I’m back—everyone’s back.


I remembered.
I’m not the house cleaner at home, so I don’t need to do triple the chores.
I’m not the New Year’s year-pig either, doomed to be slaughtered.
I’m not the field’s lettuce—if someone wants to cut me, then they can’t.
No more pretending—I’m laying it all out.
I’m the Wolf of Wall Street, I’m the king of domestic-made, I’m the messenger of light, I’m the heir of chips, I’m the godfather of memory.
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