"Who the fuck is this? Pagin' me at 5:46 in the morning. Crack of dawnin'. Now I'm yawnin', wipe the cold out my eye. See who's this pagin' me, and why?"

“Peace to Ron G, Brucy B, Kid Capri, Funkmaster Flex, Lovebug Starsky.”

“When I die? Fuck it, I wanna go to hell, 'cause I'm a piece of shit. It ain't hard to fuckin' tell.”

“There's gonna' be a lotta slow singin' and flower bringin' if my burglar alarm starts ringin'.”

“Is Brooklyn in the house? Without a doubt, I'm the rapper with clout everybody yap about.”

“It was all a dream, I used to read Word Up magazine. Salt-n-Peppa, Heavy D up in tha limousine. Hangin' pictures on my wall, every Saturday rap attack, Mr. Magic Marley Marl. I let my tape rock till my tape pop, smoking weed and bamboo, sippin' on Private Stock. Way back, when I had the red-and-black lumberjack, with the hat to match. Remember Rappin' Duke? Duh-ha duh-ha, you never thought that hip hop would take it this far. Now I'm in the limelight 'cause I rhyme tight. Time to get paid, blow up like the World Trade! Born sinner, the opposite of a winner. Remember when I used to eat sardines for dinner.”

“Super Nintendo, Sega Genesis. When I was dead broke, man, I couldn't picture this.”