Polly had some.
Left by her handsome man friend from Georgia.
They were sour, salty and almost enough sweet for you to hold out hope.
But the next one didn’t get any better.
“Just like a man” she thought,“They look good, but when you actually have a taste, it’s all bitterness and lost potential.”
Not a rapper, though sometimes her mouth is in the crapper.
Wiseacre, ball breaker, in your face no-prisoner-taker.
She does not suffer fools, has her own power tools.
Loyal and sarcastic, loud and bombastic.
She’s a straight up lady super hero nemesis, you might see her on the premises.
Polly Pimp Slappah.