Promiscuity is a choice

"All I want for my birthday is a big booty h--."
As the song begins you rise to your feet repeating every word, stripper kicking, searching for that one nasty Que Dog in Fuentes to roll up, hoping your special dance in "that" dress which conveniently allows your behind to peek will cause him to pause, calling "Hey que, que...you nasty dog."
Yet you look to your homegirl in disgust as he asks at the night's end if his usually exaggerated tall friend can meet up with your newly shy cherry pie.
Painted up like the big booty h-- you just finsihed dancing to yet you have the audacity to ask, "Why I gotta be the h--?!"
The simple answer is you choose to wear the h-- costume beyond the day of Halloween.
You choose to not only the look, but the act as you sell yourself as the sexually explicit nature your costume alludes.
Simply, you choose...
In days long gone, your great great grandmother laid there bare backed forced to allow a white man to mount her as he used the thoughts of Edward Long, "Africans are a barbarous race...preoccupied with thoughts of sexual activity," to justify his frequent uninvited intrusion into her womanhood while you choose to wrap yourself in a lascivious dressing, ignorant to the message of you perpetuate.
But again, you choose...
You have to be the h-- because you accepted the customarily awkward positioning.
No longer a slave standing on the auction block as an auctioneer rips away pieces of your dress to allow the buyer to see the inner nature of his purchase, you choose to let man see nearly every secret Vickie sold you.
As a black woman, you are historically sexualized meaning nothing more than a warm borrow to replace a hand and oils.
You forget the women who lay lifeless to stare at the portrait of the master's family, as the master slowly ejaculated leaving nothing but a mulatto bastard seed to be sold off on yet another auction block.
History tells you that you are good for nothing more than laying your back while in the present you sing along as Future calls you a h-- but you are not a h---, right?
French psychoanalyst and psychiatrist Jacques Lacan says, "Individual conscious identity does not stem from some "essence" within the person, but rather is constructed from images and signs with which the individual has identified."
Future and 2Chainz construct some of modern black female images, thus as a black female you are forced to identify with them.
You are the woman who stood bwith your back turned in the beginning of 2Chainz Birthday Song video. You are the girls who rode the laps of his "patnas and dem."
You are the overly sexualized, lascivious, h-- yet you have choosen to accept this construction.
You choose to be the h-- so who is to really to blame when he asks for the drawers rather than your heart?