Give me a paper and pen, so I can write about my life of sin. A couple of bottles of gin, in case I don't get in.

I ain't calling me God. I'm just doing my part on where I think hip hop should go. I think hip hop should be about more money, crazier sounds, different beats.

Did you hear about the rose that grew from a crack in the concrete? Proving nature's laws wrong, it learned to walk without having feet. Funny, it seems to by keeping it's dreams; it learned to breathe fresh air. Long live the rose that grew from concrete when no one else even cared.

When an angel comes down and takes me away, memories of me and my songs will always stay until the end of time

If you don't know me, don't judge me.

Only God can judge me.

The third always speaks the unspeakable words.