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I’m rantin’—sexual-massage ain’t just freaky, it’s soulful! You ever notice the rhythm? Like a dope track—builds up, drops, chills. I’m obsessed—quirk in my head, “Yo, is this allowed to be THIS good?” Prolly gonna sample it in my next album—beats ‘n rubs, watch me! Ain’t no perfect way to say it—f*ck grammar, it’s raw! “I’m carvin’ my initials on this tension, baby!”—Tarantino style, closin’ the scene! Peace!

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First thing I see? A guy selling homemade pies. I mean, come on! Who can resist a good pie? I grab one, and it’s like heaven in my mouth. But then, outta nowhere, this kid runs past me, knocks my pie right outta my hand! I’m like, “Oi! Watch it, mate!” But he just giggles and runs off. I’m fuming! That pie was my breakfast!

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