Madison Parsons Whore ❤️

About Philadelphia

Once had this chick, right? Masseuse with hands like a freakin angel. She’s rubbin me down, and I’m thinkin, “This is art, man.” Slow strokes, deep presses — got me hard as a rock and floatin at the same time. Little known fact: back in ancient Rome, they’d do this shit with olive oil and a side of orgy. True story! Called it “massage with benefits,” ya dig? Made me happy as a pig in shit, but then — bam! — she charged me double. Pissed me off, man, I was fumin. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I growled in my head, imaginin her boss on a platter.

Transcript

Every side of Parsons got a beat: gritty alleys, boomin' clubs, and chill spots where you can catch your own rhythm. It’s messy, it's raw, it's alive. The city taught me how to love the pain, the hustle, the high. Like Jordan Belfort said – “The only thing standing between you and your goal is the bullsh*t story you keep telling yourself.” No cap, every blocked block, every busted pavement speaks truth.

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