Every morning when she wakes up
Rubbing her eyes, she saunters in the house
Half dreaming, half thinking, she walks
Snapping fingers at her yawning mouth.
Awake and ready for work,
Aiming to be rich,
She walks down the street
Driven by wealth as beggars are by itch.
Women stare as she walks past them
And so do all men.
Frowning at her ritzy clothes
Labeling her a nasty woman.
Spoilt! Flirtatious! Ambitious! Chichi!
Trying to be a man, she is.
What an obscene lifestyle for a woman
She will know when her ego meddles with his.
What can she bring to the table?
Does she even know how to cook?
Look at her smiling and talking to that man
Oh and there she reads those nasty books.
She laughs at the innuendos
Playfully she gets by her day.
But when ticked off,
She rants, angers, and gets things done her way.
She says “no” loud and clear
To men, friends, and relatives.
She is loud, she is modern, she is classic
Sweet medley of salty and sensitive.
She proposes to the man she loves
Sends letters, sends flowers.
Nastier she becomes
Minute by minute, hour by hour.
Her heels click louder
Than the lighter of a smoking man.
They stand taller
Than the dick of Leone’s raging Stan.
She grooms her eyelashes
Higher than the vision of many.
She paints nails, she paints ideas
Making thousands off a penny.
She bathes in confidence,
And dresses in fearless garb.
Nasty or not, she decides for herself
Unabashed by whatever the world may harp.