“You ready? I have gold teeth, I have braids, I’m wearing Rick Owens moon boots, I have rips in my denim, a biker vest, I love artsy girls, my favourite artists are Jimi Hendrix and John Lennon. I’m obsessed with being different.”

Everybody should be able to enjoy their life, because you only live once. So I just want to get it all out there and be the best role model that I can be, if people want to put me in that kind of predicament. I mean, I didn’t ask to be a role model, because I’m not perfect.

New York gave me hell for that ‘Purple Swag,’ man. They didn’t respect me until ‘Peso.’

It would be disrespectful to take my stardom and bully my way into the fashion industry.

I’m a people’s person, believe it or not. I just have a dark side to me, which we all do.

In Harlem, I got all my black friends. But when I go downtown, I got black, white, Asian, Indian friends. There’s no borders, no barriers.

All of the young people – the artsy people, people who get overlooked because they’re weird or they don’t have hype around them – need to get some shine.

Sometimes I feel like what’s hard for fashion designers to do is take looks from off the runway and actually put it into existence, into reality. That’s really the hard part.

Fashion is almost like a religion, for me at least.

We could fight the fuss till we get like friends, Or somebody bite the dust and we split like ends. Even in our wildest moments, girl, I’m on it cause you’re worth it. Practice makes perfect, so we fightin’ for a purpose.

Probably, violent things I’ve done when I was younger, was probably the most despicable thing that I’ve ever done.

I take cabs if I need to get somewhere or I take car service. I don’t drive, I wouldn’t mind riding a bike… People think that because you become an entertainer you gotta have this rock star thug image. I’m an artist, man. I’m going to live like an artist.

Design my own line? No, I just like the culture.

If a chick wants to know who makes my shoes, she’s got to take them off my feet and look inside.

I’m starting to find out that a lot of people that you wouldn’t think listen to me really do.

I wouldn’t mind collaborating with anybody, but I don’t want to design anything, I’m not a fashion designer.

I don’t have any favourite lyrics. Honestly, all of them I love ’em to death – it’s the same with songs. I don’t have just one favourite lyric, I love them all.

Guys are stimulated easily. They are easy to manipulate. All you have to do is wear a sexy outfit.

Your wrinkles either show that you’re nasty, cranky, and senile, or that you’re always smiling.

Whether you’re a man or not comes from your heart, not how much hair you have on your head.

So far I’ve been very, very fortunate because it appears that people like to hear the music I like to play. What more fortunate position can a musician be in?

Sometimes, I must admit, I’d like to have a second guitarist onstage with me, but it wouldn’t look right. I’d like to play for another 20 years, but I don’t know. I just can’t see it happening. I don’t know why. It’s a certain foreboding. A funny feeling. Vultures.

Musclemen grow on trees. They can tense their muscles and look good in a mirror. So what? I’m interested in practical strength that’s going to help me run, jump, twist, punch.

The words that appeared from my Ink where that could describe my love for you.

They looked great, you know the drawings of the guys playing looked great and bits of string around their necks. So it didn’t seem to be that difficult a thing to do, or that inaccessible.