Mr. Africa Poetry Lounge!
Kings at Clubs?
Every Friday night
My sistas are going to the Funky Blue Jazz Club on 42nd and
wearin' dresses too
paradin' fat rounds up and down
like proud peacocks on the stroll
they rolling eyes and sweeeaaarrrin'
that their swing is better than the next girl and the next to her
while waiting in them long lines to add extra to
And there he is-the fantasy
if they see him looking fly-
they'll think he's fly-and he'll fake fly
until he can peel off her
too small dress
and place another notch
on his cramped bedroom wall
he just looks so good in his fly shit
that they forget to remember
and wonder after he's plowed that tass a few times
why doesn't he call anymore.
Written by Jill Scott
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