DECEASED: BARATI THE BUTCHER
DEFENDANT: SAMIRA JAFFARI
A man who knows his meats is one who can make a meal of a broad- so to speak
Knowing the difference between a rump and a brisket- takes more than just technique.
Men who ate steak….often preferred the fuller and chunkier physique,
And Barati was no different- the spark we made was beyond electric.
I knew I wanted no relation of the fainting heart with the butcher,
What I wanted to make was a steam that would form clouds off of the cooker
All I wanted was to make a beast with two heads without emotional pressures,
But desire came to collect after his one- time feast with a hooker.
Turns out Barati had a fairly large appetite,
One that formed pools of sweat- a different kind of heat that kept him up at night.
Now I know he gave me the disease- a secret he never brought to light.
He carried a curse from never wearing an armor on his duties as a knight.
My blood carries three letter tags from the sin we made on these sheets.
Not once, not once could I have known this man would make sickness taste so sweet…..
And when I said I’d make a mess of him right across his shop at 86th street,
He laughed and told me: “we’re all dying sugar, take a fucking seat”
They all say- this is the diary of a mad black woman and I’m in the early stages,
I say I ought to be mad for the tears I bled on these damn pages.
Well I couldn’t let the receipts of his lust kill him before I got the chance,
So I grabbed his favourite knife, and took him out for a dance.
I Kung fud his ass and kamikazed his junk
Sliced his manhood into pieces and dumped his remains in the trunk
Verdict as charged- “life sentence for the lass who wears a three letter sign”
Between the chase and the climax- the lives I had…… I burnt all nine.