The Prostitute

12/20/02

first draft

Trading in my soul for love and acceptance. The dog slapped down by its master, coming back for more, tongue hanging out panting and jiggling. The currency acceptance, the debt is need, my open soul on the corner scantily clad its commodity easy to view calling out, hey baby wana party, I got what you need right here, I can go all night long . The oldest profession in the world with new clothes and a boob job. The dog and his master the job and its pay. At least the hookers are honest and you know what you’re getting. Too bad there’s always a pimp. The pimp is your boss the pimp is your god, giving and taking without rhyme or reason, my pimp is my god my pimp is fear, fear is my only god, and I am faithful.