What’s up, hommie? It’s raining as fuck this morning. I was driving and pumping Biggie to work. The “Juicy” joint reminds me of the good ole days we hang out together, especially these bars: “I let my tape rock ’til my tape popped / Smokin’ weed in Bambu, sippin’ on Private Stock.“ Yeah man, remember the time when we shared fried chicken dipped in special spicy sauce, which turned out to be Sriracha Chilli, and sipped 40-oz. Private Stock? Damn man, what’s happened to us? We used to be hommie. No, fuck that man, we’re still hommie. If you get this message, hit me up. Call the crib, same number, same hood. It’s all good, baby baby.