The documentary of a Whore?

She walked up and down the streets,
Dressed in her shiny top and ass-tight denim jeans.
The craft of this extraordinary whore ,
Once, twice, thrice; men and women came back for more.

Unceasingly she offered men their righteous honor,
On her and then to pay her offer.
Thirty six - twenty four - thirty six,
A classic bawd unlike TV chicks.
She looked in the mirror and felt no pain,
No pain; that in this all she has no sensual gain.
But she'd still guise and adorn herself,
Awaiting the arrival of her nocturnal patron of wealth.

High-five basketball playah and his grill,
Rap-shot Nigger and his bling,
White-collared and his Lincoln bill,
Miss harlot has no personal choices,
She just swung her hips and threw her dices,
Threw her prices,
And that night, one lucky bastard got to explore her sensuous sizes.

And time was soon gone before she was done,
There came the arrival of that certain one;
The rise of the sun; her biggest foe,
And now in bright daylight she walks, masking the skin of a whore.