I’m just a stripper trying to make my way out the hood. I’m tired of the disgusted feeling I get each time someone slips a bill between the fabric of my thong. Its the same ol shit. Strip. Sleep. Repeat. Damn is it too much to have a nigga come swoop in and save a bitch. Why I can’t live the life as some dope dealer trap queen like those Cartel books I read. The universe must not like me because the only niggas I attract are men broker than me, niggas who need that lil blue pill and wannabe shooters. Fuck a Ciara prayer, is there a trap queen prayer, where's a hood prayer when you need one.
Plot Inspo: Beyonce/Jay Z x On The Run, Martin Gina x Polo G, Spin Bout U x Drake/21 Savage, Pop Smoke x She Got A Thing, Pop Smoke x Woo Baby, Fivio Foreign x What’s My Name, Lil Durk x Home Body, Usher x Peace Sign, The Weeknd x Die For You
