Loyalty us everything to me. I'm that chick. The one who is the good friend. The good listener. The one to have a friend's back. The type of woman to hold secrets. The one to fight for a friend. To drive the getaway car. To help hide the gun, the body, and provide an alibi. That's me.
But see, that ride-or-die mess doesn't get you anywhere but shocked as hell when you find out your friend ain't checking or repping for you the same way. That she aint shit and never will be shit. That the whole time her phony-as-a-three-dollar-bill ass been hiding the knife that she would plunge in your back. In my back. I still couldn't believe that shit.
I made money for her.
I helped her get her grind together.
I recruited new chicks to dance for her.
I defended her when the other dancers talked shit behind her back.
I called that no-good, blonde-haired, mixed-breed bitch a friend. But nomore. No mas. Fuck that. I hated that bitch with a passion. I hated everything about her, from the way she looked to the way she moved. I hated that she walked this earth. I hated that she thought she was the best thing God ever created--on some real conceited-type shit--but she's absolutely mistaken. See, after her, God made me. And I'm a bad bitch too. A beautiful, curvy, dark-skinned chick who refused to let a redbone make me feel less than. Fuck that. And if it's the last thing I do on this earth, I'm going to make her pay. She will have a mirror moment when she asks her trifling self: "Why did I fuck a good friend over? Why did I do that shit?" She's going to regret the day she stabbed me in the back by spreading her legs to my man. I hope the dick was worth it to her, because it just brought her a fucking enemy.
And I know how to really get at her, I have to be about this paper. I needed to get this money. I'll give it to her, I have to the bitch. She's making that money on some real rags-to-riches shit. I don't have a choice but to get where she's at. See, I learned in college that water seeks its own level, and I know how to reach where she at--to really get at her the way I want--I have to step it up.
I can't rely on his money, his fame, his nothing. Not no more. I have to get my own. It's time to get this money and then get my revenge. I got plenty of time to get straight. See, revenge is best served up cold, and that bitch will never see me coming. This. Is. War.
