The Whore Who Bleeds My Bloodtype

(For Roni, Sister Sister on my Voicemail)

by Ghetto Girl Blue

Where is my thief?

Where is the gangbanger

Where is the hype

Give me the whore

Who bleeds my bloodtype...

She called me to say

Ainít no way she could associate with Punany

I canít blame the unknowing

But even God doesnít accept ignorance

I donít know you like that, so I wonder

If a backstreet never knew your feet

A back seat; your ass?

When you can sweet talk

A shamed brotha into

spareing your tender body

From his victim recoil

Till heís ready to release you

Then suddenly, like Jeckyl and Hyde

He has a change of heart

Pinning you, pissing in you, then kissing you....

Nurses the wounds

Of your ripped apart ass

And bleeding pussy ... pussing heart

But you still find a brand new start...

When you can find fresh air to breath

While society farts

Government cheese fueled gas

From itís welfare ass in your face

And listen to the woman you thought was your mother

complain that she ainít been paid enough to keep you...

When you can find sleep enough

To wake you for school though

Your crack baby sister screams all night

Or your crack head parents plans and

Dreams donít come true for you

Cause there always missing in action...

When you can hold a would-be baby glob

Of blood in the palm of your hand

Without shedding a tear...

Here I stand; East Oakland Jezebel

Will tell them just how it T I S

Just how Punany bleeds

You will never silence me

The stones you throw

Will make holes in my soul

But believe blood will trail

Like soldiers through trenches

Streaming til they join the ranks of

Punany blood sisters in this battle field where

Sex and death face off in this war for life

Let the haters come, for victory will be won

Charging toward bullshit optimists

Two edged sward piercing names and social IDís

Of infected lovers from her mouth

Tattooed with bed sores ripe as a decomposing ass

In the Middle Eastern desert war path

Yea, victory ainít always a pretty thing

Death be fresh out of gospel hyms

To rock into your MIC

Jesus might can fix it, but some folk just ainít wit it

They say you got believe it to receive it

Most folks just canít conceive it

From where they sit in backstreets

Dangling off a needle; on sheets of motels

trying to pay their monthly bills

Or just loosing themselves in the concrete hell

Where Jesusí footprints leave no trail

I say you got to receive it to believe it

So why foí you wanna save the saved?

I come to preach about sin to the righteous

Open the blind Hollywood eye

So the righteous may get

Up off the high horse and walk the road Jesusí

Died for.... this lowly one,

The one you cross the street to avoid

Them high falutiní Christians

Donning Jesus like a ploy

A game to hide the shame of not being about

Your fatherís business

Where your roots be?

In money, the evil green, OK?

Go head girl be stuck up in LA,

True backstreets are fucked up

Cast your stones while Iím hung up

on the Punany Cross

Where is my thief?

Where is the gangbanger

Where is the hype

Give me the whore .... Who bleeds my bloodtype

The Whore Who Bleeds My Bloodtype by Ghetto Girl Blue

© Copyright 1999. All rights reserved by Jessica Holter. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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