False Prophet

Born in the Northern Territory but raised on the streets of Kwinana, Western Australia, I learned early on that hustle was the way forward. I always said, “born in NT, raised on the Kwinnny streets,” because that’s exactly how it felt—like I had to make my own way.
Ever since my teens, I was hustling. It started small—swiping my mum’s smokes and selling them at school. Then came the dexies. I was supposed to hand them over to the nurse, but when my mate offered me 50 bucks cash, I saw the game for what it was. That was the beginning.
School wasn’t my thing, but I found my own way through. At 14, I got work experience because I wouldn’t turn up to class. That’s where I took off in IT—learning how to play with sounds, create animations, design websites, and do some programming. I loved it, but there was no thrill, no excitement. So I pushed forward, got my Year 11, my Certs 1–4 in IT, a diploma, and my Certs 1–4 in business. By 18, I had it all—my diploma, my certificates, my Year 12. I moved into my mate’s dad’s house, renting a room, looking for independence before I was even legally an adult.
Then came the hard reality—my father had taken his own life, and I had to face that. But instead of breaking, I found my way around. I don’t know what it was, but someone upstairs had my back. Even in my darkest moments, I found solid people, real ones, right when I needed them. The universe works in mysterious ways.
Before my 19th birthday, I quit my job. I had all the paperwork, the qualifications—but none of it meant anything without something bigger. I told my boss straight up, “I’m gonna be a kingpin.” He couldn’t believe it, but he never turned his back on me. Stephen Retzlaff—a genius with computers, a man who saw potential in me even when I was heading down a wild road. He never condoned my antics, but he always supported me, helped me better myself. And every time, I’d take off, find new challenges, and overcome them. He was stunned at the determination I had, but I never quit to be nothing—I quit to build somethin I ran with four of Perth’s biggest dynasties. I made my name in the underground. I never snitched, never gave a statement—loyalty was my code, and I never broke it.
Plastering, drilling—it all led me to Kalgoorlie. I went there as a driller and came back with knowledge, connections, bigger than I ever imagined. Kal became a funnel, an opportunity, a place where demand was high, and once again, luck was on my side. A mate from the bush introduced me to the right people, and things moved forward.
At 21, I left for Kal. At 23, I came back to Perth, ran into an old mate from jail, and that led me into a powerful family. I won’t name names, but I was there for years, watching, learning. In that time, I met famous people, legends, movers, and shakers. I saw the game for what it really was. People are treacherous, but I made sure those around me didn’t fall victim to it. And I made damn sure I stuck to my code.
At 27, I got four years for trafficking meth. Another three years locked up, bouncing between jails. In Hakea, near the end of my sentence, I connected with someone who opened doors I never expected. For the next seven years, I was moving in silence, a quiet achiever.
By 39, I retired. The game had declared me a trafficker—meth, molly, weed—I had perfected the trade, learned every lesson, played every angle. But I saw how pointless it all was. I survived the fast lane, met incredible people, and came out the other side with wisdom that few ever get to learn.
Now, it’s all about music. I’ve stored years’ worth of poetry, lessons written in rhyme, experiences put into scripture. iPhones gave me a new way to craft beats, refine my sound, and start something real. I’m investing in my record label, pushing my music, putting my message out there. Not for fame, not for fortune—but to give back to the people who deserve it. To leave a legacy
Because at the end of the day, I lived my life at full speed, survived it, and now I want to build something that lasts. I still want to have kids, I still want something real—and the next chapter is about making that happen.

False Prophet

Bob Dylan