 Dang, my conscience is way too overactive. I ain't doing no crimes or legal activities and then like that. It's just that sometimes I feel an old woman sense a guilt for doing even the slightest bad deed. And what's sad is that, what's sad is that I see people all the time. People all the time on the roads, the highways, tossing them cigarette butts outside their cars. Like, how do you do that? How do you do that? I get sympathy guilt. I get guilty just from seeing someone accidentally drop the paper from the plastic straw on the restaurant floor. How do you sleep at night? Well, actually, actually, then again, you smoke cigs, right? You smoke cigs, so I doubt you're very bright. Like, why am I even asking you this question, huh, you fucking moron? It's so bad. Like, I can't even lie to save my life. I couldn't even lie to save other people's lives. Like, if some dude came into a store violently massacred innocent civilians, he comes to me. He comes to me, right? Now tell me, you the last one here? I got to make sure there are no survivors. Last one in the store? Oh, no, sir, no, sir, there are actually three more people hiding in the men's bathroom. You better hurry up. You better hurry up. I think like two of them had iPhones on them. I remember back during the pandemic, you know, back when everyone was isolated and bugging the fuck out, Twitter niggas were in their bullshit, you know, they're the 10th witch hunt of the day, 10th witch hunt of the fucking hour, like, don't y'all niggas have jobs? Don't y'all have, oh, wait, oh, wait, I'm talking about Twitter, plus it's during the pandemic. So that's not just unemployment. That's like, that's like unemployment to the 10th. Now granted, during that time, even I was going insane myself, overreflecting on even the smallest bad things I've ever done in my life, bringing me to the most illogical of conclusions. Oh, no, my friends are going to find out how cringe I used to be. They won't ever want to associate themselves with me anymore. I'm such a terrible person. It takes time, you know, it does. I'll say that it takes time for you to stop being so hard on yourself, holding yourself to a higher standard than others, scrutinizing the smallest faults you've ever made. Very respectable, but I've come to realize that that should only breed self-destruction. It only breeds self-defeatism. At times, it can even make you stagnant. Am I doing the right thing? Is this what I'm supposed to do? Jump, nigga, jump. Nigga, bitch, I'm bro, like, people are going to find out I'm a bad person, though. The worst thing you've done, countless others have done to a higher degree, stolen something, broken somebody's nose, committed arson to a family of four at 3.43 a.m. February the 17th, 2014, because we've all done that, okay? So just relax, bro. Ain't nobody keeping count. Come watch me stream. Yeah, no self-control on my own, alone in niggas to lones when the money go missing, and my wallet and my ribcage, I love love enough to come for no one money go with it.