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The first time I stole something I was 12 years old. My Uncle had a bunch of nice stuff in his room. Gold jewelry, expensive shades, etc. I didn’t want any of it, my mind was set on large booklet of cd’s he had always carefully placed under his bed. Everyday he came home he would flip through this book of albums, pick an artist, turn his speakers up and close the door.
When I heard the music bleeding through into the hallway, I was hooked. I heard people rapping in a way I never heard on the radio. I made up my mind to get my hands on that booklet, and it was one the best decisions I ever made. Their stories seemed to play out in full color. I needed to rap about my life, my pain, my experiences like they did. I wanted the capability to make someone feel the way their music made me feel. I blend melodies with lyrics in my songwriting and hope my verses stay with you, and helps you through something. Since I was 12 years old, that’s the only kind of music that has mattered to me.
