Street life calls my soul into the chaos of lust. Wild life, hazard and random strikes makes my body shiver as the firework lights. Rolling, flowing, smuggling, so many underground leasing which please my feelings. Ain’t no proper and formal thing going to make my crushing spirit thrill. I want stress, pressure, alertness in all my senses. I want fast walking, random bumping, I want big buildings and many hobbos asking for something. I ain’t asking for hard pain but for some wild animals to shake up my brain. Underground dogs, chicken fights and some wild hogs, rap battles, big barrels, respect gaining and brotherhood understanding. All this wild mess is calling my flesh, for the love for the streets is just as the addiction to LSD. But I need no psychotrope to raise the pressure of my blood. No hallucination will take me out of my damn motivation. Insanity I better call this, for it is folly and passion what moves my horizons. I can ingest, and all digest, I might not inject but I drop anything that sends me out of this earth. I am an artist, an underground and city marxist. I revolt and boycott, I change paradigms and many schemes. I have not strict plan nor a single way of flying. I like to alternate, to taste, to change and proliferate. It is all about rolling, rolling in the shadows of the city alleys where the dark but appealing candies call the taste buds of all the addicts. Just like me, addict to some molly, to pleasure and pain, infatuation and playing. I want more, more fun and liquor. I want to live, to feel, to feel the streets in my heels. I don’t want to stop, I don’t expect to be interrupted. I will live in the streets as long as fear stays out of my dreams.