My Life Story

I remember it all very well lookin' back. It was the summer I turned eighteen.

We lived in a one room, rundown shack on the outskirts of New Orleans. We didnt have money for food or rent; to say the least we were hard pressed. Then mama spent every last penny we had to buy me a dancin' dress.

Mama washed and combed and curled my hair, and she painted my eyes and lips. Then I stepped into a satin dancin dress that had a split on the side clean up to my hip. It was red velvet trim and it fit me good. Standin' back from the lookin glass, there stood a woman where a half gown kid had stood.

She said, "Here's your one chance, Fancy. Don't let me down."


SHE SAID HERE'S YOUR ONE CHANCE FANCY DON'T LET ME DOOOOooooOOWWN!

And that's the story about how my mother whored me out.