Sexy Lady

Sexy Lady,(hey) gimme your number, girl (roll wit it, nigga, roll wit it, nigga)
Sexy Lady, (hey) I wanna rock your world (roll wit it, nigga, roll wit it, nigga)
Sexy Lady, (hey) gimme your number, girl (roll wit it, nigga, roll wit it, nigga)
Sexy Lady, (hey) I wanna rock your world (roll wit it, nigga, roll wit it, nigga)
I wanna hook up witchu on Sa-tur-day
I'ma pick you up on Sat-ur-day
Maybe we can go catch a matinee, hey, hey, hey
I'ma come get you on Sa-tur-day
I'ma pick you up on Sat-ur-day
Maybe you can give me some wassaname, hey, hey, hey... -- Uncalled 4 Band

*beating my feet and sweating out my Creme of Nature*

Whew!

Good lawd, I love me some go-go.

Yeah, yeah...I know I'm one good cry away from 40, but you'on outgrow go-go. That shit's in you.

This particular song is my new jive obsession...when this shit comes on, I basically kirk out. <--- typical D.C. term

Now perhaps, it's the System's Don't Disturb This Groove sample that they are crankin', but I'on know...

When Tre starts singing the hook, Sexy ladyyyyyyyyy, gimme your number, girl..., I go back to days full of Black Holes and Cherries. Panorama Rooms and Coliseums. Back when niggas wore SuperTims and it mattered what number was on your New Balances.

You only got the 545's? You shoulda told your parents to get you the 1300's!

Fuck a grill. We had gold pinky nails.

If you could dance, and your momma let you go to the go-go frequently, you could get famous.

Ask Jumpin' Janet and Lisa of the World. Locally famous. Ask Trina Boo. Locally famous.

Who we gon' put on display now?
Who we gon' put on display?
We got Nina in the house tonight (uh huh)
And everything's gon' be alright
Cuz she came to boogie
She came to boogie down... -- Trouble Funk

Shit...we was gettin' krump before L.A. was, and we ain't wear no clown make-up to rock it either. What the fuck is that shit anyway?

And we could pop our booty like Beyonce only wish she could.

Yeah...

So when you listen to that song, before you comment on how it's some BOOOOOOLSHEEEEET (cuz I know that's what you out-of-region mu'fuckas gon' try to say), realize that you about to disrespect my affinity.

I ain't got the time to give this the serial attention it deserves, but know this -- despite your confusion, somebody's reading this and Working the Walls with me.

She's a bitch
She's a big fat bitch
She's the biggest bitch in the whole wide world -- Eric Cartman, remixed

I abhor seeing fat white chicks in pink. I saw two of them today. Both had on pink car coats.

Made me think of my boy.



I belee, I belee, I belee...

Excuse me, miss. But I belee you look like a fuckin' pig in that coat.

You gotta stay tuned
Cuz there's more to see (Unbreakable)
Through the tech-ni-cal dif-fi-cul-ties (Unbreakable) -- Soror Alicia Keyes

I got an issue with falling. Now see, before you even start to jone. I just fall alot. I'on know why. My 'librium is all fucked up, I s'pose.

Anyway, one time I was going to a party and I was leavin' from my dad's house. Shitty sharp was I, about to take me and my 4-inch stillettos down the steps until...

...my heel overstayed its welcome on the last step.

*bloom, fhyoom, bluh-ka-POOM*

That's how the shit sounded.

You ever be in so much pain you can't even say SHIT? I mean...I was wimpering inaudibly, but I couldn't even press forth any sound. THAT'S how much that shit hurt.

Now I know my black ass musta laid at the bottom of them stairs for about 3 whole minutes.

Then I hear, "Nina! Niiiiiiiinaaaaaaaa!"

It's my Dad.

Cut away: Does this muthafucka realize that I just fell down the muthafuckin' steps and I can't breathe, let alone answer?

I think I mustered a "Yes." I'on know who woulda hurt it though.

This muthafucka inches out of his room, and approaches the steps apprehensively.

By now, I got my breath back.

What took you so long?

Why this bamma say,

I didn't hear anything after you fell. For a moment, I thought you might be dead, so I was preparing myself for what I was gonna see at the bottom of the steps.

I'm layin' at the bottom of the steps, crooped up like...



...and this nigga is preparing himself.



And people wonder why I'm fucked up in the head.

If you wanna be happy for the rest of your life
Never make a pretty woman your wife
From my personal point of view
Get an ugly girl to marry you... -- Jimmy Soul

The prize could be $5 million and big dick for life and I couldn't kiss this nigga:



He looks like he stink.

Get the funk outta my face
Get...the...funk
Outta my face! -- Brothers Johnson

Speaking of which...

I remember in high school, my friend Kim was known to tell people that they stunk. She arose to jive cult status in the school for havin' the "balls" to tell ANYBODY that they smelled like some fried assholes. And you know how you are in school...once people hype you up about that type of shit...you seek out opportunities for further adulation, right?

Wrong.

So Mark was our classmate, and we had known this white boy for years, but one particualr year, he just came back to school like he was Funkmaster Flex or sumfin'.

Just smelled all kinds of bad. I can't even 'splain the shit.

So damn funky...man, he was so funky that when that funk hit you in the face, your left eye would just close involuntarily.

That lid would just slam shut like, Fuck this shit!



So Kim had had it in English class one particularly hot, and stank day, and rose up and confronted him at his desk...in front of everybody.

Mark, your body odor is offensive to me, and I would appreciate it if you could wash your body before school tomorrow and use some deodorant. Thank you.

Strode back to her desk, picked up her pen, and finished writing her vocabulary sentences.

We sittin' there like this:



I.'clare.for.God.she.said.this.shit!



But as right as that shit felt, and as much as his armstrong ass deserved said intervention...

I felt bad for him.

Shorty was embarrassed as fuck.

She had laid his shit out -- dead to rights -- in front of err'body.

Even his little fake ass friends who would talk about him behind his back were sitting over there smugly, lookin' at him, like Umm hmmm. You do need to wash your ass.

I thought he was gon' cry for a minute.

He didn't though.

And the next day, he didn't remind me of a Irish Spring either.

Reminds me of something my father used to tell me:

Gal, there are two people in life that NOBODY ever forgets -- the stinky kid, and the hoe. You make sure you ain't neither one of them people.

*sniffin' my pits*

So far, so good, Pops.