mock-serious, all dangerous.
Then I drop back in,
third verse, full fury,
two extra members Salt-N-Pepa never had,
rage in sync.
Hoodrat-N-Hooligan.
Girl can’t stand it and rolls her eyes,
grabs her friend and vanishes inside.
We continue down the sidewalk,
laughter laced in our rappin',
Salt-N-Pepa in our strut,
the beat in our steps,
attitude in our hands,
alldon’t-start-with-me and bet-you-won’t.
We stop at the mouth of the alley,
where there’s a brick wall, a puddle,
some busted neon flickering.
Steam fogs the street from a manhole.
Celie’s still rapping with me,
high off it all?—
the bartender kiss, the cheers, the drama.
Every guy walking by gets a verse to their ego.
Every girl leans into it,
hyping, hollering,
throwing up hands, preaching.
And before we end the song,
another one slips out of me.
The beat ofNone Of Your Businesshitting,
but under it, another song aches.
I open my mouth and let it bleed through.
