Somebody said when you put it in writing, its official…

I like to stunt, and its not that I can’t get it.

But when I start to think…Do I want these rims/shoes/chain/(insert your expensive, unnecessary, temporary thrill here)?

Yeah I want it, but I REALLY want that big ass house with the yard, the deck, and the heated pool; the frequent flier miles; the Rover or the Cayenne; the extra comma in my bank account. 

So…

I won’t blow my income tax on clothes and shoes. 

I won’t sacrifice my rent money for a night in the club.

I won’t overdraft my account for a fresh lace front.

I won’t skip on car insurance to pay Rent ‘n Roll.

I won’t max out my credit card for some new Louboutin's.

I won’t fuck my credit up trying to lease a Mercedes if I only have Chevy money.

You won’t catch me scheming unless it’s a life or death situation.

In other words…

I won’t blow my paychecks trying to be hood rich, showing off for people who won’t remember me when my money runs out.

Don’t get me wrong… I know what it feels like to have shit that people want.

All the employees in Mashiko’s know your name and your size. They put stuff aside for you that they think you might like.

& They don’t ask for ID when its time to pay.

All of a sudden niggas will do anything for you (& they don’t even mention sex.)

Girls just strike up conversation with you, like you have on a rainbow belt or something.

Dudes crowd around your car every time you pull up to the corner store.

Everybody in the club wanna sit by you, thinking you gon get friendly and buy them a drink.

Losing friends cuz they think, that you think, that you all that! (Not so fun.)

Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt (but I never wear it). LOL. 

Its all good but, I rather let the haters talk behind my back about how I think I’m all that cuz my trip to Brazil left me with tan lines.  Or cuz I don’t have to go to the beach to ride my jet skis, I just go to my back yard. 

LOL. 

It’s not a dream.  It’s a plan. & You just notarized it.

Signed
- Jess