She’d found her place at very last and it would shatter them like glass. Those privileged, poorly, sap filled twats—they’d fear for all this one girl got. They’d see her as some crazy scare because the way she wore her hair. Not the dong—that couldn’t be—it was because she sang on key. She played the part better than all. She was The Goddess come to brawl. To lose the fight—that was the game—she wouldn’t have an ounce of shame. These begging hopefuls sought her steed, thought her unworthy in their greed. They’d seek to find their always home—some genitals they could call home. Hoes would care more for the slit—than how a woman really bit. She’d wear you down all day until you couldn’t help but hold her still. Her giggle there would prove the point. That horse to ride would roll the joint. So handsome and so gorgeous too that big ole studly ran her through.
