My story was planned... All was programmed... Crammed at the core, recording dope jams. I'd hold my Umbilical cord with both hands and flow to my cardiograms... In the calm, I'd go ham, conjure barbaric bars... Ma' could have called me " Conan ". A cold Man in the making, like Jahovah and Satan's souls had a relation... A dope, rapping creation... I won't brag, but won't hold back information. So don't act like I'm up and coming. I'd already crafted four albums in my mother's oven, youngen... Now when I rap I hold my frigging penis and Get flashbacks of when I was only just a fetus. Shit, I was such a vocalistic genious thinking: Jesus, one day the Globe will get to see this, but for now... I'm just gonna sit here... Patiently waiting... / The world ain't ready For me yet... I can tell