A Thug's Love, My Gangster Bitch The Sole reason I crave to be rich To treat you like an African Queen you are Diamond Necklaces, Rolls Royce and a Chauffeur
Despite My countless Flaws You showed Me boundless Love Though I call you a fuckin' Bitch From Me, you've refused to switch
My Nymphomaniac Gangster Ho Of your unenviable deeds, I know But I seem trapped in your Maze My Thug Life, your qualities faze
"Get Money, Evade Bitches", My Mentor, Tupac said Though a Bitch extraordinaire, you seem hard to evade Why am I so besotted by your Traits? Bitch, what are your trapping Baits?
Your charming Face and perfectly molded Breasts The impeccable bodily symmetry when you are undressed Your juicy Pussy and the sound of your Voice Which while on bed, leave me with no Choice
With you, this cruel World becomes delightfully gratifying And the Scorching Sun, startlingly body-soothing How perplexing Hunger dissipates at the Sight of You How you sweetened my bitter Life, I've got no Clue
Funny how your Presence makes Me insomniac How you stimulate in Me, a Love-knack How delicious Food becomes, when together, we eat How Sex with you becomes sacred and sweet
Love fades, Feelings wane Will Ours go down the Drain? I just hope there's an Afterlife So even in Death, you'd be my Wife
This ain't your everyday poem. It's gangster poetry, a special and budding genre of poetry.
I wrote this poem sometimes after concluding my NYSC, jobless and depressed. I met this Igbo girl during this period, down the street. She was a sight to behold; beautiful, with skin as soft as a toddler's and Pussy as tight as a virgin's (She was not a virgin oo). Her fairness, so extreme that it seemed to border on albinism. O pon t'obo t'obo, if you know what I mean.
I wrote her this poem after being unable to buy her a posh phone. Me wey no get money. Na one small Nokia I dey use that year sef. She vehemently declined to read the poem, insisting on a phone.
She's beautiful no doubt, but a bimbo and a bitch! We're no longer together, but at times, I miss the tenderness of her skin.
Trust me, as a guy, I know there is absolutely nothing better than having a ride or die chic, who knows ya flaws and accepts you for who you're. Loves you regardless of those flaws cos she knows imperfection is what makes us human and we'll indulge in all types of vices to fill the vacuum we all feel inside sometimes. That type of chic is always gifted with supreme eyes to see what others can't see in certain guys. They look beyond the exterior and see the real talent(s) the guy has.
Somewhat reminiscent of all my exes. Those chics used to fight my battles for me in public. More time, they will just tell me to chill and handle everything for me. Real chics right there. Supremely educated high flyers but they know how to ride for a thorough bred G lol.
Good friends, good books, peace of mind, beautiful women, and a sleepy conscience: this is the ideal life.