New day, new, you wake your way, only straws clotted to Monday to fuckin' gratitude.

Be mine, listen to May I elaborate, daily wisdom from me, J.B. Smooth.

You know something, we're living a world of suggestions.

We don't know all the time.

Limits and guidelines, and I'm not mad at that.

Now most of them exist and keep my ass asleep.

That speed limit on the highway exists because not everyone is qualified to drive over 100 miles per hour.

And not everybody car can do 100 miles of goddamn hour.

And the weight limit on a damn elevator is there for a reason.

And a damn city like New York where there's a bunch of old-ass buildings, it just goes to figure.

That old-ass building has an old-ass elevator.

Unless it's a walk-up, I love me on goddamn walk-up miles.

I mean, man, I used to live in a five-story walk-up.

You know why they refer to it as a five-story walk-up miles?

No.

Because your ass will have a lot of damn stories to tell about walking up them goddamn five floors.

And they say, ooh, miles.

At the time, I fucking parked my car three-bots away.

I parked my car three-bots away, got in my building, walked up them damn five stories, got to my doing realized.

I left my damn apartment keys in the damn car miles.

So now I walk back down to my goddamn car, looked through the window, and saw my apartment keys sitting on the fucking seat miles.

Right next to the goddamn car keys, miles.

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