Dear Eight pound, Six ounce, Moor baby Jesus with hair like mine…. Why can’t I get better morning text? Is it really my ratchet lifestyle? It’s really only like less than 10% of my life… If that.
I don’t do a lot of other things… Do you care? Am I supposed to strive for perfection? Cause I don’t see that ever happening.
Seriously, is it that gray area I like to walk-in and out of? Is that why you won’t send me one of your fine followers???? Don’t you know I’ve been looking for her? I’ve prayed so many times… Haven’t you heard? Is it my knowledge of Patrice Rushen lyrics?
Am I not ready? Let me eat my lunch… (at Philadelphia, Pennsylvania)
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