Lyric: Philly's Own Princess

By Veronica Blackbeauty

Lyric is a very popular young lady from Philly's own public housing, Richard Allen. She suffers a spiral events that leaves her hanging by threads from disloyalty, dishonesty, betrayal, and rape; which has her solving problems by feeding bodies with her 9mm. Lyric also finds herself in love with two men but forces keeps her from revealing her true feeling until its maybe too late.
Jay is the prince of Philly and gets what he wants by any means necessary. Crossing him, you might as well hand your balls over on a silver platter. When Jay enlists Lyric's help for laundering and with motives of his own, they make it rain all over Philly. But what happens if one was disloyal to the other? Would it be Lyric to put her 9mm to use or would Jay send her body to the morgue? Love has never been so deadly and friendships has never been so crooked.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Veronica Blackbeauty
• Release date: Apr 2, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452489674

Veronica Blackbeauty

Veronica Blackbeauty resides in Philadelphia. Her first novel, Lyric: Philly's Own Princess is creating a buzz and is a must read courtesy of the philly it girlz. Veronica writes part-time and is currently working on her second novel, a sequel to Lyric: Philly's Own Princess.

Book preview

LYRIC: PHILLY’S OWN PRINCESS

LYRIC: PHILLY’S OWN PRINCESS

Copyright© 2010 by Veronica Blackbeauty

Reedited/Revised 2018

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews. This is the work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, and locales is entirely coincident.

If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as unsold and destroyed to the Publisher and neither the Author, nor the Publisher has received any payment for this stripped book.

This book is available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales, promotions, premiums, fundraising, and educational or institutional use. Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write author Veronica Blackbeauty at [e-mail]

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Christ placed his hands above mine just to make this and all things I create, possible. I’m forever and eternally grateful.

To my family, I love you all effortlessly.

SPECIAL THANKS to Jennifer Kramney, my 10th grade English teacher from Dobbins Vocational Technical School, who opened the door to my creative writing and helped me to see the passion I have now.

Author Marcus Moshay Whaley I appreciate the visionary in you. True Blood Trilogy coming soon.

LASTLY, this book, is really dedicated to my daughter Lyric Alaye’. Rest in Peace. No amount of words could ever express the pain of losing you.

To my author family, thanks for the love and help. Nyema (Back Stabbers, Love & Consequences) & Author David L. (Represent).

To my readers,

The journey had been long, but it’s all worth-while. Thank you for the support.

Chapter 1: Trip Down Memory Lane

Here I am, a grown ass woman with no kids and living a dramatic life. My best friends were D’Janeh and Monica. They were my ace boon coons. We’d been down for each other since the ninth grade. Currently, I was residing in Bucks County, Pennsylvania in a nice red wine four-bedroom brick town house that I bought some years back for my Nana. The house had been stale since nana passed on, but, what in my life had not been stale? I’d been on a mission some time ago to get my life together, but since meeting the man of my dreams, I had been in more shit than most. I’d hunted, and I’d been running from past fears since the rape. My goal was to get right, or get left. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t lost in the sauce. I’d been knee deep in that shit since high school.

I grew up in Richard Allen Projects, which I used to rep hard, but not anymore. There was no love lost, I just simply outgrew what used to be me. To simply put it, it’s called maturity. I’d never forgotten where I come from because it had brought me to where I was. To know where I was going was to know where I’d been.

So, who was I? I was a woman who seemed to find trouble everywhere I went, no matter where I was, or who I was with. I could be a real man’s fantasy, or a weak man’s worst nightmare. My petite frame and full face accentuated my almond shaped eyes and full lips. I had that one-of-a-kind personality that either drew people to me, or away from me. I was determined to get ahead in life, reliable when needed and crazy as I wanted to be. Yeah, beauty and brains with a twist. I am Lyric. The girl some loved to hate and the lady some referred to as the devil’s daughter.

I was named after my Aunt Lyric who everyone, including the neighbors, thought was my mother. Why Angela hid her pregnancy from the outside world and gave me the name Lyric, who would ever know? I was never close to Aunt Lyric and vice versa. We hated each other from the time I could walk until this day. My aunt had never been there for me, so I didn’t care what happened to her or my mother for that matter. Rumors circulated around the neighborhood that Aunt Lyric ran away at fourteen, got pregnant with me, and ran back to nana’s house. In all actuality, Angela, my mother, carried me the entire nine months. No one had seen that coming. Angela was the quiet, timid one of the two.

Aunt Lyric was one of those delinquent children who partied a lot and had sex with any and everyone, did drugs, and got drunk all the time. She followed behind my momma though, and ended up pregnant with my cousin Pitt. Pitt, who was only younger than me by four months, was into the streets courtesy of his father. Uncle Danny, nana’s only son, rarely came around. Once he moved out, he hardly showed his face. He would sometimes pop up to check on nana, but that was it.

Nana was full of wisdom and is really laid back. She was the type of person to give you her last even when her last meant not paying her bills on time. Grandma was all that I had since I was born. She raised me to be the person I was now, and the streets taught me just how real grimy people could be. I had been through some crazy things that my family never knew happened. That was that type of shit that would have you second-guessing every step you took and in the streets, the least exposure, or smallest detail of the game could land your ass in a body bag. I didn’t see any problems I had then, but reflecting back I can admit my problems were embedded deep within.

I have to expose how I came into the world. I’m gonna tell you the story my momma told me ten times too many.

Summer of 1979, August 3rd to be exact, Angela, my mother, was invited to a birthday party for a guy named Weasel. He was one of those neighborhood pretty boys whose parents were upper class I shall say because he never had to want for anything. They owned a house in West Oak Lane and a house in North Philly. Now, girls called him Weasel because he had the eyes of blue water, the skin of caramel candy, and a six-foot tall frame. Wearing a size twelve shoe, he could weasel his way into any female’s panties. The shoe size thing was really a myth.

My girls always talked about some nucca’s sticks being below average anyway. I hadn’t met a big foot guy with a big stick. Not that I had been with anyone like that, but I heard different from some of the girls.

Anyway, he could soft talk females out of their panties and into the bed within minutes. His friends looked up to him as if he was a king on his throne overpowering other nations. That was bullshit because no man was that damn great but GOD! Men were conniving egotistical creatures!

According to Angela, Weasel spotted my mom in the crowd and began scheming. He had bet his boys that he’d get my mom in bed within a week. As he walked towards her, he stopped right in front of her and threw her a line. "You are the prettiest female GOD blessed on earth!" Like a nut, my mom blushed and thought he meant that shit. He grabbed her by the hand and asked for a dance.

My mom was only sixteen at the time. Like a lost puppy, momma followed him to the dance floor. As Weasel signaled to one of his friends, he whispered in his ear and within seconds Caravan of Love by the Isley Brothers was basing through the speakers. Weasel began to grind momma into the wall making sure she felt every bit of his manhood rubbing against her pelvic region.

As she relished the feeling, Weasel smiled broadly. He knew girls flocked to him with his boyish charm and his ‘I don’t give a damn attitude.’ While his friends stood across the room watching him romance another honey from the hood, he smiled inside knowing that he had her where he wanted her.

Momma told me when she felt his dick probing through his jeans, she wanted to run from the party just to get away from him because unknowing to her, she was in hormone overload.

I asked her, What's a dick? I was only like five when she told me the story. My momma never had been the type to sugarcoat the truth, ever.

Don’t worry about that. You will learn when you are older, she said, leaving me confused. Momma always broke some knowledge off. She always told me, Nuccas will always try to gas you up. If I don’t tell yo’ ass the truth, you will fall for some bullshit. Yo momma will never lie to you. These motherfuckers out here will get you caught up in some sort of scheme. You better learn to outsmart these bastards, she stressed.

The streets were all she’d known, and she delivered any and every message with rawness, leaving me to decipher the meaning at such a young age.

Anyways, when momma caught a glimpse of the prominent print against his pants, she rushed past Weasel and headed for the exit once the song ended. I couldn’t handle the tense sexual feeling and I was embarrassed for being a virgin, she admitted.

Momma looked back before leaving the building and took a glimpse in Weasel’s direction. The entire room looked on with laughter as she nervously scurried out the door. When Precious, one of momma’s closest friends, caught up with her, she gave her Weasel’s phone number. There was a message attached.

‘Don’t run, don’t hide. Your beauty is where my memory resides. Can’t wait to see you again. Call me tomorrow night.’ Momma stared at the number and couldn’t believe a popular boy was even remotely into her. Momma said never in her life had someone made her feel so beautiful, so celestial with a simple note. He was benevolent with his words, and in the brevity of their dance, she felt wanted. That next night, momma called Weasel and played name roulette for a second. Weasel had all his females in check, so he knew it was momma calling him.

Can I speak to Weasel, please? Momma asked.

Who ‘dis, if you do not mind me asking? he responded.

Tamara! she said in her soft, sweet voice.

I don’t believe I know a Tamara, he exclaimed.

Yea you do! We met at the mall the other day.

No, I don’t know a Tamara. Well, Miss Tamara, I must go. I am waiting for an important phone call. Call me later, Weasel sarcastically announced, hanging up the phone just that fast and in a way beginning a training session with momma.

I’m joking, this is Angela, momma blurted out a second too late and laughed it off as the other end clicked. Momma redialed the number and waited for him to answer the phone again.

Weasel, you knew that was me calling you. This is Angela! Momma said clearly pissed, enunciating each word properly.

Hey baby, I was waiting for your call. You know you shouldn’t call people’s houses playing on their phone. It’s not ladylike to do prank calls. Only knuckle heads do things of that nature.

I’m sorry for that. I was just kidding, momma said meaning every bit of sorry.

"Sweetie, you ain’t ever sorry, just say you apologize.

A sorry person is a sorry motherfucker and I know that ain’t you, Weasel schooled momma.

What’s up with the note you left me? Momma smiled thinking of the beautiful words he’d written just for her.

I’m saying I wanna see you again. Pretty, how old are you again?

I’m sixteen. Is that a problem? Angela wondered as she remembered she never told him her age.

Naw, you know I just turned eighteen. I don’t need ya family coming past my spot because you’re young, feel me? If you can’t handle it let me know so I can give my attention to someone else. I don’t want to be behind bars for messing with a minor.

I’m good. I have a younger brother and a sister. I’m pretty mature for my age.

We’ll see Angie, was all that Weasel mustered. Momma said their whole conversation lasted about two hours and before they hung up, Weasel got her number and promised to call when he wasn’t busy.

It had been three days since momma talked to Weasel. All she could do was daydream about how he made her feel when they were dancing. Momma said there was tingling all over her body. When Weasel called, momma said she just got out of the shower and put on lotion.

Damn, your body is right. You know what you should do?

Weasel stop playing. What should I do? Momma giggled.

Are you listening?

Yes Weasel, what is it?

Have you ever masturbated? I mean played with your pussy before? Weasel held his breath knowing that she was innocent to such acts.

"I have