“To measure you by your smallest deed is to reckon the power of ocean by the frailty of its foam.”

I should’ve been making jungle beats. These are perfect for my brain.

Wallabee Clarks, young cold hustlers, obviously sharp.

I remember crying myself to sleep because I really thought Stone Cold was gone.

Smacked the sheen off that nigga noodle.

In my jam.

The fuck you stealing boxes for? What you trying to build, a clubhouse?

They called it luck, so I had to run and do it again.

Play ball.