Lyrics: Fast and Slow

I’m a man o’ simple tastes, not sybaritic
I ran a little race, half a millisecond
Behind the guy who finished in second place
I’m my own worst critic
Need a change o pace to make a mark, see I’m worth diacritics
Steal your heart, feel the spark, deconvert eremitics
I’m where power con-verges-analytic func-tion, I’m like Mao or Kim Jong-Un
Cuz I’m an Asian at the top site, invasion of the spotlight
On occasions when I talk, might ‘ cause a paralytic man to walk right
Tighter than a croc bite, fighter pilot’s height still lower than my stock price
Soft ice ‘ cuz I’m warmin’ the earth
Heatin’ things up from Bergen to Perth

Triple up but often I’m omitted
That’s why my mark is the ellipsis
Started this, don’t know if I’ma finish
Let’s try, I’ve never been a cynic
Off the dome and it’s already vintage
Gosh, can Ozzy (ashkenazi) speak-me like I’m Yiddish
Osbourne (I was born) for fame, Prince of Darkness
Say my name, glimpse catharsis

I’m a man o’ simple words, not often boastful
But my woeful foes couldn’t pass the TOEFL
Scope o’ my tones is surpassin’ global
Horde o’ devotees at my disposal
Chernobyl’s glow is diminished in comparison
Di-rect currents like I’m muhfuckin Edison
Affect the tides, Poseidon’s bein’ arrogant
Navigate the Red Sea better than a plucky Saracen
Air (heir) to greatness like a master on a theremin

Dopamine levels spike when I’m spittin’ raps
So sick make ‘em all hypochondriacs
Think quick, you love it or your money back
Usain Bolt gonna quit when I run the track
Tax and death less certain than plaques on me
Got more class than practicin’ taxonomy
So grand I’m studied in- astronomy
Drop a CD and collapse the world economy

I’m a man who rarely feels any awkwardness
Old school fly like archaeopteryx
Indivisible spirit, ask Democritus
We all know who the carry on the roster is
I’m sweeter than the inside of a Rocket Fizz
And I could fix the UN with a socket wrench
Connect em all up like I’m collagen
Call a genetics guy-a god musta fathered him

I’m a man o many tastes and they’re quite complex
Sophisticated critic up on my doorstep
But soon he must lament (Sunni Muslim-ette), baby Malcom X*
Make him take his title back like Ralph-It-Wreck
I’m not a villain at heart, not an ad exec
This rap’ll never let your thesaurus rest
It’s shinin’ so bright like the aurora’s crest
A-pex of its time, ‘ Tyrannosaurus Rex
Man who saw us next had no choice but to prostrate
Flow’s seminal, I contain it like a prostate
So OP, same letters as a phosphate
Wannabes dressin up as me for their cosplay

*Someone pointed out that this line could be read as a criticism of Malcom X. This was absolutely not the intention -- the only intention I had was the wordplay between "soon he must lament" and Malcom X's conversion to Sunni Islam, along with the "baby" tie-in to the kids' movie referenced in the next line. I consider Malcom X to be one of the greatest civil rights leaders in American history, especially for his transcendent work in the Black Power and Black Arts movements.

On Charity and Me

Part 1: Me (and how great I am)

I consistently donate my money to charity. I used to get uncomfortable talking about this, because our culture has a weird taboo on talking about charity. The taboo is understandable: we want to be sure we're being charitable for the right reasons -- genuine selflessness and compassion, rather than performative self-aggrandizement.

The more I think about it, the more I find this dumb. I only donate because other people broadcasted their own contributions in very public and compelling ways, ways that inspired me personally. This publicity didn't do any harm -- quite the opposite; it actually inspired me to donate, and hence brought about a lot of good in the world.

Furthermore, even if  you donate purely for performative, self-aggrandizing reasons, like you just want to impress other people, it's still (literally) infinitely better than not giving anything at all. The people getting helped won't know the difference.

Part of why I'm writing this is to show how impactful your money is -- tiny amounts truly make an enormous difference. The degree of enormity is difficult to comprehend. Part of it is to show how incredibly easy and effortless it is -- if I can give this much, maybe you can give a little bit, too. (Or maybe you'll be able to give more, which I freely admit will make you superior to me in a very real way). Part of it is so I can get praise from all my peers. So here we go:

I currently make ~$40k/yr after taxes, or around $800/wk. I currently donate $50/wk (6.25%) to charity. I'm realizing I can do a lot more than that, though. As of this post, I will now commit to giving a minimum of 20% ($160/wk as of right now) of my post-tax income every week to the charities I list below (Against Malaria Foundation, GiveDirectly, Evidence Action), with additional monthly contributions to organizations that move me, such as the Clean Air Task Force, NAACP, Amnesty International, and charities impacting my local communities. This is a non-negotiable, lifelong commitment -- for all financial purposes, I'll simply consider my post-tax income to be 20% lower than it actually is, from now till death. And I'll also be dedicating a minimum of 90% of my lifetime earnings to these charities after death, as part of my will.

I expect these commitments to have absolutely zero negative impacts on my day-to-day quality of life, and an enormous number of positive impacts. I'll feel really good about helping people who truly need it. I'll be able to brag to everybody about how I'm a great person who's making a big impact in the world. Furthermore, every time I get the confirmation email for my monthly donations, I'm going to buy myself an extremely delicious meal, as another, even more immediate reward.

I understand I occupy a very privileged position. I know how incredibly annoying it is to hear about people bragging about how much money they're giving away are when you're struggling. If you don't feel comfortable committing to something like I did, that's totally fine. None of this means you're greedy, or selfish, or unkind. But maybe, even though you're struggling, you can give a little bit. Maybe you can only give a single dollar, right now. Or maybe you really, really can't give anything right now, but you can promise yourself you'll give a little bit later, when you're in a better place. I guarantee you it will be extremely effective. Give in such a way that doesn't impinge on your daily existence at all. It's easier than you think. As it turns out, billions of people in the world need a lot of help, and we're really good at helping people. You're free to join the party anytime.

Imagine if you ran into a burning building one day and saved a child from dying in the blaze. You would fondly remember that moment as a moment of great courage and heroism. Other people would rightly praise and feel inspired by you. Well, as it turns out, you can save a child any time you want, at zero risk to you, all for the price of a medium coffee.

 If you disagree with, or have any questions or comments on, anything in this post, message me directly or email me at wunsei@protonmail.com and we'll talk. I've heard tons of reasons people don't want to give to charity, and I've found none of them convincing.

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Part 2: Math (or, how unbelievably effective your money is)

If you live a middle-class life in a developed country, you are capable of doing an enormous amount of good while expending minimal effort. Truly enormous. The ratio of work to reward is so lopsided it's almost impossible to feel it. But let's try. Below are some of the best charities of the world (courtesy of GiveWell, a truly wonderful site doing really important and meaningful work).

1.) Malaria killed an estimated 229 million people in 2019 (source), even though it's a completely preventable and treatable disease. It costs $4.95 to provide a mosquito net that can save an entire family from malaria (source). It costs an estimated $6.59 to protect a child's life from malaria via chemoprevention (source). You can do it right now, here. (I timed myself doing it. It took less than 2 minutes, and I intentionally went slowly.)

2.) 200,000 children die from vitamin deficiencies a year (source). It costs $1 to deliver a vitamin A supplement that has the potential to prevent a child from dying via malnutrition (source). You can do it right now, here.

3.) Hundreds of millions of people suffer from parasitic worm infections that cause an enormous amount of suffering, reduction in income, and quality of life. It costs less than $1 to fully deworm a child, (source) leading to massively diminished suffering throughout their entire life. You can do it right now, here.

4.) Around 65% of people in the world live on $3700/yr, or ~$10/day (source). That means you can pay for someone's entire day for less than the cost of eating out once. Many high-quality studies show these impoverished people use the money to invest in business or agriculture, get housing, or get education, which results in massive improvements to their quality of life. You can give a direct (highly efficient) cash injection to these people right now, here.

5.) As a result of all these ultra-cheap interventions, GiveWell estimates the approximate cost of saving a human life to be $3-5k. That's an incredibly low cost for an incredibly high gain.

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P.S.: It's also weird how I have the instinct to condemn CEOs of extremely successful and efficient charities for making a lot of money. The more I think about it, the more I want those CEOs to be the best-compensated people in the world. Our incentive structures should heavily reward the people who are best at helping others.

Lyrics: Milk and Honey

I got a lot to say and we’re just at the start
So sit down and wait, patience, for a piece of my heart
See I nor’mly don’t do this, my smarts and success
Meant I never had any pent-up rage
I always made rent ok
And felony’s like a pair o’ foreign syllables
More impor’ant for me was makin’ sure my address was billable
For the stuff I bought, cuz I got a lot of products largely for showin’ off
Like boxes o’ nice socks prolly made of fox fur in Darfur
And hors d’oeurves rottin’ in sauces I didn’t cook
Books with embossed glossaries
Prolly -- I never bothered to look,
Took too many things, man, feelin’ claustrophobic in my apartment,
Myopic when I got plush carpets ‘n leather wallets with too many compartments,
Is that the arc of the covenant or the carcass o’ providence?
I’m tarnished, alarmin’ when I’m partin’ with my time in this world like a swine with a pearl

Made that money just to give it back
Milk and honey and a booster pack
Swollen tummy and I’m losin’ track
What did I want to go and do again?
Oh, I’ll eat there, I heard it’s Michelin

I’m livin’ a farcical show largely unnoticed and eas’ly dismissed, like
“You’re happy though aren’t you” as though that’s all it is
I pissed away fortunes on unfortunate whims
Dystopian hymn when Ethiopian wom-en are reminiscin’ ‘bout that time they traded away a day’s wage for a spot of shade
While I’m wond’rin’ whether to upgrade my gym membership,
Made gains but ate bad and let it slip so maybe I won’t quit
And I’ll be copacetic if I throw cash it
More athletic and penitent is better, I know that
But my aesthetic fetish requests Doordash this second
It’s pathetic, what I thought was so fab’s just anaesthetic
Instant gratification doesn’t make me more free
It’s illus’ry, I’m a poor freak, I don’t just buy what I need
Got no reason or creed, it’s pure greed
“Avariciousness” euphemized to “succeed”
The seed of ambitiousness euthanized, a done deed
Capriciously seceded from humankind with all speed

Made that money just to give it back
Milk and honey and a booster pack
Swollen tummy and I’m losin’ track
Coulda made art but I chose to stay
In my room and surf the web all day

I’m enslaved by my own brain
Chained down by my ability to satisfy
Paints dried up cuz I never gratified
The canvas, propaganda’s got me feelin’ calcified
And sep’rate, a soli-tary panda though my birthright’s a gemini
Ran this land up from the veranda, now horrified
To find out it’s runnin’ me
Material demand’s got me right up its sleeve
Cereal brands are septic, even skeptics admit
The sheer colors are bright enough to smite an epileptic on sight
The quest to success is endless and measured in dollar signs and algorithms,
Benign crimes suffice to consign my mind to aneurysms
Surprised to find I’m oblivious and blind to the most obvious shit
Got so used to buyin’, forgot what a library is
Imperious businesses holdin’ me tight in their fist
A grip I might never escape
But hey, at least I ate cake and made rent
I’ll stay si-lent and consent, it makes sense
I never meant it to be this way, and I wouldn't make a diff’rence if I tried, so
Pass me that milkshake, it’s past five, I gotta ride home
To catch the latest episode of that new show

Made that money just to give it back
Milk and honey and a booster pack
Swollen tummy and I’m losin’ track
Made that money just to give it back
Milk and honey and a booster pack
Swollen tummy and I’m losin’ track

On family, friends, and other things

Part of what makes growing up in an abusive home hard is the difficulty of assigning blame. On one hand, my parents (especially my dad) deserve enormous blame for the harm they caused, and I have a small, dark part of me that wants to absolutely shred them for it. This part of me sees itself as a great arbiter of justice. It likes to imagine itself privy to all the necessary context and nuance to perform the solemn duty of eviscerating two failed souls, which it would do in the greatest blog post ever written, with all the flair and grace and subtlety the task demands.

This part of me is dead wrong, and I constantly fight to kill it. Justice is not about evisceration. Justice is compassion, forgiveness, mercy. Justice is stepping back to look at the vast gulf between myself and my parents -- the generational gap, the cultural programming, the historical inequality -- and realizing just how little choice they had. The suffering contained in each of their childhoods would bury mine in a landslide, with a little dirt left over for the laundry. I have enormous admiration for both of their stories, and their quartet of well-adjusted children speaks volumes about the strength of their characters.

But this landslide leaves me at an impasse. Experiencing harm does not justify inflicting it on others. And while I want, desperately, to forgive them for all they've done, I can never bring myself to do it. Even imagining myself doing it dredges up a profound sense of disgust from that same dark part of me I'm constantly trying to kill. I know I should do this thing, but I can't. The result is a confused, deeply ungratifying, festering bitterness.

This situation is made even more frustrating (in the same way getting annoyed by a totally irrelevant thing that really shouldn't bother you makes the situation even more frustrating) when considered in context. I live, by any metric, a fantastic life. Just yesterday, I was reflecting on how I spent every minute of the day doing things drenched to the point of dripping with meaning, every one of which I loved and wouldn't have traded for anything else. These kinds of days are not at all rare for me, and I am painfully aware of just how few people share such privilege.

So here I am, living a phenomenal life. The abuses of my past wither in the light of my present joys. I've won. I've tangibly and obviously transcended every ugly word and angry beating my parents inflicted on me. And yet they fester nonetheless. My default state of being is so good that it's jarring whenever the bitterness creeps in. For the most part, I succeed in quashing it, but I never know when it'll next come calling.

Here's another unfortunate thing that occasionally creeps in unless I resist: Sometimes I feel like I like my friends too much. See, my only family here is my mom and dad. I don't talk to them much. I don't talk to my siblings much, either. As relationships go, my friends are all I really have. And that's a scary thing.*

*One of my worst fears: dying suddenly one day, and my friends finding out only long, long after I'm gone.

Friendships function best when everyone feels equal. I usually feel equal to my friends, but a noticeable exception occurs whenever I hear stories about their wonderful families and strong support systems. It produces a soup of mild jealousy, awkwardness, and inability to relate.

It's just a soup because the main course is what's actually important. See, I actually can't get enough of these stories. I can't get enough of any story where my friends succeed and flourish. They are my favorite stories in the world, in part because they're true. The main course is delicious, but I still have to have sip that soup.

All of this makes me feel silly. There is no shame in loving your friends too much. If anything, I would prefer to love them more. And they really are better then family, because on closer inspection, the human devotion to family is a strange, evolutionary house of cards. Family relationships are totally arbitrary. Whether you get really unlucky and have horrible family members, or get lucky and have the best family in the world, you didn't do anything to deserve either. Why should I care about random people in my life I had no say in? Contrast this with the incredibly empowering ability to choose your friends, and be chosen by them -- not just once, but continuously, in ways that grow and deepen. The relentless agency inherent to friendships makes them so much more fulfilling.

Yet the beauty of family is incredible. When my family traveled back to China after a full ten years of absence, I still remember the vivid expressions of my uncles and aunts and cousins jumping up and down in the airport, waving their hands up, crying from eager anticipation. They'd never even seen some of us before. There were hundreds of people I was connected to by blood who invited us in for tea without a second thought, a community I didn't even know I was a part of even while I was apart from them. It was a sort of unconditional love everyone should have access to.

I often tell people that trip was when I first started to understand what "family" could really mean. I'm still trying to untangle the full meaning.

There's this oft-misinterpreted Bible quote: "Blood is thicker than water". A lot of people think it means family (i.e. blood) relationships should supersede all other relationships; i.e. can't be washed away by water. But the full quote actually has the opposite meaning: "The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb." The promises and bonds -- the blood covenants -- we form with our friends can often supersede our family, water-of-the-womb relations.

I like both readings of the quote. Both can be true. Both family and friendships are incredibly powerful and meaningful for different reasons. And I've had more access to one than the other, and I feel simultaneously blessed and cursed by that.

 

This post was brutally hard to write. For the most part, I don't like telling people about this stuff. I don't like seeing the naked pity writ large on their expressions, nor do I like hearing the hushed, meaningless condolences that quickly follow. I don't see myself as a hero or a victim, so I don't want other people to see me as a hero or a victim, either. I don't want to be praised, and I definitely don't want to be pitied. I want to be judged on who I am now, not what happened to me a long time ago. But after you read something like this, your opinion of its author changes. It's inevitable. I wouldn't write it if it weren't.

So how do I want your opinion to change? I'm going to answer that question in two words: It's complicated.

That answer might initially seem like a cop-out, because you can use it as a valid answer to almost any question while also not actually answering the question. But it's not a cop-out, because I don't mean the answer is complicated. I mean what I wanted to communicate in this post is just how very complicated we all are, how complicated the people who've wronged us are, how complicated the people we love most are. We are, all of us, roiling landslides of happiness and suffering, ceaselessly picking up dirt and leaving other dirt behind as we cascade down the mountain of of time. We only collide with each other in the most ephemeral ways. Let's make the most of them.

Turn

Video

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The world is but a small, dark place

A fleck of motion, a pinprick of light drifting amidst an unbearably vast void

And that makes every grain of sugar all the sweeter

Every breath of laughter all the sweeter

 

Think of the all sailors, lost at sea, adrift in that small, dark place

As they glimpse the pinprick of the lighthouse, that fleck of motion on the unbearably vast horizon

How radiant their smiles, how jubilant their hearts

Think of the newborn, emerging from that small, dark place

As they open their eyes for the first time and glimpse true love

The smallest among us are often sweetest

And to be fleeting is to be precious

 

How precious this pinprick is

All of Earth

All of it sustained by a fraction of a fraction of a ball of light which is itself a fraction of a fraction

Yet nonetheless it holds all this

Home to all we know, and so much more we don’t 

 

See, the world is not some small, dark place

It is vast

Incomprehensibly, yet bearably vast

The horizon itself, that endless expanse of sky, is but a fraction of a fraction of it all

 

Each unturned stone harbors a thousand untold secrets

Each turned stone felt a thousand long-dead loves

And so I want to turn them all

 

And I lied to you before

The earth is not all sustained by sunlight

See, we know of biological communities deep beneath the waves that subsist entirely off of the energy of hydrothermal vents

Laborious chemeosynthesizers

Glorious anaerobic reminders

Of the countless untold wonders that dance at the edges of my periphery

So let me turn my head, and let me turn yours, too

I want to turn them all

So I guess what I want is to turn into the world

See, the world is but a small, dark place

And yet it turns us all

The Essential Weirdness of Stories

An essential weirdness permeates all good stories: the weirdness of purpose. Things in stories happen for reasons; they must, for stories to make sense. Authorial intent and meaning require a basic assumption of cause and effect to be intelligible. Strong narrative structure entails strong beginnings and strong endings; good characters need good motivations; resonant themes shine brightly by definition. Even those stories whose point is ambiguity and dissatisfaction nonetheless have a point.

In these ways, stories are not like life. Life is filled with the random, the meaningless, the unintelligible. Life's complexity resists the sort of throughlines present in even the simplest narratives; life's level of detail eludes any attempt to capture it all. In a fraction of a second, we can have a thought that would take us hundreds of pages to try to describe, and even after all those reams, we'd still feel like we didn't quite explain it right. And (in another way in which life and stories are different) even after all that, we still have no idea what will happen next. So much of life is happenstance, and therefore naturally opposed to formulation. As my friend Kathleen told me, "You can't accidentally write anything. You can't accidentally create."

I often tell people I stopped being Christian because I went to a Chinese Christian camp with a charismatic pastor who delivered all these powerful sermons about life, but I got so much more value out of the non-theologic parts of his sermon that I stopped believing in God. I saw how all the important parts -- loving my family, listening to my parents, taking pride in my heritage, having meaningful conversations, resisting temptation, being still -- were attached to a totally vestigial, evidence-free religious dogma I could easily jettison, and jettison I did. Or so the story goes.

The problem with this story is that it doesn't make any sense. The pastor (whom everyone loved, and who was a truly gifted speaker) structured his entire message around God, the importance of God, and how wonderful God was. Indeed, his whole point was that all that other stuff about loving your family or whatever was totally vestigial, and could be easily jettisoned if love of God wasn't also present. Why didn't I feel the weight of the essential core of his message as much as I felt the other parts? I have no explanation. Furthermore, I know plenty of people -- people in my age group, with similar backgrounds, whom I still know today -- who were heavily impacted by that core message of God, who cite that guy's sermons as a key inspiration for their personal devotion to Jesus and to church, and who will tell my same story with the opposite outcome. Why did our paths diverge so radically?

I want to ascribe the divergence to something intelligible, but I can't. The truth is, there are probably thousands of minute factors -- genetic, environmental, stupid -- I'm not aware of. Maybe my personality meant I never had a chance of committing my life to Christianity from birth, or maybe I'm still a mere breath away from becoming a pastor myself. Maybe the peculiarities of the connections between my neurons caused me to interpret the pastor's mannerisms in a totally different way, or maybe I was too busy chewing an especially tough piece of fingernail to hear a crucial sentence that would've changed everything. There are whole reams of reasons why this massively impactful moment in my life could have broken the other way, and I regularly choose to ignore them. I exclude those details in service of telling a more logical narrative.

The same is true for other stories I tell: how I started liking rap music after listening to it on full blast in my teammate's car (many people, including friends of mine, got turned off of rap music precisely because its listeners blasted it on the street), how I never built a great relationship with my siblings because my dad was yelling at us all the time (there are tons of siblings for whom that sort of abuse is galvanizing rather than isolating), how I love writing because I love reading (some of my best friends are avid readers and readily admit to hating their own writing and avoiding the practice at all costs).

It's a lot easier to explain why something happened if you already know it happened. The stories we tell ourselves about our lives are not our lives; they are carefully manicured things, curated for purpose and plot through the darkly tinted lens of hindsight.

Stories are weird. They reside just beyond the uncanny valley of un-reality, contain just enough truth to deceive us into thinking they are all truth, when even the very best stories are but shadows of our indescribably rich and complex lives. But at the same time, stories are an essential component of the human experience. They are the only tool we can use to extract meaning from a sea of gibbering chaos. They are the best way to share all the roiling complexity bubbling up within us, and in so doing, lighten our individual burdens. And so, even though they churn with all this subtle strangeness and false promise, stories are all we really have.

As I reflect back on 2020, I can’t help but conceive of the year as a collection of stories. And I already know I'm going to assign a lot of meaning and purpose to those stories, and there are going to be logical cause-and-effect relationships and character motivations and (hopefully) bright throughlines in my reflections. I want to frame all those things appropriately. I don’t want to lose sight of the frailty and myopia of my own constrained perspective. And I'm hoping that after reading this, you’ll be able to frame all the stories you tell yourself with all the subtlety and caution they deserve.

 

 

“I have seen something else under the sun: The race is not to the swift or the battle to the strong, nor does food come to the wise or wealth to the brilliant or favor to the learned; but time and chance happen to them all.” -Ecclesiastes 9:11

 Part of the inspiration for this came from this video.

Lyrics: Shaped Like an Ellipse

Video | Audio only

I'm a savant with a soft heart who thinks outta the box, avant-garde, ex-lovers like the Devil cuz they fell hard, so far spinnin’ fast like a pulsar, early on the play that’s a false start, colder than the water found on Mars, re-cover rap like it’s a lost art, my bars catchin’ like a strain of SARS, brain’s changin’ the game with in-flamed pul-monary range, I’m luminary, tearin' it up, so say a prayer or I’ll make ya perish, I win games, got more rings than your eighth marriage, parry garish affairs with savoir-faire on a pair-o’ jet-skis and embarrassed a barracks of American paratroopers when they coul-dn't get me; regal air on the Se-renge-ti like Mufasa, droppin’ heat like the luftwaffe, poppin’ off like the top of a bottle o’ Smir-noff vodka, can not stop this abomination like-Hutus in R-wanda, I'm tearin’ the roof-offa this whole damn-nation, my congregation’s the size of the human race, no exaggeration, I’m losin’ patience, you're losin' face unless you prove your faith, cuz you’re there but for the grace of Wei, I’m makin a declaration: I'm a reckless Asian whose consecrated exhalations em-brace the face of a generation, no confabulation, so fire call me a conflagration

I blot you out son, call me an eclipse
Double focused, shaped like an ellipse
Better hang tight or you just might lose your grip
Yeah you coulda had sex but you’re listenin’ to this

You’re vacuous as clickbait, I won’t acquit, I’m immaculate as shit -- wait. I meant to say they’re infatuated, my numbers cause a spit take, like “what? that must be a mistake!” nope, I got the unborn too, embryos on my flow, still in the womb, ‘m killin’ a dude and catchin’ ‘im jammin to my tunes when I visit his tomb, bringin’ invidious doom to perfidious noobs, I’m ad-vanced and in-sidious, a combination o’ Sith Lord and Nvidia so giddy up before I get rid rid o’ ya like Walter White did with Lydia, Mr. T (mixed her tea) with fake stevia, I pity da fool who doesn’t know my Camp Rocks like Nick Jonas, a bamf talks, calls me a see-change like glaucoma, so glam my glances induce orgasm, my pants got ample room for expansion, what I call a shack to you is a mansion, Shaquille’ll kneel in front of his king, no need to ask ‘im, I’m the essence of fashion and straight cash, impassioned and makin’ a splash-near areas from Cali to Kashmir

Helix in double-time, Francis Crick mode, I got sick flows cuz my lymph nodes went AWOL, don't need no sticks and stones cuz I kick most o'my glib foes from zip codes with a quick dose of my slick prose, bitch hoes’ll emit woes like "this blows", better tiptoe when my grip's closed cuz I slit throats when I spit roasts-real as Pinocchio with a slim nose, whip votes from coast to coast like hypno-sis, know souls to the bone, call me gnosis, bulldoze'm like Nick Bosa in a Ford Focus, in my pro-phase like mitosis, con-tagious like tuberculosis, in-sane, out-rageous like Jim Davis en-caged with Cassius Clay, and I’m so famous my picked name is en-graved in thick frames from South Station to Las Vegas