When I'm rhyming it's all in my head... Like the slaves, when they were picking cotton, they would block out their minds. They would sing.

When I'm rhyming it's all in my head... Like the slaves, when they were picking cotton, they would block out their minds. They would sing.

Where are the slaves? Who's picking the cotton?

It beats picking cotton

Slavery had just broke when my grandfather was born, so he came up through it - in the backdoors, picking cotton ... trying to make a living. So he grew up with hatred in his heart toward whites, but he had to make a living off them.

Definitely when I got on the plane to go back to Haiti, it was an emotional thing for me. It definitely touched my heart when I landed. I cried.