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He pulls out his laptop. His wallpaper is a picture of himself riding a bike. He starts listening to his own music, and says—I swear to fucking God I am not making this up—’I wonder if I could invent my own language.’ There are six of us in the car besides Flocka. No one responds.How To Not Violate Man Code: My Day With Waka Flocka Flame, by Drew Millard « VICE
