and barely touch my hair and still look hot to def?

... plus don't shit itch or hurt.

Damn right I don't know how to act.

I'm that hotness they can't get and don't know nuffin about.

Fuck a Chrysler and a Phantom.

I'm like a Bugatti Veyron up in this muthafucka .