Ballad for Mary J.

Mary J. is my mistress,
though we never kiss.
Naturale locks, littered with stems.
Never fail to draw me near.

Mary J. is my temptress,
wrapped in a skin tight dress.
or dancing in a diamond fireplace,
tantalizing airs asking for a taste.

Mary J. is a whore.
Slung from every corner store.
Pimped out to every man, woman, and child,
taking jobs, homes, and minds with moods so mild.

Just blaze in hell Madame Kush.