And I made that very clear when I pulled my chrome out on ’em. And, hell muthafuckin’ yeah, don’t get it twisted. I woulda put a bullet in both of them bitches. E’erything Juanita stands for makes me fuckin’ sick. She’s a weak bitch in my eyes. And I don’t respect her. Nor do I have any love for her. But the crazy thing is I don’t hate her ass either. I don’t feel shit for her. I guess ’cause I learned to finally accept who she was, and is—neglectful, selfish, and straight pathetic. Which is why I had no problem lookin’ her dead in her busted-up eyes and tellin’ her flat out that I wanted nuthin’ else to do wit’ her, then slammin’ my door in her raggedy-ass face. I meant that shit on e’erything I love. And that ain’t much, trust.

Anywaaaaaay, enough ’bout all that shit. For the last two years, I’ve been doin’ me. Lovely, I might add. So, fuck what ya heard. I’m stayin’ away from fucked up family, niggas, and guns. Well, uh…shootin’ ’em that is. ’Cause I still gotta few pieces I keep in my personal collection.

Waaaaait one muthafuckin’ minute! Why the fuck did I spend the last ten minutes explainin’ myself to you bitches? Uh, fuck that! I bodied the nigga, I ain’t fuckin’ wit’ my family; period! So, let’s save all that shoulda-coulda-woulda bullshit for the next bitch. It’s a waste’a time ’n energy for a fly, butter bitch like me. A bitch is back, ohhhhhhhhkaaaaaaaay?! And that’s all you need to know. I got shit to do, peoples to check, and paper to spend. So, let’s get this shit poppin’, muhfuckas.

CHAPTER THREE

Silky hair; pretty face…first glance…got ’em thinkin’ a bitch’s outta place…too soft for da streetz…gotta bitch ice-grillin’ ’n talkin’ slick…tryna punk’a fly chick…wrong move…it ain’t neva that deep…now a bitch gotta knuckle up ’n creep up… trick-bitch gotta get put ta sleep…One, two…I’ma shatter ’er jaw…three, four…slide da whore to da floor…five, six…da bitch’ll need ’er face fixed…seven, eight… puttin’ a bullet in da stupid bitch ain’t neva too late…