I’m Talkin’ To You
Ain’t gotta say it—you know what your name is.
Business. . .
Just like in the streets, you gon’ deal with niggas you respect. You not gonna deal with no nigga if you think he a punk nigga, if you think he a snitch nigga, you think he a hoe nigga. You don’t fuck with him. I try to fuck with real niggas—anybody that’s really on they grind for real. I don’t wanna fuck with no nigga who just wanna pay a nigga a hundred—I don’t want to take no nigga money. They can give me a hundred thousand dollars to do a verse, but, shit, if he ain’t serious about what he doin’, I don’t need your money. I don’t want that shit. I got 99 problems and that ain’t one of them. Before I do a record with a nigga and fuck up my name and everything I work hard for, for a nigga who ain’t serious about what he doin’ just ‘cause he got some bread.
Sometimes Personal. . .
I can’t convince everybody that my way is the right way. If it were meant for them to know it, they would know it. If it were meant to be, they’d feel it. I wouldn’t have to convince them at all. I shouldn’t have to stand on my soapbox to say “I’m real and he’s fake.” It’s just real recognize real, and real already know everything understood—ain’t gotta be explained.
I think a problem should be dealt with between two men; or however many men got a problem. When you start doing these tapes and beefing on records and shit, that put everybody else all in your business—unnecessary comments and questions. Where I would commonly say, “Why don’t you stay out my business?” But then I go think: Why’d you put them in your business? You ain’t want ‘em in it, you shouldn’t never put that shit out. You told them what happened, which made it, gave them the opportunity to comment.
But really, I only see one which could really be considered a beef ‘cause it actually got into the physical. I mean, it actually went further than music, rather should I say. Anything else, man, it wasn’t no beef—misunderstanding, disagreements. Beef is “I wanna hurt you, I wanna do something to you, bad. I can’t wait ‘til I see you.” That’s beef. On site. No questions. And it’s only been like that with one person.
P.S. . .
Niggas so tough they gotta walk around with they face all twisted up. Nigga, I could smile and bust y’all shit. That’s what it is with me. You feel me? I could smile, I could be happy. I could make people feel like the sunshine is a great thing and shit on niggas. The sky ain’t gotta be grey. We ain’t gotta be in a fuckin’ Section 8 project to rep the truth in the hood. Niggas sometimes be overdoin’ the fuckin’ ice grill like that means something. I’ll smack the shit out a nigga just because you tryin’ too hard to be tough. And tell him, “I ain’t slap you because I’m thug, I slapped because I just want you to fix your mannerism, homey.” Like, you ain’t got to act like that, you ain’t gotta look like that. Appreciate your blessing, homeboy. It ain’t that bad out here. We blessed. The fact that you could eat a bowl of cereal, smoke a blunt, come up with idea, make money—appreciate that. You ain’t gotta fuckin’ run around and front so much that you’re now being taken out of who you are to live up to something that you ain’t. That’s corny to me.
Had it out with ‘Cris, but he still my nigga. Sat down, civilized, talked about it like niggas. So I ain’t never been served—get your facts right, nigga.