The sunroof back, eyes just above the crack.
That street-nitty, beat-witty soundtrack, Recipe.
Beats by Dre. with Kendrick riding the track.

Lemme tell you about Christine.
She’s so top-shelf.
One of a few,
She stands out, pristine.
Just to peek inside,
Watching people speed up,
To catch a glimpse of her.
Every place she rolls up,
People checking for her.
Droppin’ ’em all,
Body-in’ ’em all,
For a loss
The light riding that gloss,
From corner to corner.
I catch that view,
From out the corner,
Of my eye.
Strung out on her vibe.
I swear she’s got me so gassed,
Slightly jealous, at times,
Even though, Never really at a loss,
‘Cuz I got her affections,
On lock, like a boss.

Pulling into the spot.
Dropping the rubber,
Of my booted Ralph Laurens,
Onto the pavement.
Faux hoodie,
With a hat to match.
If I told you,
You wouldn’t believe me.
But my bravado,
Complements her sexy.
I’m definitely,
Possessed.
My actions, not my own.
Christine’s been gassing me,
Whispering in my ear,
Tellin’ me I’m a boss.

I swear that boom-tsss,
In the track,
That drum machine,
Tsss-tsss, Tic toc,
And ole girl’s voice,
looping op,
Is just so hypnotic.
“Smoking weed with you,
cause you taught me to.”
I sway and head nod,
head rock,
Boom, bap,
While the beat bounces,
That thought back,
To me…

Everything is cooler in slow motion,
So they say.
At least, that’s the notion.
Passing the counter.
Bruh tossed that head nod,
“What’s up Boss!” I shit you not.
And of course,
I’ma throw it back.
Just a respect thing, Black.
Everybody standing behind the counter,
Flocking, jocking, clocking the spins.
They spied Christine turning in,
And me emerging from.
But if you let it in, Pimpin.
Getting so gassed’ll,
Cause you to float off and…

And off to top off the tank,
This kid asked me, with stank,
Face, “Bruh, you pull the chicks,
With that car don’t you?”
Truth be told,
Married dude,
Is what I am…
“Come on bruh,
I know you pull the chicks,
With that car.
It reminds me of…”
Truth be told,
“Women and dudes,
Clock Christine,
My dude.”
The irony in your question,
Is that she bodied you today, too.
Jokes on you, not much to say, but,
My homie calls her the batmobile,
The Afalo cardigan, Navy seal.

I can’t lie,
Christine’s attention has me,
Got me so gassed.
I’m just an extension of her,
Ceasing to be my own person,
Nature of our relationship,
Really not your concern, but,
With each day that passes.
I can’t think on my own.
Trying to retain my personality,
Under her influence, stoned.
With cracked red eyes, I’m so gone.
She’s possessed me.
Casually walking through,
Her fingers in my mind.
Whispering in my ear,
Tellin’ me I’m a boss,
And I’m forever hers.

by malakhai jones
(C) Copyright 2016

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