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.

Should we cry when the pope dies, my request we should cry if they cried when we buried Malcom X

strength is overcome by weakness/Joy is overcome by Pain/The night is overcome by Brightness/and Love-it remains the same.

I'm a thug. And my thug comes from... my definition of thug comes from half of the street element. Straight street hustling.

Look at those words, 'role' and 'model.' Both of those are fake words, to play a role and to model, that's fake. I'm real. Being real, I drink, I hang out, I party

They wanna censor me, they ratha see me in a cell, livin' in hell, with only a few of us to live to tell.

Now the baby's in the trash heap balling.