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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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Then there’s Mount Pleasant Park. Bit of a hidden gem! Grass that tickles your toes, trees that murmur gentle truths. I often stroll there, sometimes on rainy days when the world feels like a faded film reel – “The past is a puzzle,” ya hear? I’d sit on an old bench near a swayin’ lamp post, watch families playing and fightin’ over silly stuff. It warms me up, like family cake at Christmas – not to mention, sometimes gets me riled when there's needless squabblin’.

Witnesses of Stamford Hill shooting sought as woman 'not intended target'