Candi didn't feel like work,
The guy who was coming was a big jerk.
All he'd do is talk for his 50 bucks pay,
Always the same subject, "How did you get this way?"
All he'd do is talk, that's it, nothing more.
Candi didn't like sex, but this talk was a bore.
The rent was due, but she had blown all her cash
On booze, marijuana, cocaine, and hash.
Well, at least the jerk talker was first,
Get him out of the way, because he was the worst.
The others that she would be seeing that night
Were a blow job, straight sex, and one spending the night.
Seven-fifty would be her total pay
For rent, and drugs for one more day.
She put on clean underwear to prepare for the night,
Grabbed her box of Camels and gave one a light.
She considered moving in with her sister down south,
'Cause all these blow jobs left a bad taste in her mouth.
She winced at the joke she had told herself,
And put her Camels back on the shelf.
Candi was getting tired of this life.
Hell, it's better, she thought, than being a wife.
I get paid to keep men company.
When you're a wife, you give it away for free.
Plus you cook and clean for the son of a bitch.
No, Candi decided, she'd never get hitched.
On the couch she waited for the talker to arrive.
He was the last person to see her alive.
The others came and knocked on the door,
Got no answer, cursed her, called her a whore.
They found her next day when they came for the rent,
Just her body, her Camels, one of his brand, a Kent.
"Another hooker dies!", the headlines blared.
She was a hooker, nobody cared.