In two days, the legendary (and mysteriously elusive) Harlem rapper Cam’ron is slated to release his new mixtape Ghetto Heaven, Volume 1. While Cam has built a reputation on making false promises (for concerts, new songs, new albums), at this point even news of potential new music from Cam is exciting enough for us. Though he’s been difficult to track down for an interview about the mixtape and his new Vado-less direction, he was gracious enough to send along an exclusive open letter to his fans, strangely comprised of the lyrics from the best songs from his catalogue. Read it below, and remember, Ghetto Heaven coming soon!
“Dipset! ‘Fore I set it off, okay, first off, you a bitch nigga. Knock knock, who’s there? Killa Cam! Killa who? Killa Cam, hustler, grinder, gorilla, true! Ma, I been hugging the block. That’s right, hustling rocks. I’m from where Nicky Barnes got rich as fuck. Rich and A hit the kitchens, they were pitchin’ up. Rob Base, Ma$e, Doug E. Fresh switched it up. I do both, who am I to fuck tradition up? With the goons I spar, stay in tune with ma. She like, ‘Damn, this the realest since Kumbaya!’ Bomaye, Killa Cam, my lord. Still the man with the plan, scrilla fan, oh boy. Bitches, they want to neuter me. Niggas, they wanna Judah me. The hooligan in Houlihan’s, maneuvering’s nothin’ new to me. Doggy, I’m from the land of the grind, where these kids need food. Niggas need guidance, and bitches need rules.
Listen—I been coppin’ them pieces. Maybe that’s part of the reason I feel like a boxer—bobbin’ and weavin’. But I’m gettin’ head—she’s bobbin’ and weavin’. Yes sir! I’m grabbin’ her neck to stop her from breathin’, I’ma wild out until I part with my breathin’. But when it came to dope, I always copped it in fingers. Money missin’, oh shit, I almost chopped some fingers. Slit some wrists, that’s when they said, ‘Oh shit, he’s not a singer.’ Fuck the rap, fuck movies, fuck Siskel and Ebert. The pistol I’ll squeeze it, missiles if needed. Killa! Shaking to bake, shaking the Jakes. Kill you, shoot the funeral up and Harlem Shake at your wake. Bird gangs, it was birds I flew. And word I blew, off herb I grew. I would swerve on stoops, now I swerve in coupes. I’m like a teacher, I need me a sabbatical. It’s not irrational—I grew up radical.
Look mami—I’m no good. I’m so hood. I run scandals with savages. All my niggas get together to gather loot. Bodyguard for what? Dog, I’d rather shoot. I go to war, old Timbs, battered boots, hand grenade, goggles and a parachute. I chop up the rocks, and I stock up the drop. Blocka blocka block! Hello mate. Yellow tape; helicopter your spot. What you wanted is not what you got, and I pop up them cops, cause dog, it ain’t about Cam. I got a son homeboy, it’s about Cam. It’s about being bout it, if you’re not, you’re ass backwards. My mathematics, ’cause cash matters. Little niggas need to sit up and read. If the town’s too hot, get up and leave. Niggas already got a trick up their sleeve. Nigga like me? I always got a brick up my sleeve.
And I got some girls, about five or six. And a five and six, about five or six. I surprise the chick, that’s when her eyes get lit, let her drive the whip, see if she ride a stick. Who as live as this? My pool size is sick, but swim in my pants and dive for dick. Lookin’ like I’m nicotine, but it’s all for the green like Listerine. Had to diss the queen, thinkin’ I’m gon’ get her jeans. I ain’t Ginuwine, ma, my mission is mean. All the niggas on my team fixin’ to get the cream. I sit in Bahamas, with Alyssa Milano. Got the Cris’ and the ganja and it’s gettin’ her calmer. Now she cryin’, she missin’ her mama, but she just a steppin’ stone for me, now I’m hittin’ Madonna. And she twistin’ the fauna as we sit in the sauna. Guess it’s just my persona, got her kissin’ my condom. Ay yo, I pull up to the hotel with my shit on blast. Tell the valet, ‘Motherfucker, don’t hit my Jag!’ Seen the bell boy, nigga he can kiss my ass. Just show me my room, and get my bags. Saw the girl, that’s my hon, almost dropped his glass. I guess he was really shocked when I touched her ass.
I’m on the westside of Chicago, lookin’ for a bust-down to make me put my two arms up. Touchdown! So come home with me, where the girls wanna come home with me. They say, ‘Cam, if you need dome, hit me!’ My dick hard as a motherfucker. You don’t what?! Tell that shit to another sucker. I ain’t no sucka, mama, come on, fuck the drama. And kiss it down, little pucker-rama. I’m so active, you being so drastic. Got something for your face, fuck Pro-Activ. Yo, I need a girl that can sing like Selena, ass like Trina, tits like Janet, get beat like Tina. Have you seen her?”