______ "Everybody's like he's no item, please don't like him. He don't wife them, he one nights them. I never listen though, I should have figured though, all that shit you was spittin', so unoriginal." - Jhene Aiko (The Worse) ______
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It was true when they said that the streets weren't for everyone. However, it was far from the truth when it came to me. I was boring and destined to do exactly what I was doing. Coming from a long line of hustlers, the bar was high for me from jump.
Unfortunately, by the time I hit the age where it was prime for me step out and start doing my thing, I didn't have my pops or my uncle around to put me on. his day, my father, James was that nigga. He lived this shit and was good at it until the day it took his life. He and my uncle Buddah had shit on smash in the Bronx when I was young.
Even as a little boy, I spent a lot of time in the back of their old school Caddy, listening to them plot and plan. As I aged, I learned more and more about how to do what they did and remain successful at it. My life was planned. I was my pops only seed and Uncle Buddah didn't have any kids. That meant when they were ready the torch was going to be passed down to me. Shit changed when my pops got bodied, and bitch ass Uncle Buddah got sent upstate for being the one behind the trigger.
The other niggas in the hood, who had been plotting on their organization, didn't waste any time stepping in and taking over everything my pops and uncle built. That made it impossible for me to take what was owed to me. I got into some beef with one of the niggas that ran on my block and shit got so heated my moms ended up moving me to Brooklyn. Hustle was in my blood, so the passion to run the streets didn't die with my father.
If anything it intensified because I felt like even though he was in heaven, I had a point to prove. I had to make him proud and put myself in the position to touch my uncle while he was still locked up or whenever he gets out. Regardless what I had to do, that nigga would definitely see his maker, and I would be the reason.
As if losing my pops wasn't enough, a few years back, my moms got gunned down right in front of me on some drive by shit. That was a loss I was still coping with. Shit, rocked my world and nothing been the same since. The days are easy, I busy myself doing this and that but my nights were hard. Thoughts of my mother invaded them even though I tried my hardest not to let them. I had a lot riding on make shit shake in the streets. My livelihood and my sanity.
For years I been getting by on selling nicks and dimes of bud. It wasn't until recently I linked with this Hawaiian nigga, Kiko. When I say that nigga was the plug, I meant it in every sense of the word. He distributed everything from K-2 to Meth. I didn't fuck with none of that shit, though, stuck to Kush and white girl. My team was tight and money was coming it. More money, more problems. My niggas and I stayed strapped and ready for whatever but in order to make sure we stayed ready, we had to link up with a weapons distributor. I needed to be able to get ahold of shit regular niggas couldn't get their hands on. My right hand, Papa, knew some dudes who held it down in the weapons lane, so I was ready to see what that was hitting for.
