All language subtitles for Shes.gotta.have.it.S01E01.WEB.x264-STRiFE+RARBG.English-WWW.MY-SUBS.CO

WWW.MY-SUBS.CO

I would like you to know,
the only reason I'm doin' this

is 'cause folks think they know me.

They think they know what I'm about,

and the truth is, they
don't know me.

Anyhoo, if, in the end, this
helps some other people out,

then that's cool too.

I consider myself abnormal.

But who wants to be like everybody else?

Not I.

Some people call me a "freak."

And I hate that word.

I don't believe in it, or better yet,

I don't believe in one-word labels.

But... what you gonna do?

You feel me?

I love walking the beautiful and
nitty-gritty streets of New York City.

But, sometimes, walking the beautiful,
nitty-gritty streets as a woman

can be, well...

brutal.

Peep this bullshit.

Psst! Psst! Why don't you sit on my
dick and peddle my balls?

Excuse me, miss, but you so fine,

I'd drink a tub of your bath
water out a champagne glass.

You wanna know why?

'Cause your mom's placenta
was filled with holy water.

God blessin' you, girl! Mm! Good God!

Cutie-ho, I bet you your farts
smell like grape Jolly Ranchers,

Fruity Pebbles, and AriZona
Iced Tea, all combined.

Damn, what a combination!

Sista, I'll go gay for you.

You got me questionin' my
whole sexual preference.

Damn, you so perfect.

Baby girl, I just
wanna play the drumroll

to Phil Collins' song
"In The Air Tonight"

on your right black butt cheek.

Hey, boo, where's your crown at?

Stop frontin' like you're not
a Nubian queen. Bang! Bang!

Darling, you would be
a terrific accessory

to my impressive car collection.

Do you see this watch? This
is a platinum and gold Rolex.

You come with me, you'll have
two and join me at the top.

Ooh! Wee!

Hot thang,

you look so good, Jesus on the
cross must be doin' your taxes.

I truly believe that
there is only one person,

only one in this world that
is meant to be your soul mate,

your lifelong companion.

Joke is, rarely do
these two people hook up.

They just... wander about
aimlessly, lost in the sauce.

You know, God is a trickster.

In life, God doesn't give
you the people you want.

Instead, he gives you
the people you need.

Nola Darling...

is my need.

Another great lunch.

How come we always
make love in your bed?

Now, you know I can only make
love in my own lovin' bed.

Mm.

Besides, we ain't doin' it in your bed.

So, does it possess...
magical, mystical powers?

Uh-huh.

Now, I'm possessed.

You think so, huh?

Yo! "What about Nola Darling?"
What do you wanna know?

I think Nola's a freak.

You know? You know? You know.

Freaky-deaky, deaky-freaky, freaky
to the deaky, deaky to the freaky.

Yo, check it. Most dudes want freaks.

I do. I do. Do I? I do!

- Okay.
- All right, moment of truth, baby. Ooh!

- Damn. You okay if I put my bike here?
- Yeah, it's fine.

Dag. It took you long
enough to invite me in.

Dag, I don't just let
anybody up in here.

- So, what, is "Mars" a nickname?
- Nah, it's my government.

My mom, she named me Mars

'cause she said I'm outta
this universe. A'ight?

Dope.

- It's not finished.
- Still dope.

- My born day is May 19th.
- Happy early born day.

Mars, Malcolm X was
born on May 19th too.

No disrespect. Denzel
did the damn thing.

- And got robbed of that Academy Award.
- That was some shenanigans.

Some subterfuge, straight skulduggery.

He was too black, too strong.
Al Pacino, though? Come on.

Don't hate on Al Pacino.
Scarface, that's my joint.

You know what a make-up
call is in basketball?

Does Mars Blackmon know what a
make-up call is in basketball?

Is Barry "White"? Is Al "Green"?

Is James "Brown"? Is Prince "Purple"?

It was an Academy of Motion Pictures
Arts and Sciences make-up call.

Pacino got fucked four times.

He got fucked over for The Godfather

and The Godfather Part II, Serpico,

and fucked again big time
for Dog Day Afternoon.

Damn, Sam.

So... they gave Pacino
his long-overdue Oscar,

and then Denzel gets his make-up
call Oscar for Training Day,

which he should've won anyway, so
the Academy still owes D another one.

And I know they better not
fuck him over for Fences.

Word to the mother. You
know a lot about movies, huh?

- I'm a cinephile.
- A cine-what?

A cinephile. A film enthusiast.

Well, you know, I wanna
be a phile-cine wit' you.

- A what? Cinephile.
- My bad. My bad.

Mars, you are cuckoo for
Cocoa Puffs. You know that?

- Yo, this whole spot is yours?
- Mm-hmm.

I likes. I likes.

What's the rent?

This is gentrified Fort
Greene. You already know.

You need a roommate?

Motherfucker, you smokin' K2?

I let you up in here one time,
and right away, you wanna move in?

- Seriously?
- Eh...

How you... How you afford this joint?

Your family got it like that?

- No, my parents are artists.
- So are mine.

- Really?
- Well, yeah, my pops is an artist.

A con artist?

196... 197...

198... 199...

200.

Hoo...

Go, Greer.

I'm the best thing that ever
happened to Nola Darling.

Ask her. She'll tell you that
herself. That woman worships me.

What a pair. What a...
What a couple we make.

When we are together...

... it's on like hot buttered popcorn.

We are a dynamic duo.

A terrific twosome.

Legendary lovers.

I can keep going if you wish, if you...

... if you so desire.

Mm.

Ah, Michael Jackson spin!

I got a lion in my pocket,
and, baby, he is ready to roar.

Was that the Cowardly Lion,
or Snagglepuss even? Hm?

Can't no other dudes hit
it the way I'm 'bout to now.

Greer, you're wallin'. Don't talk, okay?

- Oh, Nola!
- Greer!

Nola! Nola! Nola!

- Greer!
- What?

Do you realize you are gazing
upon the bi-racial Adonis?

You know I'm fine as shit.

Greer, you are the epitome of
narcissism. Don't you get tired of you?

Never happen. Ugh.

I bet you love yourself
more than Kanye loves Kanye.

There's no crime in lovin' oneself.

In fact, that is the
greatest love of all.

I can sing it like Whitney, if you wish.

I don't wish.

Ha! Voilà!

WDF, Nola! What da fuck?

What? It's your ugly inner self, Greer.

I call it Sexy Beast.

- No!
- All right, you know the deal.

It's time to go. I got
another piece to start.

Nola...

With the tongue...

Posin' all this
damn time for this bullshit.

It was almost good, Nola.

Bye, Greer.

Don't front, though.

Ain't no dudes ever put it
down the way I did today.

Nola and I used to be roommates,
until we had a slight falling out.

I can't lie, it was a big falling out.

We're still cool, still friends.
We just can't live together.

And by the way, don't ask me
anything about Mars Blackmon, ever.

Off-limits.

I'd get up early in the morning, on
my way to Jivamukti Vinyasa class,

and I'd run into all these
randos in our bathroom.

Nola!

Not okay. Nola and I talked
about it, but, like she said...

I found this crib,
and if you can't hang,

maybe you should start looking

- for another place of residence.
- Bye!

I said, "Bye," and I got my own
brownstone apartment in Fort Greene.

What could I do? Nola's name
was on the lease. Regardless...

Nola is still my girl.

I'm carrying my entire portfolio
on the C-train during rush hour.

And this dude bumps
into me, like bam! Hard.

I swear he did it on purpose.

Knocks all of my drawings
on the nasty subway floor.

Ooh!

People were literally
stepping on my fingers,

pushing to get off the subway.

I'm trying to pick up my shit.
It's like I don't even exist.

- I would've lost it.
- I get to my interview 15 minutes late.

I open up the portfolio.
Footprints on all of my drawings.

- No.
- Oh, my God. What did you do?

I had to show 'em as is, so I freestyled.

I spit out everything I learned
at Pratt Institute. I dug deep.

By the end, I had them
thinking the footprints

were like some dope
Basquiat conceptual touch.

- I love that.
- Ladies.

Oh! Thank you.

Thank you.

- Thank you.
- Thank you.

- What is this?
- The Fo-Gre cucumber martini.

This tastes like moonshine
brewed in Bushwick.

Ma'am, it's what you ordered.

This is not Goose. I can
taste the $3 difference.

- Really?
- Really.

- Clo...
- No.

Your beautiful beard

and sense of entitlement
do not intimidate me.

- I'll be right back with your drink.
- Thank you.

- Was all of that drama really necessary?
- Absolutely. I'm standing my ground.

I'm not gonna cede the
Fort to hipster imperialism.

- By the way, what the fuck is a Fo-Gre?
- Or NoHo, NoHa.

- SoBro, Bedwick.
- Or the BoCoCa.

all acronyms for places
we can no longer afford to live.

Hello, $6.99 for a quart of milk
from the Arab bodega in my hood?

- They must be out their goddamn minds.
- It is organic.

Nope, no dice.

- Okay.
- I don't know what he put in my drink,

- but this shit tastes good.
- Some people are not so particular.

I hope this is to your liking.

- Much better. Thank you.
- Nice.

- Salud.
- To Nola.

I'm very excited to see the
beautiful things that you make

- and experience this next year.
- I double that.

And here's to droppin'
shit on the C-train

and turnin' that shit into art.

Ay!

To this, to my beautiful friends.
To not succumbing to distractions.

- Is that what we're calling them now?
- Oh, see, no, no, no.

What we're not gonna do is discuss
my sex life over born day cocktails.

- Not gonna do that cliché.
- Too bad.

And stop seeing everyone's
success as my failure.

I had this professor
who always used to say

that just because you know
how to hold a paintbrush,

that doesn't make you an artist.

It's the act of guiding that brush
to places that no one's ever been

or wouldn't dare to go that defines you.

To Nola. Cheers!

Wow.

Happy birthday.

Thank you.

Mm.

I come... bearing gifts.

I see.

- What is all this?
- I got you some art supplies.

Oh, my goodness.

- Thank you.
- Yeah, no problem.

What else you bring me?

Wouldn't you like to know.

Hm?

Make a wish.

Perfect end to a perfect born day.

- You like?
- Mm.

Yeah, this cake is on point.

- Happy birthday.
- Mm.

Thank you for coming.

♪ There she goes
on her merry way ♪

- Excuse me.
- ♪ Though she's only queen for a day ♪

Pronto!

- Yo! Nola, happy born day!
- Thank you.

- You're welcome. Yo, it's me, Mars.
- I know.

Come hither. Let's go for a
romantical bike ride and shit.

That sounds dope, but
I'm in for the night.

In the bed? In the lovin'
bed? With who the fuck... ?

Let's celebrate your born night.

I could ride my custom-built-by-me
bike over there in five minutes.

Young is the night, night
is the young and shit.

I can't. It's too late. Call
me in the morning. Good night!

♪ There she goes on her merry way ♪

- Sorry.
- ♪ Though she's only queen for a day ♪

Seriously?

- Wake up, wake up, wake up!
- Yo, gimme the phone.

- Chill, my phone is dead. Nola.
- Gimme my phone.

- What?
- Nola.

- Nola.
- What do you want?

- Nola, just let me smell it.
- Ugh! You're disgusting.

Hit me off. Just a whiff.

You are so dumb!

Please, mami, please,
mami, please, mami.

Por favor.

Oh, my God. Quit
cakin' on my damn phone.

You one thirsty-ass half-nigga.

- You a half-ass nigga too.
- And half-Puerto Rican.

- Shut the fuck up.
- "Shut the fuck up"?

No, not you, Nola!

I'm tellin' my stupid-ass
sister to shut the fuck up.

Yo, hold the fuck... Is a dude there?

- In our lovin' bed?
- Uh-uh. Adios.

- You can't keep your hos in check?
- Nola's not a ho.

But Roxanne, on the other hand...

She about to get it.

Oh, my goodness.

- Who was that?
- A friend.

What kind of friend?

- A man friend.
- We've discussed this.

You know what? Forget I mentioned it.

I wrote you a poem.

Instead of gettin' you a
corny-ass Hallmark birthday card.

Well, that was sweet of you.

As I said when I first met you,
investment bankers can be poets too.

Mm.

Isn't that two different
parts of the brain?

Well, see, God, he held his
hands on me a little longer.

I bet.

"Your name leaves my lips the
moment I wake from slumber.

I call out to you. Nola Darling!"

"My anguished cry surfed the wild wind,

through the black Brooklyn blocks,
from Ocean Hill, Brownsville.

Never run, never will.

To Bed-Stuy, do or die.

In Fort Greene, don't be so mean.

They find their way
to you, Nola Darling."

Yo, that's the wackest
shit I ever heard!

And what's wacker is that your
fine ass fell for it. Damn, yo!

Nola, I don't mean to badmouth
whoever wrote that ca-ca on a stick,

but he ain't got game.
Straight cornball.

His "poe-try" is not the answer.
I'm the answer, like Iverson.

I'm also a dope poet, and you
ain't even know it-it-it-it-it.

I got mad skills.

Amongst my many multiple
talents, I'm also a dope rapper.

Check this funky fresh joint.

- Uh, puff, puff, pass.
- Got you.

♪ Some girls got beauty ♪
♪ Some girls got grace ♪

♪ But you so black perfect ♪
♪ You win the goddamn motherfuckin' race ♪

♪ Yes, yes, yah! ♪

♪ Some freaks got style ♪
♪ Some freaks got class ♪

- ♪ But Nola got that in the tight... ♪
- Did you just call me a freak?

- Yeah, that I did, did I that.
- What the fuck does that even mean?

You call me up mad late
at night, talkin' that,

"Can I smell it?" freaky bullshit.

Ain't that the definition of
"freak" from Urban Dictionary?

Hell yeah, I'm a freak. Nola,
I fly my freak flag sky-high.

- Ain't no shame in my freak game.
- Mm-mm.

Tight booty! Tight booty!

- How's your head, baby? Your head is good?
- Uh-huh. Uh-huh.

Whoo-hoo!

Do I hit it as good as
them off-brand dudes?

You know, you got mad room for
all my Jordans underneath your bed.

- Oh, my God.
- We could go good,

like beans and rice, here together.

I told you from jump, don't
go catchin' any feelings.

- It's like that?
- It's like that ten times ten.

Close your eyes.

Come on, close your eyes.

- Yo, don't be lookin'.
- I won't.

- 'Cause you be lookin'.
- When?

- You a looker.
- What?

- Don't be lookin'.
- Okay.

- A'ight?
- Uh-huh.

Damn, girl. You got that booty.

- You ready?
- Mm-hm.

- You sure?
- I'm sure.

A'ight, open your eyes.

They're open.

Did I ever tell you I used
to work at Victoria's Secret?

Yo, this how I used to get 'em.

I used to be like...

"Yo, baby girl, what you need? You
need a racerback? I got you." Bang!

"What you need, gel
linin'? I got you." Bang!

"You want a bombshell? Chill. You
don't need two cup sizes bigger.

- Love yourself."
- What?

You got the cheeky, the cheeky.

Ooh!

I bet you ain't know I knew all that.

How you still live in the
projects if you got, like, 18 jobs?

Why you comin' for me? I'm savin' money.

That's why I got a savings account.

Why are you savin' money? For what?

I'm tryin' to buy you this brownstone
so you ain't gotta rent no more.

It's just you and me.

I love the scent

of your sweet pussy in the morning.

It smells like...

victory.

Robert Duvall uttered
those classic lines

from Francis Ford
Coppola's Apocalypse Now

about eight million
times better than you.

Okay, Sister Roger
Ebert, answer me this.

- Am I your only fuck buddy?
- Why you askin' me that?

You're a sex addict, aren't you?

Wow.

You are on some other light-skinned,
green-eyed, blond-haired,

pretty-boy bullshit today.

Methinks you are a sex addict.

Okay, so if I'm a sex addict,
what does that make you?

I'm Greer Childs.

I'm a grown-ass man.

And I'm a grown-ass
woman. I can't enjoy sex?

If I'm such an addict, why don't
you leave me the hell alone?

Now, you're gettin' defensive.

No, no, no, no, no, I'm
not gettin' defensive.

If I'm an addict, then I
should quit cold turkey, right?

You are numero uno on my list.

Shower?

Fuck you very much.

Shower.

- What are you searching for?
- Again?

Think you'll ever find it,

"it" being whatever it
is you're looking for?

Honestly, I'm just livin' my life,

tryin' to figure out this artist thing,

- goin' with the flow.
- What about me?

This is it, Jamie. This
moment is what it is.

What about my flow?

- What about your other two flows?
- It's complicated.

Yeah, exactly.

You know what? I'm out like Durant.

What?

Well, you know what?

If I was Kevin Durant, I would have
left country-ass Oklahoma City too!

OKC over San Fran-sucka-free City.
Get all the way the fuck outta here!

You know, you and Mars...
still a sore subject to me.

You broke the code, girl.

Well, that wasn't my intention.

That crazy motherfucker
just makes me laugh.

I know. He made me laugh too.

- Past tense.
- What do you want me to do, Clo?

Have you ever thought about
givin' your coochie a rest?

What, my coochie gonna get
up and file for workers' comp?

She ain't gonna get much.

I don't know, doesn't it get confusing,

juggling all of them at the same time?

Like, don't you get 'em... mixed up?

No slip-ups yet.

Greer. He got that...

strong dick down game, right?

Mr. Dick-tator?

You forgot "dickologist."

How's your sugar daddy?

- Um... he's not my sugar daddy.
- Color it in for me.

He takes care of me. Next question.

How's your artwork coming? Pun intended.

It's coming. No pun intended.

I know you live down
the block, but call me.

- Love you.
- Love you more.

- Call me when you get home.
- Thanks, Mom.

Welcome, sweetie.

Sexy! Sexy, what's your name, girl?

Can I help you? God.

Yo! Yo, ma! Yo, ma!

My parents gave me a name,
and it ain't "Yo, ma!"

- Bitch, I'm tryin' to talk to you!
- Get the fuck off of me!

- Chill, girl.
- Get your motherfuckin' hands off of me!

Fuck you, then!

I don't want that stank pussy anyway!

Motherfuckin' black bitch! Fuck! Shit!

You ever heard of Akira Kurosawa?

Well, you should.

Kurosawa is one of the all-time
masters of cinema, Japanese director.

One of my favorite Kurosawa joints

is Rashomon.

That film came out in 1951,

shot in beautiful
black-and-white photography.

It's about a rape, a murder,

and several witnesses who
all saw the same crime,

but from entirely different viewpoints.

Some might say I have a Rashomon effect

on Jamie, Greer, and Mars.

They all view me differently,

but I will not allow them to
paint my life, paint who I am.

I'm dealin' with who I am now,
at this moment in time and space.

And I gotta look within to
feel what makes me happy.

And if Jamie, Greer, and
Mars wanna deal with me,

it's gotta be on my own terms.

No less, no more.

And anyone who can't get
with the program can step.

Go with God.

One, two, or three fingers
cannot block out the sun.

The truth is the truth.

I'm not a freak, I'm not a sex addict,

and I'm damn sure nobody's property.

My name isn't Dime Piece.

My name isn't Boo.

My name isn't Baby Gurl.

My name isn't Pssst Shawty.

My name isn't Mamacita.

My name isn't Sweetie.

My name isn't Ay Yo Ma.

My name isn't Sexy Sexy Sexy.

My name isn't Hoochie Mama.

My name isn't Honey.

My name isn't Sweetheart.

And my name definitely ain't
no "Muthafuckin' Black Bitch."

My name is Nola Darling.

Peace, two fingers.

- Synced and corrected by chamallow -
- www.MY-SUBS.com -