Death Dealer
She’s the neighborhood dope dealer,
always dressing good
Wearing her bling-bling ...
and her 9-mil Five-O squealer killer
She runs with the night dirty boys,
she’s a death dealer
Vampire priestess soul stealer
In her thigh V-cut Cleopatra dress,
black Grim Reaper brim lowered ...
Always got a couple of boy and girl packs
stuffed in the bra of her breast
Ready to call her favorite re-up number
She gets pissy, power drunk mad,
cups up with her trusted strapped crew
If you ain’t got her money,
then she suggests
you do what cha’ gotta do
To make square the deal
you’re folded into
She don’t care one way or the other:
Sell out your mama, your daddy ...
your sister or your brother
Pimp your woman or man ...
son or daughter, whose ever your best friend
It don’t matter to the death dealer
Don’t pentagram circle the pact,
then try to shortchange her with a weak excuse why —
she gon cut cap blast you in the back
Making out all friendly
when she bullet knife you with a sneak attack
The last image you gon see
is a tattooed feline dressed in funeral black,
should you turn empty on your promise
Death dealer gon deal some pain to you,
dead or alive
Death dealer got the premo brain killer too,
should your heart survive
Death dealer says
she like the lucky ones ...
Asking ever so sexy deadly:
do you need a black widow wife?
Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2017
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