Her little black dress is by Ralph Lauren,
her complexion is Lancome.
Estee lauder blushed her lips
And Apple made her phone.
She loves the feel of Hermes’ silk
upon her naked skin.
Her shoes are Gucci,
her bag by Coach.
Her perfume is “my Sin”

Lady Clairol turned her hair
the color of ripe wheat.
She’s a devil wearing Prada
who looks good enough to eat.
I ponder on this vision
And a stray thought makes me laugh:
My fiercely independent woman
Has been “branded” like a calf.

The future's couture,
are you sure about that?

The 21st century is hidden between billfolds of misery
Lancome hanging on by her nails while Dior roars along
doing 90,
so long to my jeans and the tank top
I'm swapping them for something that's real hot.

Suits lined and silk shirts for me
while she
dons the latest sensation
fresh from the catwalk
a fabulous creation.


But there are pitfalls of that I'm aware,
and being aware, I tread
carefully there.

The 21st century
full of mistakes and
it takes only one to
bring me down.

life started out simple
no makeup all naturale
years went by, no lipstick
the day she did ,
the crowd choked up
the block says she don faked up
i hear them saying i got
caked up
like being caked up mean I faked up
all this noise fo'real got me f**cked up
too faced,they called me
told me to face the fact
so i ride up, with my lancome.
pop them up with my brushes
crease them up  on their cheek bones
contour them up with the real truth
and i tell them to mac up
cuz i swear  sometimes they be hating son