Ode to "High Postisms"
Girls with real souls who ain't bold hold the most,
While some try to boast and play highpost.
See they stuck on themselves, like a schizophrenic love,
Or Nicole Simpson's blood on OJ's glove,
See it's the egotistical, simple minded who seem to be blinded
To their own undesirability.
I mean, their borderline ghetto tryin' to play bourgeoisie...
Frontin' with their fake styles,
Contacts so fake stares...
Fake personalities, fake souls
And fake hair
Tryin' to tell me keep it real?
Oh girl, don't you dare!
Yeah, I stare, but not because of the beauty of your essence,
I'm bewildered by your highpostisms and adolescence
Braggin' about voluptuosity, sexual virtuosity,
Sparkin' madd brutha's curiosity, but dang it girl,
You lost me.
Tryin' to pull the opposite sex as you flex in spandex
Hit one off, ask who's next?
Now you demand respect?
Surely you jest...
You say, "Dis that boy, he got no loot, so why bother?"
But your man ain't been paid, he got that Jeep from his father,
Now you hollow, from all that HighPostism you facin'
Big Willie-ism you chasin', messin' up your own reputation
Sexual liaisons imbrue your past, past relationships your future
As you hit bruthas off with more positions than the Karmasutra
Now how you gon' expect me to respect you or your pride
If you speak through used pudenda with ya legs gapped open wide?
It all started, trying to be higher than madd ism,
Costly price to pay for them high postisms...