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I was born the sixth out of seventh son, twenty second day of the tenth month of the seventh sign in seventy-nine. Daddy wasn’t around, ain’t shed a tear, called him pops cause he popped in bout once every year.

Born in Bushwick Brooklyn and relatively raised in East Harlem, I never really felt connected to any particular part of town because I mostly lived in my head. Considered a rare breed cause I hardly if ever drink and find no need for weed. I remember a girl once told me, “You don’t drink, and you don’t smoke, what type of rapper are you?” Now before you think I’m a Gospel rapper, let it be known that I am flawed and can’t claim to have never indulged in the things prior mentioned in my past. I know it’s cliché to say you don’t write these days but I often don’t. I keep everything in my head. I work off of emotion and tend to rhyme more from my heart than my head and I like to move as creativity hits me and not take the time to sit down write it out.

My music is a reflection of me, maybe more so what’s going on inside of me. I’ve been told I’m much more passionate in song and debate than I am in general. Music, in a way, is like my psychiatrist. I pour out my soul lying on a couch in the shape of a cello to a note with arms and legs holding a legal pad and a pen. I’m passionate, I’m emotional, I’m philosophical, I’m sort of like an intellectual street dude so I guess you could call my musical intellectual street music.
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Lost With Dreams - Lyrics

29 Oct 2009 | from dagif.com/wordpress

I was thinking about dreams the other day. You know how big our dreams are when we’re young? We think so grand. For me, I wanted to be a famous MC traveling the world with mad adoring fans, making millions of dollars…

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