P-Valley

All right, now, come on.

Let's go, baby.

We gonna be there soon.

All right, 15 minutes.

All right, people, back on the bus.

It's time to go.

Hey, little mama, where you going?

We finna go.

Welcome to Saturday night at The Pynk,

the finest shake joint in all of Pussy Valley,

right off exit 29 in the Dirty Delta,

as fertile as the Nile.

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!

Shake that, pop that, jiggle that fat ass!

Let's go up in this bitch!

And this nigga gonna say, "Can I get some change?"

- No. - And I was like, "No, nigga, no."

Ain't like my G-string a motherfucking collection plate.

Amen.

And here I thought stripping was a recession-proof industry.

Bitch, how that pole burn, though?

Better put some Neosporin on that bitch.

Another scar on my pretty-ass legs.

They gonna get you with them pretty-ass legs.

- Shit. - Fuck!

What the hell?

Customer put his fucking beer on the stage,

I do a monkey drop, he end up busting me in my fucking head.

You gonna need more than some Neosporin for that.

You gonna need some stitches.

Mercedes, finish dancing my turn for me?

My arms is tired.

I'm liable to fly right off the pole into the crowd.

Mercedes, finish that girl turn.

- Hell, why don't you do it? - Because I just went out.

I'll give you a blunt.

Miss Mississippi, bring your black ass back out on this stage right now.

Right now.

Bitch, you gonna owe me more than a blunt.

Can I borrow your hairpiece?

Y'all, it is money out there.

Child, smell like somebody that died up in here.

First day back off maternity leave and I get another fucking scar.

Hair can cover this one.

Floss can't cover that one.

- That's that bud. - $20, nigga.

All right, it be 30, little mama.

But that gentleman just paid 20.

Yeah, well, that how much it cost for a pretty bitch like you.

That how you give compliments round these here parts?

That's just the politicking of The Pynk.

Uncle Clifford rules.

No funny money, no bullets,

and no motherfucking chips.

No chips?

Look...

...take this 20 and my email.

Your email?

It's gonna be like that.

Take your Rihanna-looking ass on somewhere.

Next!

Okay, you good.

Go on in.

Go ahead.

Back of the line.

Hands where I can see 'em.

Hey, what'd I say?

Hands where I can see 'em.

Sorry. Slipped.

Slipped again.

Hey, bitch! Bitch, what the hell?

- I got this. - Hey, come on, now!

I told you to keep your hands off our girls, now.

- Hey, motherfucker, what you doing? - Bring your ass.

Get your hands off me, boy!

I done paid my damn money!

Come back soon, now!

Fuck you!

Faggot-ass nigga!

Hell, The Pynk ain't hitting on shit nowadays no way.

Jesse, you best calm down before I tell your wife where you was tonight.

I want my cover charge back!

You want your come back, too?

Well, now, Jesse looked a bit drunk.

No, he just got a bad case of blue balls.

That's why he wobbling.

Uncle Clifford, you best not be serving no liquor.

Now, you know this new mayor and his no tequila and titties ordinance.

Sheriff Bailey, you know me.

I abides by all the county rules.

As you know, I have mine own.

Good. Liquor and pussy are like a stick of dynamite.

Blow up in your face every time.

I want to know what kind of liquor and pussy you sipping on do all that.

Clifford, ain't nobody got time to be writing no summonses.

What, you want to come take a look for yourself?

Make sure we living right in this warehouse of sin?

Well...

it's a Saturday night.

Sunday morning just a minute away.

So let me break you off some of these honey golds...

for your trouble.

Better get these home before they get cold.

Night, Uncle Clifford.

Night, Sheriff Bailey.

Better off letting him see some of these bitches' pussy than some bank, man.

Diamond!

Did anybody ask your opinion?

All right, bitches.

Booty Battle rules.

DJ Neva Scared gonna give each bitch two minutes to turn up,

and after that, you exit stage left.

Winner wins 50 duckets and a hot plate.

Any questions?

All right, good.

Now, give bitch your name,

and you best not say no Alizé,

'cause last bitch that came in here with that name...

Let me think on that, then.

Next.

- Skrawberry. - Skrawberry?

My name Blue Cinnamon.

And where they do that at?

You ain't ready for this war.

Where your floss at?

Maite, can you get this bitch beat for tonight?

Don't worry. I got it, Uncle.

This one.

It light up in the dark.

- How much? - 15.

But for you, 10.

Hey, that Yvonne Saint Lorraine you rocking?

Yves Saint Laurent?

Yeah.

Bitch, what your name is?

I said what's your name?

Autumn.

Autumn Night.

Sounding all poetic and shit.

Oh, man.

- What's up, Big L? - What's up, Style Jean?

Mercedes' Last Dance.

After seven years, huh?

Took you long enough.

Well, my 401 in need of spending.

Besides, 25 retirement age for a stripper nowadays, so...

Who gonna take over your Sunday night set?

I don't know.

But come end of the month, no more Mercedes Sundays for me.

Bitch, you crying?

Heifer, ain't nobody crying over your baby-neck-smelling ass.

What you gonna do when you leave?

What all G do.

Count our money.

It time for The Pynk Booty Battle.

First up, we got Blue Cinnamon.

Skrawberry.

Get it, Alizé.

Y'all need to give it up for these bitches, man,

and bitches who are here with they niggas, don't be J.

Give it up for these bitches, too.

And last but not least,

sounding all poetic and shit,

Autumn Night!

We got a winner!

We got a winner!

All right, Autumn Night!

Don't spend it all at the nail shop, now.

What's a girl have to do to work here?

I mean, do I need to fill out a job application or something?

Bitch, this ain't no damn Walmart.

But there sure is a opening.

Nice ass.

Got a nice jiggle to it.

Them titties look like two little bee stings,

but you work hard, buy you some bigger ones.

Nice teeth.

You got good-grade hair.

I got Indian in my family.

Bitch, that's a Peruvian bundle.

You can start tomorrow, if you want to.

I don't know why you suddenly start taking on more bitches.

Mercedes, why is you over there yapping

when you the one leaving us at the end of the month?

Mercedes' Last Dance?

Keyshawn, I was finna tell you.

I know you been saying it for I don't how long.

But why now?

My bad.

Is this one empty?

Slow your roll, high yellow. I ain't gone yet.

Apologies.

Y'all bitches stinking hop off this Booty Battle crown,

but best believe,

your ass ain't gonna last one week 'neath these lights.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!

No, no! No, no, no, no!

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

I said, oh, hey