It’s amazing how quickly a new hip-hop protégéee wants the world and wants it now these days. It seems like yesterday we were formally introduced to NYC’s self-prescribed “pretty mothafucka,” 24-year-old A$AP Rocky, he taking the “school of hard-knocks” graduation podium to proclaim: “Harlem’s what I’m repping,” still showing a slim affinity for the streets that spawned him, and the “wrecks” still happening. This was a year ago, right around the same time RCA circled and attacked with a $3 million recording contract. Not that he ever aspired to be the poet laureate of Harlem, his biggest loves plainly aligned on his 2011 mixtape Live.Love.A$AP with mainstream rap’s holy cliche trinity: drugs, women and violence. But before we get into dissecting his forthcoming debut, Long.Live.A$AP, in its entirety next week (January 15), consider the gold-grill sentiments of first single “Goldie,” in which he conquers Paris, new drugs and has so much property you could call him Billy Gates now:

Yes, I’m the shit, tell me do it stink?
It feel good waking up, some money in the bank
Three model bitches, cocaine on the sink
And I’m so ’bout it ’bout it I might roll up in a tank
Cause my chain came from Cuba, got a lock up on the link
And them red bottom loafers just to compliment the mink
Eyes chink, rolling up that dank, blowing on that stank
What you mean? Tell me what you drink, I’m on that kissing pink
You could call me Billy Gates, got a crib in every state