Haterade Martini

Short and stout are my dimensions,
And baibe I have no objections,

See I was fired in my mother's kiln and blessed with my father's wit,
I am perfection,
But sadly that doesn't grab your attention,

See,your chasing the mini skirts and bared flesh,
While im all about t-shirts and flared pants,

I'm not the girl on the billboards,
I'm no yellow yellow and my hair's my own,
But baibe she's got nothing on my IQ scores,

I worry and pray about my CATs,
While she frets and pouts about her zits,

But hey i might be wrong about her and i'll take it back pretty fast,
What bugz me is why do i feel like i always come last?

So what if my face isnt on tv?
Nigga atleast with me you wunt get a VD!

You know i sat and wondered what i saw in you,damn!
I cant believe you were once my smart-do-no-wrong-certainly-knwz-best mister man?

You fed me alphabetic lies,Am with my Boys i'll Call u later,
Like the msg template on your phone i was your disused option,
You dint love me lyk my Creator,

See,im a teetotaller but im popping open this Haterade Martini,
Sipping a glass as I place a cross on the grave of your misdeeds,

And when you went on to get with your pin-up model,
I was out of that door,pumping the gas on MY hard earned Ford model.

© wanjeri gakuru 2009