I know, I know. You’re so tired to hear about what I do… ‘Bout what I smoke, what I drink… What I cook for my husband. All the travels I do, all the shit I got for free. It’s just like, it’s all about me! Me, me, me! All the time! I so understand you. But, guess what. Me and my stupid flow, me and my Myspace, with only three tracks a year? And they still talk about me? Damn.