Then after I told him that there was another body in the room, I had’a tell him that a bitch needed a break. I knew if I didn’t bounce I was gonna end up snappin’ or doin’ sum other reckless shit. Like I told ya’ll before I knew that shit was in my blood—killin’. Lookin’ into a nigga’s eyes, splatterin’ his fuckin’ brains while ridin’ down on his dick did sumthin’ to a bitch. Made my pussy hot, made it pop. The thrill of the kill turned me on. And it overshadowed the risks. But that shit down in Atlantic City cost me sumthin’. It cost me what was startin’ to feel like love—well, at least the idea of it—and the chance to finally be free.
However, a bitch had’a get the fuck over it. Heartache and cryin’ over a nigga ain’t what I do. My name ain’t Juanita, okay? Uh, duh, the neglectful bitch—yes, you heard me right. I said bitch!—who dropped me outta her hairy pussy for those of you who can’t remember the script. Annnyway, I saw enough of that shit growin’ up watchin’ her dumb ass go nutty over the dick. I swore I would never, ever be her. And I mean that.
Speakin’ of that bird, I haven’t seen or spoken to her ass since that night she came to my spot with her face all banged the fuck up by that young nigga she was fuckin’. Then she had the fuckin’ audacity to bring her sister Rosa wit’ her ass. And that bitch came poppin’ outta bushes tryna bring it, callin’ me out to fight her like the ghetto-ass bird she is. Get real. I’m done wit’ all of ’em. As far as I’m concerned I ain’t got no family.