ladies, please feel free to use this misandric rap couplet in your freestyle battles against art-world men (via sashayed)
Just Nicki, no Weezy/ No F. Scott, just Z.Z./ Your man knows he can’t be me/ my heart colder than Mimì
That’s class, I’m alluding to Puccini while you’re tugging on your weenie/ penthouse, rooftop in a bikini/ pool boy, get me another martini, speedy
Think you gonna drop some knowledge about Georgia T. O’Keeffe? / I gotta tell you, son, I care more about my queefs.
Picasso, Pollock, Gauguin, Rodin, hey do you all feel me? / All I see in this lot is men behaving badly.
Gonna front to me ‘bout fucking Branwell Bronte’s poems? / Anne, Charlotte, Emily, you go ahead and tell ‘em.
Cover to cover read, shit’s so thorough, broadcast that like Edward Murrow/ Gentileschi, don’t test me, throw deep shade like chiaroscuro
That’s Art History 101, better crawl back to your lecture son, I’ll use you later like Chekhov’s gun, Bitch Be Not Proud, John Donne, and that’s real(via sashayed)