Drake’s rhyme book could double as a diary. With every album release, the Toronto rap honcho peels back the curtain and gives listeners a peek at the tangles in his personal life—humblebrags about being rich and famous, vents about family and friend fallouts, DMs to exes. Very little is off limits.

Genius sifted through every song in Drake’s catalog, from pre-Room For Improvement bars to his latest project, VIEWS, to piece together the 6ix God’s life story in his own words. You can thank us later, but for now, be sure to click each highlighted line for the source of every Drake quote.

PROLOGUE: SAY WHAT’S REAL

Never thought I’d be talking from this perspective: the one that they picked to write a chapter in history. The greatest my country’s ever seen. The Boy. I can tell you how it happened. I’m not that good with words, but I’ma try my best.

Take a look at yourself, the mirror’s revealing. I’ve always been me, I know myself. My name is Drizzy, Aubrey Graham. I built it up from nothing; you would think I’m playing Tetris. Ask me what I care about: Rap and bitches, bitches and rappin'. Family, money, and music is all I ever knew.

Stories ‘bout my life hit the net like a bad serve. I ain’t got nothin’ to hide. This here is on some truthful shit: I worked at Jaydees Connections sellin' Girbaud jeans, I celebrate Hanukkah, dated Rihannakah, I’ve been approached to sign to Roc-A-Fella twice—then I turned into Jay. I even fucked the girl that used to babysit. (Is that too much information?) I ain’t lyin' in my verses, I’m just telling you the basics. You should print the lyrics out and have a fuckin' read-along.

How much time is this nigga spendin' on the intro? Time to revisit the past. I need a FuelBand just to see how long the run has been. All I know, if I die, I’m a mothafuckin' legend.

CHAPTER I: KEEP THE FAMILY CLOSE (1986-2001)

I was born to make bomb music. I flow tight like I was born Jewish. Well, actually, I was born Jewish. Black and Jewish. I touched down in ‘86, the son of Dennis James. That nigga Memphis for real. Dad named me Drake — yeah, got some game from my dad. My mother was a florist from Canada. That’s how she met my pops.

I saw my parents split up right after the wedding. My father was kind of fed up. He got back into doing what he was doing before us: the dope game. I was only 5. I bet I barely reacted. Knew I was the man by the age of 6. Alone at home with my mom and grandma. Toronto—Weston Road, Scarlett Road. Sure, this ain’t Compton, but this ain’t a fairytale land neither. Say I never struggled, wasn’t hungry, yeah, I doubt it. I moved. Forest Hill-estated, living at my momma’s house.

Picture when I was in school: Me being the closest thing to black, rest of the kids were sheltered. I never liked to fight, but when someone called me a “nigga” I’d punch ’em—I couldn’t help it.

I was birthed up top but was raised at the bottom of the map, where the girls all thick and the hottest niggas rap. Memphis—the reason that my rhyming and my speech slow. My dad used to tell me he was comin' to the house to get me. He let me shoot a gun one summer—out there everyone does. He made me listen to his music—old music, soul music—shit that can only be created if you go through it.

Hundred cousins out in Memphis, they so country, wow. Shoutout to Ashley, Tasha, Bianca, Julia, Ericka. My cousins, they paint they slabs and pop pistols to get respect. I used to get teased for being black, and now I’m here and I’m not black enough, ’cause I’m not acting tough or making stories up ‘bout where I’m actually from.

You lucky if your father was a figure, ’cause my uncle was my father and my father was my nigga. End up doing time in jail; we was talking through the window like a motherfucking drive-thru. At least I been to a prison, at least I know what it’s like. I used to rap on the phone with one of his friends doing life.

Momma is a saint, yes, she raised me real good. The 6 raised me right. They think I had the silver spoon, but they’ll get it soon. Money is an issue—look how we living. Couldn’t buy pizza ’cause we were down to pennies. My mom, she’s too sick. I'mma support her. Man, I had to grow up.

CHAPTER II: THE RIDE (2001-2006)

I used to act, man. Degrassi—I could audition and be part of the cast. Guess what? I made it! My mother so proud. I was Jimmy. Used to take the Acura 5 a.m. then go and shoot Degrassi up on Morningside.

I wish y'all could’ve seen me back in high school: backpack, grey Range, black Ac'. I had a yellow TechnoMarine. Fresh J’s, new pants. I felt out of place at a school dance. I was on TV makin' 50 racks a year. Four years later, quarter million off of TV. After helpin' mama out the shit would disappear.

I quit school, and it’s not because I’m lazy. I’m just not the social type, and campus life is crazy. Grade 10 dropout, six credits left. I guess we’ll never know what Harvard gets us. But seeing my family have it all took the place of that desire for diplomas on the wall. My classmates, they went on to be chartered accountants or work with their parents. But thinkin' back on how they treated me, my high school reunion might be worth an appearance. Make everybody have to go through security clearance.

I was payin' mama’s rent when was I turning 17. All up on TV, I thought it’d make me richer. Wasn’t payin' me enough. I needed somethin' quicker. Now I’m all in Niko’s basement puttin' work in on the phones. Either that or drive to Money Mart to make the pickups. Take my mother’s debit cards—maintain an image and ride around in overpriced rental cars that ain’t tinted. I had to leave that shit alone, man.

I had no money left from actin'. I was focused on the music. All I gotta do is put my mind to this shit.

CHAPTER III: 0 TO 100 (2006-2010)

They like, “Damn, who’s Drake? Where’s wheelchair Jimmy at?” I done got some contacts and threw the glasses away, took it from curls to waves. I’ve been Urkel for some years. It’s better being Jaleel. My actin’ days are over.

I been singing and rapping, make a killin' in both. I got a vision, not to mention having bars like a motherfucking prison. From meetin' Trey in Atlanta to doin' a cameo in his video. Since Jay and Kellz ain’t doing the thing no more, guess me and the boy Songz is the replacement.

Hollerin' at labels, and they silencing you back, ’cause you fail to thoroughly discuss some violence in your track. Let’s drop a tape on these niggas then we’ll see what’s up. Room For Improvement.

Are you listening? Is anybody listening?

In 2007, I sat in the lobby of Motown and waited. Got back from another label meeting, and I ain’t what they looking for. I ain’t really Atlanta, I ain’t really Brooklyn; I don’t fit the appeal for them shows that they could book him for. How could you pass up on ‘em? They want you to be like somebody else and you just want to be yourself. And you do it and get the feeling it’s wrong.

Had hit records on my demo—did y'all boys not get the memo? With or without a label, man, I’m committed to poppin'. Comeback Season in the works, and now I’m thinkin' bigger: records with Dwele and L.B. and Elzhi. Spending nights in studio try to be Hova. My engineer is the best in the game; his name 40. I’m perfecting my craft—trying to make some cheese off a single is a process. Get it? Kraft, single, cheese, process…

I was up in Hot Beats in Atlanta fetching niggas drinks, but I never got to rap. Wayne came and got me out of the back room where I was rapping with Jas over beats that I shouldn’t have. He walked right past in the hallway. Three months later, I’m his artist. He probably wouldn’t remember that story, but that shit stick with me. Always couldn’t believe when he called. Conversation wasn’t that long. Gets me a flight to Houston in the morning. Oh it’s my time. Yeah, it’s on. He’s thinking of signing me. I’m about to change the fuckin' game, pass the remote.

I’ve been chilling in the city where the money’s thrown high and the girls get down. In case you’re starting to wonder why my shit’s sounding so H-Town. I got 40 in the studio, every night, late night. I’m sittin' in a chair, but in the future it’s a throne. We make a mixtape with 17 songs and almost get a Grammy. I’m feeling like 50 back in ’02. Everybody saying I’m the man, so true.

Labels want my name beside a X like Malcolm. We signed a deal, Young Money forever. I was told once, things will change by a nigga named Tip when my deal came. Nothing was the same, dog. Maybe it was the fast-paced switch up or the two guns in my face during the stick up. A girl I thought I trusted was who set the whole shit up. Shit could’ve gone south for me.

Twenty-three and going through a midlife crisis. I Derrick Rose the knee up. Gone for surgery, but now I’m back again. Working all night, telethon shit. When my album drop, bitches’ll buy it for the picture. Niggas’ll buy it too and claim they got it for they sister. I put up big numbers for a new recruit. Thank Me Later, man, a million copies shipped and gone. Ain’t heard my album? Who you sleepin' on? Someone tell Maliah I’m on fire.

CHAPTER IV: SUCCESSFUL (2010-2013)

I thought I found the girl of my dreams at a strip club—fuck it, I was wrong. It’s hard to find a woman when you talented and black. The good ones go if you wait too long. And now I’m living a mothafucking fairytale. My biggest fear is losing it all.

Having a hard time adjusting to fame. Security follow me everywhere so I never actually am alone, I just always feel alone. My uncle agreed that my privacy about the only thing I need back.

The industry small, we all lust for the same women. I love Nicki Minaj; I admit it. I’m quick to take a R&B diva out. I’m always back with “you know who": One of my baddest women ever, Rihanna. My first reaction was “Damn girl, how did I swing you?” Now all of a sudden these gossip blogs want to cover me. Everyone said we look good on paper. How beautiful our kids would be, I don’t need convincing. I kept thinking this could be something. Maybe it’s nothing at all. I guess it’s what we make it.

Seem like everybody calling ’cause they want me on their song. Debates growin' ‘bout who they think is the best. Idols become rivals—you make friends with Mike but got to A.I. him for your survival. I’m just feeling like the throne is for the taking. They threatened by my presence ’cause I make them feel old. Understand—I’m not doing it the same; I’m doing it better. I’m the reason you can find my city on an atlas page.

Things are just surreal at home. People think I’ve changed just ’cause my appeal has grown. I’m the same yellow boy. Let’s toast to the fact that I’ve moved out my mama’s basement. Got my mother in a place with some better decor. Me and my old man getting back to basics, talking ‘bout the future and time that we wasted. When he put that bottle down, that nigga’s amazing.

All of my closest friends out partying; I’m making the music that they party to. Second album, I’m back paving the way. Dropped Take Care, sold 680 in my first. Most No. 1s ever, how long did it really take me? I got like 21. Put the world on the Weeknd. I got me a Grammy—never threw away that paper with my speech, because I haven’t hit the pinnacles I plan to reach.

Remember one night I got bad press during the summer over allegations with Chris Breezy: I’m in the club, got a bottle of Champagne and I sent it over. Fight break out—police asking questions, we don’t know shit! So much legal action like I’m Michael Jackson. I laugh it off, man. LOLOL.

I made Forbes list. I don’t even know how much I really made. I forgot. It’s a lot. Them OVO boys, the business man. PND, Majid Jordan, OB—not to mention me. Twenty-six on my third GQ cover. I’m with that girl that’s in the US Open, a girl that’s making triple what I’m making. Tennis matches at the crib—I swear I could beat Serena when she playin' with her left. I dated women from my favorite movies. I’m on some Marvin Gaye shit: a bunch of distant lovers. I cannot see heaven being much better than this.

How the game turn into the Drake show? Every song sound like Drake featuring Drake. A lot of niggas came up off of a style that I made up. I’d never copy nor bit like Eddie, man. Did you get it? Eddie Murphy was in Norbit.

Jealousy in the air, I could tell. I got a price on my head, but there’s a risk to collect it.

CHAPTER V: JUNGLE (2013-2016)

Rappers will friend you at first, but really they two-faced. They tryna take the wave from a nigga. They gon' say your name on them airwaves, hit you up right after like it’s only rap. You can’t “control” it.

Fuck any nigga talking that shit just to get a reaction. If a nigga say my name, he the hot shit. But if I say the nigga name, he still the hot shit. It’s funny how they dangling the bait but I’m the one killing niggas on the hooks. I don’t feed into the gossip. I got money trees, and I’m never ever scared to get some blood on my leaves. I can give a fuck ‘bout no hater long as my bitches love me.

I got my head in the clouds on my album cover. Nothing Was The Same, this album is a labor of love. Money counter go brrrr when sellin' out the Garden. Doing them live shows shirtless, that’s why I started to personal train. If I ain’t the greatest then I’m headed for it.

Raptors pay my bills. Shoutout to Nike, checks all over me. Jumpman, Jumpman, Jumpman. Now I got a bigger pool than ’Ye, pool parties like Mardi Gras. My house is the definition of alcohol and weed addiction. Got me a deal with Apple. I’m trying to turn M’s to B’s in this bitch. I might get a key to the city and give it to Wayne.

Should I hold back on addressing the lame? Meek becoming obsessed with my name, wanted me dead but couldn’t pull it together. Fuck bein' on some chill shit, fuck being all buddy buddy with the opposition. Not even talkin' to Nicki. I let the diss record drop. Then I hit ’em with “Hotline”—whoa, watch me dance. I cannot give ‘em no empathy. At this point I’m just poking a body with a stick.

For y'all that think that I don’t write enough, the pen is working. I might take Quentin to Follies—I could use a writer just to balance out my flows. But I never share my thoughts, this is all a nigga knows. I’m honored that you think this is staged. Don’t listen to the lies. They cannot fuck with my legacy.

Me and Future could probably start a group. On some K-Ci and JoJo shit, have these bitches loose. Metro Boomin on production. Wow. The tag team back, bitch, boom shakalaka. What A Time To Be Alive. MVP, ’09 all the way to ’16. I took a break from VIEWS, now it’s back to that.

CHAPTER VI: STILL HERE (2016-)

Life is moving fast: Where the fuck do all these minutes go? Some nights I wish I could go back—not to change shit, just to feel a couple things twice. Wonder how long they’ll check for me. Prolly forever if I stay in my zone. I don’t plan on stopping at all.

How did I finesse all this shit from Jane and Weston? The only thing I did to end up here was put the work in. VIEWS already a classic. I’m goin' gold in no time, plat.

Boys in the new Toronto want to be me, the replacement. Talk of the corner store is that I’m TBE—the best ever. The most successful rapper 35 and under. That’s when I plan to retire, man, it’s already funded. I'ma have B’s when I’m 70.

Look what I’ve done in my life. I made a career of reminiscin'. Time got a funny way of tickin', things are so much different. Who am I gonna be when it’s all over? When the lights don’t glow the same way that they used to. When it boils down, I’m just a T.O. nigga.

Psychic told me I'ma have three kids—I don’t wanna think about that. I just want a woman that looks 30 when she’s 81. A woman with a future and a past, who got just the right amount of loyalty. A girl from the country who gon' love me, trust me, someone to fuck me. Someone to make me feel lucky.

Who’s gonna save me when I need saving?