Birthday “Blessings” are upon Chance the Rapper. Although he’s just turning 24, the Chicago MC has already lived quite a life. In honor of his born day, Genius looks back at his entire discography, combing through mixtapes, loosies and guest appearances— yes, even the tracks he released in high school—to piece together his life story, told only through his lyrics. From his 79th Street days watching “Rugrats” to having his first child, from his days being suspended to his philanthropic work, if he’s rapped about it, it’s here. This is the life of Chancelor Johnathan Bennett (in lyrics).

Prologue: Good Ass Intro

What’s good, people? This ain’t no intro, this the entree. Introducin' Chance Bennett, a peculiar name. It’s that nigga Chano, a.k.a. Mr. Bennett, Chance the Ruthless, or Chancelor The Rapper. Lookin' back on my life, flipping through the picture books, checking through my archives. You ain’t been where I been. You sure ain’t seen what I seen. I could write a fucking book.

Wanna know how I used to was? I wrote this for you today. Go ‘head and kick back. I'ma tell you what you need to know. I'ma tell you what you need to hear. I’m just a soul that borrowed the bod. I have no quarrel with God. I am not royalty or giant, just a boy with a rock. Sit back and enjoy. Look at lil’ Chano from 79th.

Chapter 1: Nostalgia (1993-2003)

I’m only beginning. Behold magnificence: brown-skinned, young black boy. I was baptized real early. From the Chi, and ‘round my hometown, memories are fresh. Mr. Windy City, since Kanye was a three-old, down the street from where D. Rose was practicing his free-throws. From diapers to outfits, to castles to Elmos, from Santas to grandma’s, to Gameboys. My village raised 'em a child. I been this way since Arthur was anteater.

Wondrous unfamiliar lessons from childhood make you remember how to smile good. Remember the old days, the ones you’ll never get back? Y’all remember ‘bout the time I cracked my head open at auntie Linda’s House? Let’s take it back to Indian burns and Jiminy Crickets, to the smell of Pillsbury on biscuit mornings, to puffy winter coats and Christmas mornings. Used to like orange cassette tapes with Timmy, Tommy, and Chuckie, and Chuck E. Cheese’s pizzas.

Back in my day, I had a childhood. I used to chill with the kids next door. SpongeBob came around ‘bout four, and then I’d hang with Bart’s guys. Around the bend was Smart Guy. Little nigga, real big agenda. Told my momma in third grade I’d be in the third Barbershop. Rocked your world, fourth grade talent show. Jada and Justin’s birthday magic show. At the end of parties, passing around gift bags. Memories keep coming back.

Hey dad, I remember what you told me. “Little Chancellor, pull your pants up. Stick and move son, keep your hands up. Somebody puts you down? Better stand up.” I was raised to be a soldier and it’s because of the help from my dad. I used to hate him for the welts on my back. But he taught me to stand on my own two and he taught me to look in the eyes of every grown man, not as if you owe him but as if you own him. Daddy said I’m so determined. Told me these goofies can’t hurt me. And dad was working late, he treat the crib like it’s a timeshare. Let me ask for minutes from dad for those campaign hours. I know at home I had some problems. I’m sorry, my bad. Still, thanks Pops for everything I have and what I ain’t got ‘cause I got what I got from watching you.

This is for my momma Jan who spoiled me, made me apple pies, lullabies and alibis. But I never did behave a lot. Never got good grades a lot and turned your hairs to grays a lot, and go in stores and take a lot. Momma at the hair salon, doing perms out the armchair. I love you mommy but I used to talk way too much. I was talking back and now I gotta stay at grandma’s crib. My grandma! I am the thesis of her prayers. Her nieces and her nephews are just pieces of the layers. Only ones she love as much as me is Jesus Christ and Taylor.

Chapter 2: The Wonder Years (2003-2009)

You meet anyone from my city, they gon' say that we cousins. Wide eyed kids being kids. Socks on concrete, Jolly Rancher kids. We used to roll at the Rink. Bunch of tank top, nappy headed, bike-stealing Chatham boys. None of my niggas ain’t had no dad. None of my niggas ain’t have no choice: JJ, Mikey, Lil Derek and them. Day camp at Grand Crossing. First day, niggas shooting. Summer school get to losing students, but the CPD getting new recruitment.

Round here, we lose best friends like every week. Come through the crib and it’s bustin'. They murder kids. I like to think we playin' a long game of hide and go seek. Why you think they don’t talk about it? They deserted us here. Where the fuck is Matt Lauer at? Somebody get Katie Couric in here. Probably scared of all the refugees, look like we had a fuckin' hurricane here. Everybody dies in the summer. My big homie died young; just turned older than him. I seen it happen. I see it always. He still be screaming, I see his demons in empty hallways. And one day maybe I’ma find Terrance and I could lead them kids of the Kingdom, singing about freedom.

Brown boys are dying. And all of em' love they mommas, and all of they mommas miss ‘em. And this shit is just stupid, this shit is fucking senseless. Some of us is seeing summer, some of us have passed. Some of us ain’t seeing summer, some of us have passed. And heaven’s gates look a lot like prison from the Ave. We on the ground yelling, “Give my nigga back!” It’s too many young angels on the Southside. Got us scared to let our grand mommas outside.

I ain’t really always been a good guy. I used to be thirsty, thievin', runnin through purses, even persons, leave ‘em hurtin', bleedin. I ain’t really help the helpless. I used to be worse than worthless. I used to tell hoes I was dark light or off white, but I’d fight if a nigga said that I talk white. And both my parents was black, but they saw it fit that I talk right.

Chapter 3: Cross Roads (2008-2012)

I used to dance in high school but I’m a writer, probably as good as Elton John. My hands is questioning if I’m Bach or not. If I’m 2Pac or nonexistent to these juggernauts. A little bit of Wu-Tang, mixed with some Henry David Thoreau. A little ponder theory you can ponder on your pillow. Yo Vic, remember when they called us some freshmen niggas rapping? Savemoney! We was all outcasts, only listened to Goodie Mob. ‘Member sittin’ in class the first time listening to Dilla. Head stayed in the clouds like a lost kite.

I used to pass out music. When me and Justin were in our sophomore year of high school, we were approached with a proposition from one of the friends of Jay Brown, who’s a huge producer at Roc-a-Fella and me and Justin were completely excited, got together all of our music, sent it into him and, so excited, he listened to the first two tracks and said we, Instrumentality, weren’t good enough. It stings when you have in your head the idea, the thought that you’re inferior, that your music or whatever you put your heart into is not good enough.

And I’m scared to God that all my friends at shows won’t show up. They arms is fold up, like “Tell me what’s the hold up? When the fuck you gonna show us, how the fuck you supposed to blow up?” And everything I give them, Niggas just want the opposite. Bitch obviously I can spit! I can pitch up an octave and spark a hip-hop apocalypse!

I still miss being a senior and performing at all those open mic events. Eyes closed seeing arenas. I’m still Mr. YouMedia. Still with the Save Money militia. But I was acting a fool. I got suspended for chiefin' a hunnid blunts. I was off campus, but the officer told the office that he saw me from the parking lot. That racket over the net: “Oooh, you got suspended! Oooh, you not gon' finish!” Ten damn days. That’s an awful lot. Thought that 10 Day shit would blow up! But it’s all good, I’m off that. Fuck this whole school and everything you tahm ‘bout. Still, this prom shit feel like the Grammys, yo.

Graduation night, teachers Ferris Bueller’d my name. “You made a mixtape? Good job, I hope you get a good job.” No tassel in the spring. They sent my ass to summer school. But after summer, I’m alumni. Jones my alma mater. But I’m so tired of this school shit. So tired of this bullshit. And yeah, my momma got real worried. Lil' college dropout, blame it on Ye'. I ain’t goin' to hell or to Hillman, but now I call the shots.

Chapter 4: Blessings (2013-2015)

I put the indie in Windy City. I spent a pretty penny on microphones, mini-midis, in-ears and CDs. I got hella dreams, hella dreams to speak, but who would think the raps would turn into racks? Chance, acid rapper. Acid head, cruising on that LSD. Did a ton of drugs and did better than all my alma mater. Here’s a tab of acid for your ear: Acid Rap for you smooth jazz niggas.

But last year, got addicted, got caught up with a little Xan. Started forgetting my name and started missing my chance. Acid made me crazy. Them squares just made me looser and that wax just made me lazy. Can’t stop me but it slow me though, and I done seen how the Xan did my main man. Just in case you didn’t know, you can’t keep on doin' Xans. That shit’s bad for you. I had to just go tell my fans.

Shouts out that nigga Nico. Hanging out with Social Experiment, I made “Sunday Candy.” I’m never going to hell. It seems like blessings keep falling in my lap. This for the kids of the king of all kings. This is the holiest thing. I am a new man, I am sanctified. I am holy, I have been baptized. I have been born again, I am the White Light. Perfect like Surf is, deeper than surface.

Found warmth in a Black queen for when I get cold. I got the baddest chick on the planet. She stand about six feet. She used to hoop at ‘Lane. I fell deep. I sit with her and watch Black Ink and Being Mary. But never Love & Hip Hop, that shit get kinda scary. She complain about the baby weight but I ain’t panicked. I rub her feet, I put in work like I was Robyn Fenty. Tryna turn my baby mama to my fiancée. Me and my girl plan to stay to the end. Hope there never come a day where we be better as friends. She like music, she from Houston like Auntie Yoncé. We in a marathon we could build a marriage on. The only chick that I hold as much is probably Kensli. My daughter Kensli. I cry when she smile with her eyes closed. I’m already afraid of tight clothes. I want all her best friends to be white folks. I’m buyin’ groceries and toys and baby toilet seats. Like Nat King, I’m doing the dad thing.

Chapter 5: What’s Next (2016)

Kanye’s best prodigy. He ain’t signed me but he proud of me. He said, “Let’s do a good ass job with Chance 3. I hear you gotta sell it to snatch the Grammy. Let’s make it so free and the bars so hard, that there ain’t one gosh darn part you can’t tweet.” Hit that intro with Kanye and sound like André. You could not mess with the “Beam.” I wonder what the internet gonna say when “SNL” end with the Indie, right next to Yeezy like Mike Myers.

I’m a free agent, go and do the math. I say God my only boss. Got the labels scared. A&R’s be like “Chano, you ain’t playin fair.” I’ve been getting blocked just trying to make songs with friends. Labels told me to my face that they own my friends. You talk that talk that make a lame ass nigga fall in love. Not me, though, bitch. You can keep those. Gettin' rights to the shit that I write down and my shooters come for free, so if one more label try to stop me, it’s gon' be some dreadhead niggas in ya lobby.

Then the third tape slide down the chimney. Is that a mixtape? Is that an album? Shut up. I’m not in the industry, not in the service, not into retail. I don’t pray for chart singles. I ain’t looking forward to a magazine or a cover of Forbes. I still pass out music. I even had Steve giving out apples for free. I’m better than I was the last time. I’m the only nigga still care about mixtapes. I ain’t felt like this since the third Drought, third Carter drop.

Kirsten, I’m always out on the road. We don’t got no time for no sex. I just put milk in the bowl. She don’t be cooking at all. She just put weed in the bowl. She wake up at crack of dawn. She don’t be cracking a smile. She used to laugh at my jokes, pat my back when I choke. Wish we were stuck in our ways. We way too young to get old. Arguments as parents digging deeper than a baritone. Man, my daughter couldn’t have a better mother. If she ever find another, he better love her.

The people’s champ must be everything the people can’t be. I got my city doing front flips. When every father, mayor, rapper jump ship. I guess that’s why they call it where I stay. Clean up the streets, so my daughter can have somewhere to play. I got some ideas that you gotta see. I’m in love with my city. Shout out to North Ave and Oak Street and Tinley park and Tuley park and also Morgan Park. Chicago paints a picture that is more than art. I just might run for Alderman. I might start a non-for-profit. For future hoopers dead from Rugers, shooting through the empty alley. Could’ve threw him an alley-oop, helping him do good in school. I made it through. Chano’s so involved.

And, oooh, I just might share my next one with Keef. Got the industry in disbelief, they be asking for beef. If I drop it they gonna cop it. I ain’t scared of the booth. All you can do is spit a verse of the truth. I can never be Pac. I can never be Big. I can never be Jay. I can never be Jigg. I can never be Vic. And I still get jealous of Vic. And Vic’s still jealous of me. But I can only be Chano. Fans all in the stands, they hands for Mr. Bennett. I made it.

Epilogue: Everything’s Good (Good Ass Outro)

Man I swear my life is perfect. Thinkin' back on my rap shit. That poetry? You know it’s me. That’s just Chance rappin' raps, these catchy anecdotes, analyzing adolescent adaptation of good mannerisms. I never forged it or forfeited. Death to all of yesterday and viva la tomorrow, G.

Lot of niggas wanna go out with a bang, but I ain’t tryna go out at all. When I meet my maker, he gon' make sure that we chillin' and everything’s good. Please put ya lighter’s up ‘til life is up and light it up. Life’s whatever you make it, just thank God that we made it. Look what we’ve accomplished. Mr. Bennett, you done did it. You did a good ass job. I hope you love all of my shit. I’m a genius. Forever love, Chance.

Lead Image Photo by Kevork Djansezian / Getty Images.*

This Life Story Was Created Entirely Using Lyrics From The Following Songs:

Coloring Book

“All We Got”

“No Problem”

“Summer Friends”

“Blessings”

“Same Drugs”

“Mixtape”

“Angels”

“Juke Jam”

“How Great”

“Smoke Break”

“Finish Line / Drown”

“Blessings (Reprise)”

Surf

“Sunday Candy”

“Sunday Candy (Saturday Night Live Version)”

Acid Rap

“Good Ass Intro”

“Pusha Man/Paranoia”

“Cocoa Butter Kisses”

“Juice”

“Everybody’s Something”

“Favorite Song”

“NaNa”

“Smoke Again”

“Acid Rain”

“Chain Smoker”

“Everything’s Good (Good Ass Outro)”

10 Day

“14,400 Minutes”

“Nostalgia”

“Windows”

“Missing You”

“Brain Cells”

“Long Time”

“22 Offs”

“Long Time Part 2”

“Prom Night”

“Hey Ma

”YOLO (DJ Allstyle Shout)"

Instrumentality

“Dear Chicago Summer”

“Nostalgia”

Good Enough

“Good Enough”

“NvrSayNvr”

“Semi Detached”

Based Freestyle Mixtape

“Whats Next BASED FREESTYLE”

“Do My Dance BASED FREESTYLE”

Non-Album Songs

“Ultralight Beam”

“All My Friends”

“XXL 2014 Freshmen Cypher Part 1”

“Famous (Original)”

“#SoGoneChallenge“

“I Was a Rock (Muhammad Ali ESPYs Tribute)”

“Need to Know”

“Stevie Wonder”

“The Writer”

“Savemoney Cypher”

“Hiatus (Broadcast)”

“Hometown”

“Coming for Your Spot”

“Child’s Play”

“Heaven Only Knows”

“Juke or Treat”

“Freestyle on ‘Sway in the Morning’”

“Such a Thing”

“Out the Water”

“Mo'Purrp”

“The Wonder Years”

“Home Studio”

“Living in Vain”

“Too Late”

“Spaceship II”

“Cross Roads”

“Lonely Thoughts”