Lot #7 (Balloon Girl Banksy)

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Yo, shorty came outta nowhere - red hoodie, no nav Paper skin, but moved like she knew the math No heels, just Airs scuffed up by fate One balloon floatin’, like she runnin’ late Wolf at the door in a three-piece lie Sniffin’ the air like the truth got high Not coke - nah, bro - that’s market greed Sotheby’s drip got him itchin’ to feed Gold frame on her like a coffin made chic Mouths open wide, paddles click every beat They ain't bidding for soul, they auction the tease Each nod a confession, each glance a disease 🎵 The urge to destroy is also a creative urge 🎵 Hit the gavel once - watch the paper surge 🎵 Through the blades she flew, no scream, no dirge 🎵 Just lust and a frame... and a whisper: “Purge” Man said: “Sold!” - then the wall split clean Shredder teeth ate her like a guillotine Crowd froze - half shocked, half lit “Is that… part of it?” - yo, no one quit Wolf wiped his nose, grinned like sin Said “This piece? It's rare. Let the bidding begin.” Art ain't a painting, it's a flex with a tag And destruction? Just another red flag Golden frame like a trap for grace She ain’t gone - she escaped the place Paper fallin’ like ashes in light And the wolf just laughed: “Yo, that’s tight.” 🎵 The urge to destroy is also a creative urge 🎵 Hit the gavel once - watch the paper surge 🎵 Through the blades she flew, no scream, no dirge 🎵 Just lust and a frame... and a whisper: “Purge” They thought she was lost. But she slipped through the rules. Turned knives into ink. Now her silence schools fools.

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