I talk alot about death so I should do it soon... Maybe under the cold breeze of a bluish moon

I had a void, God. Filled with whores & with blunts. I ain't have choice God I was born in the slums

I hold the ratchet unorthodox. Pernell Whittaker, I'm duckin' all sorts of shots

I wanna never have birth and fail as a father. I would never want the illness that killed in my Nana

I'm a warrior, I went into jail for the drama. I'm the story of the terrorist cell of Osama

Luck is when skill meets opportunity.

My whole persona is vodka bottles and marijuana The hope in Nana was rockin', inspired from my Mama