What would they do without me
holding damp rags on limp swags
clearing evidence fearing broken
pockets from divorce lawyers

I bring the ching ching that blings around
wrist suffering fantasies
smiles on the nervous faces of men
not sure if I am going to get out of control
this time

Whore house full of snatch but he 
keeps creeping back to me
the preachers daughter with the long legs
Call me Lila no need to know more   
five hundred dollar an hour whore


Purple room red door one hour shots
labeled at 13 from the grown woman body I got

About to bounce ass like trembling seats
in the first aisle of a jet plane
cocky natured confident convinced
brick house baby
Never destined to be no damn church lady
Shooting the breeze on hard wood
benches, crossed legs, too high slit in dress,
Bunched up too tight bras, cleavage, 
out of control chest
Putting down bibles and souls to test
the preacher, deacons, visitors and any
man in the bleachers
Not the choir leader cause he after more 
peter then tweet-her-self touching desire