My teammates and I lived a harsh life, our bodies are riddle with bullet holes, have razor keloids and wounds from knives. They’re bad predicament reminders, scars of attempted murder, some tatted over, I left mine in plain view because when I look at them they’re motivation to go harder ...

I’ll give it to ya how ever you want it, how ever you need it like soul 2 soul, I can go hard like the finished process of manufacturing or I can let pain talk from all the murdering, either way I won’t be glamorizing, educating is my goal. See ...

I be in the hood soaking in life to stay on top of my game, I don’t cook or cut but I’m still on top of the game, I travel block to block and still see cardboard murals and candles flickering pain. I could hear the sounds of echoing guns ...

It’s a man’s world. We grew up with dreams embedded in our souls. Us poverty stricken boys dreamt the same, build an empire by any means to end living in shame. We constructed the foundation, hope was erected while we was youngens. It was us… Man. Blood, sweat, tears, if ...

We use to pick the abandoned car with the most windows as a wind breaker in the winter, we would be in there wishing…  We wasn’t wishing for a heater, although that would’ve been nice, we wished one of our house keys could turn on those old ass plymouths, dusters ...