Shyne's XXL Cover Stories Through The Years

Five years ago today, on Oct. 6, 2009, Shyne emerged from prison after nearly a decade behind bars. The Brooklyn MC was once Bad Boy Records' shining light, but the infamous shooting at Club New York that led directly to what the media would eventually dub the "Puffy Trial" was to be his downfall. But XXL was there covering Shyne's story all along the way, with a string of cover stories throughout the years that documented his trial and what it meant for both his legacy and hip-hop.

With the first coming in our June 2001 issue and the last in our 13th anniversary issue September 2010, here are all three of Shyne's XXL cover stories, reprinted in their entirety. Congrats on the anniversary, Shyne.

June 2001 | June 2004 | September 2010

This Can't Be Life
Shot up at 15. Dismissed as a Biggie soundalike. Billed as the gun-toting thug in the “Puffy” trail. Jamaal “Shyne” Barrow deserved better. In an XXL exclusive convo, the Brooklyn MC declares his innocence and finally describes what happened that night in the club.
Words Rodd McLeod
Editor’s Note: This story originally appeared in the June 2001 issue of XXL Magazine.

Carved into the front of the New York State Supreme Courthouse in downtown Manhattan—literally written in stone—are the words, "The True Administration of Justice is the Firmest Pillar of Good Government."

True Administration of Justice? In the case of Jamaal "Shyne" Barrow—what the mainstream media calls "The Puffy Trial"—the truth is still a mystery. Even as Shyne was found guilty of assault, reckless endangerment and weapon’s possession, questions remain as to who shot guns, who shot first and whose bullets injured the three people who got hurt.

Here are the facts:

On December 27, 1999, there was a shooting at Club New York in midtown Manhattan that injured three people. Testimony indicates that up to three people shot guns. Yet only Shyne was charged with a shooting crime. Evidence found on the scene indicates that three bullets were fired from a .40 caliber weapon. Shyne fired a nine millimeter weapon. Who shot the .40 caliber gun? No one is saying. That means the truth may turn on the identity of a mystery gunman, a man described by two witnesses. What's more, ballistics experts haven't been able to prove which gun (or guns) caused the injuries.

Should the mystery gunman have been charged with assault or attempted murder? Should Sean "Puffy" Combs have been? Can justice be done when only one of the people who shot is charged with shooting? And if that one person claims self-defense—as Shyne did—shouldn't the alleged instigator of violence also be charged, or at least investigated?

With so many questions unanswered, it's a wonder that anyone's been charged at all.

Shyne spoke to XXL in the midst of the trial's turmoil. It was a few days before closing arguments, and he had no idea how the jury would rule. He was fully immersed in the details of the case, and fully determined to live by the code of the street—no testifying—even as he desired justice from the court. "I'm Gotti, nigga, for real," he said. "I'm going out like a true warrior."

But Jamaal Barrow is not John Gotti. He's no master criminal, making himself wealthy by extortion and intimidation. He's a 21-year-old musician who escaped the horrors of street life, only to be pulled back into violence by the overlap between the streets and the rap world. Shyne chose to carry a gun, and while it may have saved his life, it's also sealed his fate.

Awaiting that fate, Shyne was angry, fiercely intelligent, careful, emotional and articulate.

XXL: You appeared on Politically Incorrect recently. Bill Maher really came down hard on you and you held your own. Did you feel that his attitude represents the mainstream view of hip-hop?
Shyne: I mean, his attitude represents the White Anglo-Saxon ignorance and disease that exists in the world. People that claim America was discovered even though people was already living here. There's a continuity in his behavior. It doesn't disturb me because I know that ignorance exists. And I thank God that I have the power to enlighten the people rather than just let them be bombarded with his ignorance.

One thing a rap star needs to do to succeed financially is maintain credibility. Rappers rap about being tough and it sounds great on wax. Then you get out to a club and there's people there who try to test you. How do you deal with that?
I don't understand why you are using the club situation, dog. People try to test me anywhere. Here's what I'm tryin' to say, dog: I'ma keep it real with you if you keep it real with me. Ask me the shit you want to ask me, and we get to the meat. I'm at a point in my life where I don't play no games; it is what it is. So if you want to ask me what went down in the club you do that. Other than that, a nigga get tested anywhere, man. A nigga get tested at the airport; a nigga get tested walking to the store.

Do you feel that when you're with Puffy or now that you're a well-known recording artist, people try to test you more often?
I don't really put myself in the position, playboy. I keep it all the way real. I had like two incidents being in this industry. One was when I got shot at in front of Daddy's House [recording studio, in November 1999] and another one was in the club that night. Other than that I been cool. I keep it quiet, man. A lot of these rap niggas be living the life and they get caught up in the hype. I'm really not with that. I don't have nothing to prove to nobody. I'm just a cool nigga, man.

It seems that more than one gun was fired in Club New York that night. Why do you think you're the only one who's been indicted with attempted murder and assault?
That's just how they be livin', playboy. Them kids don't come to play. You get caught up in they back yard, they gonna jam you. The DA can charge you with anything. If he had an inkling he could have charged me with murder. Anybody can get indicted on anything, keep it all the way real. And the DA ain't come in there with good will.

Two shots fired from the burner I had—I did have a gun. But that don't mean I tried to kill nobody. Niggas was bustin' at me. Niggas tried to kill me. And I was just trying to defend myself and I still ain't even aim at nobody. I just shot up in the sky, like, "Yo man, let me get up out 'chea."

You fired twice?
Yeah. Yeahh! I mean, niggas is sayin' they heard seven shots, that means yo, it was two more guns fired, and I didn't even fire first. All these people claiming that as soon as they heard the shots they got hit, so that means somebody else hit 'em, man. And the ballistics experts is talkin' 'bout, "Yo, it could be a .40 caliber that hit these people." You know, the fragments in honey's [Natania Reuben] face could add up to a .40 caliber. And they sayin' that she didn't get hit with a direct shot, 'cause if she did she'd've died.

Whose ballistic expert was that?
The DA's ballistics expert and my ballistics expert.

Witness David Cubiletti said that a man standing next to Matthew "Scar" Allen—the man arguing with you and Puffy—fired his gun toward the ceiling. Did you see that?
Yeeeeah!

Do you know who that was?
I ain't gonna get into all that, playboy. I don't remember, it was a long time ago, but somebody tried to kill me up in there that night, man.

Well, why don't you walk me through it? The way it's been reported it, you and Puff and Jennifer and Wolf were leaving the club-
Yeah, I mean, playboy, I'ma keep it real with you. My co-defendant is a snitch, you knowhamsayin'. He's a rat. I'm not a rat. I'm not gonna sit up here and and and break everything down, 'cause I ain't get on the stand and break everything down. Even though Puff called a witness to testify against me, that the faggot-nigga knew was lying.

Which witness was that?
He knew this bitch was lying, Puff.

Which witness was that?
[Club bouncer] Cherise Myers. This bitch talking about she pulled him down to the ground. That's a lie. In her statement to the police, she ain't say that. The police asked her, “Why didn't you go break the shit up?” She was like, "Yo, I couldn't get over there 'cause it was 20 people pinning me to the wall." You understand? Then she get up on the stand and talk about she was right next to Puff, and she tapped Puff and said, "Let's get out of here." That's when she seen me fire. So if that ain't a lie, then I don't understand.

Not only did she not give that statement to the police when the shit first jumped off, but Puff's own witnesses contradicted her. They was asked—yo, this bitch was 6'1", like 250—and nobody seen her over there. Nobody. All the witnesses he called? Nobody seen her over there. None of the DA witnesses; none of my witnesses seen her over there.

Has anyone stood up in court and said that's a lie? Have you stood up in court and said she's lying?
In my closing arguments, my lawyers gonna prove that she's a liar. The DA done proved she's lying. The bitch claims she fell on [Puff] when the shots went off and all the security niggas are saying Wolf was on top of him! On the realla, I never seen that honey up in there. Bitches don't even be in the club, they be in at the do', searchin' other hoes. I never seen her over there. And then they show the phone records of [Puff's] niggas callin' her, getting at her.

Has all this come out in court?
Yeeeeah! Nigga, the phone records, that nigga's a rat. He's a rat, and he payin' niggas 20 thousand a month on some publicity shit, got these crackers workin' for him, throwin' salt in the game like he's just this innocent nigga, and I'm not saying what duke did, 'cause I'm not a rat. I ain't gonna go his way. All these niggas is dick ridin' on the radio stations, on TV, like, ain't none of this going on, 'cause fuck me. I'm just some wild violent nigga that just came in the club and shot shit up—with two shots. Shot shit up.

Lemme ask you. At the moment that—what caused you to pull your gun?
Whadda you mean, what caused me to pull my gun?

What happened?
They fired at me, man. Somebody tried to shoot me.

Okay. But you don't know the name of that person?
Dog-

It was the person standing next to Scar?
Playboy, you gotta respect my gangsta, man. I already told you I ain't get up on the stand and start talking. I ain't gonna start testifing to you.

Dog, don't believe me, nigga. The evidence is there. They got two .40 caliber bullets in the ceiling; they got three .40 calliber shells on the flo'. So don't take my word for it. You got David Cubiletti telling you, you got the other nigga Tavon Jones telling you. And you got the evidence there, dog. The club owner came on the stand and was like, ain't never been a shoot-out in the three years he had at that club. So them bullets came there that night. And they said Puff had a nine, so it wasn't his burner.

Is that what you had, a nine?
That's what they caught me with, dog.

It's been reported that when you left the club you bumped into a police officer and they took the gun from you? Is that accurate?
Yeah, they snatched me up. They grabbed me outside the club.

How does it feel when you are sitting in the courtroom and people are testifing that you shot the gun?
I was defending myself. I'm a little bit heated right now, watching niggas just rattin' and watching niggas lie. Ain't one nigga come up in the courtroom and just told the truth, you knowhamsayin'? Ain't one nigga come up in there and say, "Yeah, he pulled out his gun, he fired in the air after them kids shot at him." Ain't one nigga do that. You know, I could take that. I take responsible for having a burner. The only reason I had a burner was 'cause I just got shot at.

The month before, at Daddy's House.
And I got shot when I was 15. I got my whole shoulder ripped up. That's in your magazine. You understand? And you come up in this game, a nigga that left that warfield, I'm up in here thinking shit is sweet. Like I'm just gonna make my little records, man, mind my business and I'm cool.

'Cause after I got shot at 15, it was like, I ain't gonna go nowhere, I'ma stay in the house, man, 'cause my moms is about to go depressed and I'ma just write these songs and I'ma get my little diploma, man, and I'ma walk right. That was my M.O. I'm thinkin', "Ah come on, man, Puff Daddy. Niggas is sellin' millions of records, makin' money. Nobody ain't got time for no drams; niggas is easy." I'm going to the studio everyday, minding my business, writing my songs. I ain't even rolling with my niggas from Brooklyn. I'm just happy to be here.

And then that shit happened and that shit just devastated me dog. That put me in a state of shock. I had made a promise to God. "I'm good, man. If it mean me carrying a burner or getting myself back in any more problems, I just ain't gonna go outside." Then I'm in the rap game, thinkin', "Not here. Not here. Not niggas livin' on Park Avenue."

But we've seen unfortunately what's happened to so many other rappers...
Not so many, just Big and 'Pac. Those is two isolated incidents, it ain't like ten niggas done died from murder. It was only two niggas.

I mean, putting aside rap, it's just the sad truth: Rich people aren't immune. You could have any kind of success. I mean, Marvin Gaye was killed by his own father-
That's real, dog.

Kurt Cobain killed himself. Violence seems to be something in America we can't escape.
I'm glad you made that point, man, 'cause like niggas is lookin' at me, man. I tell them little niggas out there, "You don't need no burner, man. You don't need to end up in the position I end up in. Go the other way, man. It ain't worth having your mother up in there broken up."

And that's' why I was so fucked up, dog, 'cause I never went looking for trouble, man. I wasn't that little nigga out there wildin' out, dumbin' out, like, "Yeah yeah yeah. I got something to prove, man."

I was in juvenile homes since I was 11, man. I was carrying and do all that shit: 11, 10, 12. I was in the fuckin' kitchen with my cousin cuttin' up crack when I was nine, nigga. When New Jack City first came out. So I'm here thinking, "Yo, I got a record deal. I'm straight. I'm clean. I could just sit back, go to the studio and live my dream." So when that shit happened I'm like, "Yo, what the fuck?" Like, "Damn ,what I gotta do?" I yelled out, "I don't want to die neither."

Here come your life right here: Nigga can't go to the studio no more 'cause niggas shot at you, so what you gonna do? I ain't got no paper. I can't afford no security guard. You understand?

I understand. But in light of what you're saying, what made you go out to Club New York that night? Did you just feel like everything was gonna be OK?
It was the day after Christmas, everybody was like, "Yo, we goin' up in there." I don't know what's gonna happen, man. That shit fucked me up, dog. You don't understand when a nigga... I don't know if you understand, dog. It's one thing when you live by the gun, you die by the gun. But it's another thing when you're living by your pen, and then niggas is trying to get at you.

Don't you think it's probably just jealousy?
Whatever it was, dog, when it happened, you ain't thinkin' about all that. You thinkin' about survivin', dog. I went back to square one. I went back to when I was on the block and the nigga I had beef with lived right next door. And when I had to walk outside everyday, how it had to go down. I went back to sitting on the corner and the nigga passed by, and my man just looked at him funny and said whatever, and the nigga came back 10 minutes later with a Tec-9—we like 13, 14, ya understand?—and blasted the nigga right in front of me, murked the nigga. This nigga sittin' up, having convulsions on the flo', dead. I'm like, "Oh shit, we back here? I thought I left that." I'm thinkin' 'bout when I was lying there in the fuckin' pool of blood, my shoulder ripped off taking myself to the hospital, you understand? I'm like, "Yo, how we got back here?"

You had that flashback in front of Daddy's House or in Club New York?
I had that flashback up until the incident happened. I was scared to death, man. When you on the war ground it's like you immune to it. But when you ain't been there so long and you left it alone, you caught off guard.

Does it make you feel like fame is worth it?
I wasn't even famous! I wasn't even famous then! In an idealistic world I would've been able to sit down and figure it out and come to a conclusion. "Hey, I'm gonna get over it and suck it up." But in the real world, dog, niggas get traumatized. Niggas get devastated, man.

Yo dog, I pray every night, dog. And I pray to God for them people who got hit, man. God bless those people. Nobody deserves to get hit. But yo, it wasn't my burner. As I sit up in here and talk to you, playboy, can't nobody with right mind, and rational, say it was my gun that hurt them. The nigga Scar, he snitched too. He said I was standing right in front of him. It was a 15 shot magazine and two shots came out of my gun, dog. They got my gun with 13 still in the clip, and two out, with two shells. When you try to kill somebody, you ain't firing two shots, dog.

So you were firing warning shots?
Yo, the nigga bust at me, and I just went into a state of shock like, "Oh, a nigga about to die, man."

It was pure reaction-
Yeeeah! And it wasn't even nobody to aim at because after he bust, everybody was on the flo'. That was just reaction, like, "Yo, what the fuck?" Bom-bom in the air, let me get up out here, man.

The security guard, John Hassan Mahamah, testified that he saw you fire three times, twice into a group of people. That's not accurate?
Don't take my word for nothing. Right? Don't take my word. If I fired into a crowd, listen you gotta just—it just can't—

If you fired into a crowd, it wouldn't be richochettes that hit people.
Exactly, and just listen to me, playboy. Everything can't work for everybody. It can't be, this nigga say one thing and that nigga say one thing and, "Hey, we just use it whatever work to hang Shyne." Something gotta be the truth, man.

I was right in front of him, niggas was arguing. The DA's own witnesses said the nigga was screaming, telling me he gonna kill me. So we right there. Ain't no crowd to bust into, the nigga's standing right in front of me. Let's say I missed him. Let's say my aim is that fucked up like that nasty bitch Lil' Kim said, and I missed the nigga right in front of me. Niggas at the other side of the bar would've got hit—not somebody that was to your North, up by the stairs, and then somebody behind me, to your left. You understand? Those were richochettes, dog. That ain't no three shots fired into no crowd.

The security guard also testified that Wolf grabbed you and yelled at you, "What is wrong with you?"
That's bullshit! How he the only one who seen that? How nobody else ain't see that?

I just want your reaction. I'm just telling you-
That's my reaction.

Did you see somebody throw money in the air?
Like I said, dog, I don't want to go into all that...

You don't want to tell me if Puffy had a gun.
Yeah, I'm not going into all that, playboy. I could've got up on that stand and been a bitch, like he was a faggot, you understand? 'Cause what he did, he dry snitched. Rather than him get up there and say, "Oh, Po did it," he got somebody to say, "Oooh. Po did it." But love is love, that nigga gonna die a thousand deaths, you understand? He gonna suffer, and I'ma live forever. But the bottom line with [Hassan Mahamah], man. This nigga, peep his whole shit, now. On his police report? He tell the police he see two niggas with burners. But he ain't see the gunman face. Now he get up on the stand, it's only me bustin'. And he said I ran. In a crowded club where niggas is sayin' it's thousand niggas up in there... How the fuck am I running in a crowded club, dog? You've been in clubs before, nigga. You can't even walk, nigga.

Don't trust me, nigga. Distrust me all the way. I'ma be like the prosecutor; I'ma prove my case to you, dog. We might not even be able to finish this shit tonight 'cause I'ma bust the shit down so thoroughly for you. Lemme show you how nasty this nigga Puff is. The nigga settled out of court with [Michael Bergos] the nigga that owned the club. And so Mahamah Hassan work for the club. The nigga gave a statement that said, "Yo, I saw two niggas with burners. I did not see the gunman's face." So now he go from seeing two niggas wit guns, to just definitely seein’ me wit a gun.

Are you satisfied that your lawyers are hittin' them with all this?
On the summation, I'm contemplatin' just gettin' up there myself, man.

Do you find yourself looking at the jury? What do you see in their faces?
I'ma be optimistic. I see that they know a nigga wasn't up in there tryin' to kill nobody, man, with no two shots fired in the sky. Even their own DA witnesses, some of them said I was pointin' in the sky. Even the nigga Wardell said Jennifer hopped up in the car, like, "I can't believe Shyne shot up in the air." Even the bitch-ass man Puff that got his witness to snitch, she was like, I shot up in the air. Come on, man. They got the bullet marks in the sky, man.

Look at the NRA, man. White folks in fuckin' Arkansas and Westchester got burners just to protect they homes, protect themselves, man. That's all right in the constitution, man. All a nigga wanna do is defend himself, so I don't think that make me a killer. That don't make me a bad person. I just know them jurors look at me, and they know I wasn't in there tryin' to kill nobody, man. They know that, man.

[Pause] I pray, man. I pray, son. Sometimes I wake up, and I be like I'm 'bout to go crazy, son. Nothin' don't seem... it seem like the world is spinnin'. It seem like I don't whether to turn left or right, son. And I kneel down, and I clasp my hands, dog, and I close my eyes, and I talk to God, and I become a warrior, son. Warrior. After I make it through this, man, I'ma be alright. Even if it's in the next life; even if it's in eternity, I come back to this hell. God is wit a nigga, man. If I make it through this, and I talk to them real niggas out there, whatever they doin', man, I'm not here to judge niggas, but I'm here to let niggas know, man: God is real, man. God be havin' me sit there tellin' my lawyers what to say even though they knuckleheads.

What are your impressions of Judge Solomon, and how he's handled this trial.
He just under pressure. Whatever the DA say, the judge do, dog. Like, cat be wantin' to do the right thing, but the DA get up and start puttin' that nigga under pressure, and like, the DA done tried 17 cases with this nigga. So they know each other, man.

Well, Bogdanos asked for Puffy to be put in jail for 30 days for violating the gag order...
Well, he don't go overboard, but I'm talkin' 'bout the critical shit, man. If we make an objection and the judge is about to rule in our favor, like, he knew he's supposed to take that attempted murder [charge] out. He know them niggas ain't proved that I attempted to kill nobody.

Did anybody tell you to take a plea, maybe for assault?
Nobody coulda told me to take that, playboy. They coulda made me plead to reckless endangerment. If that faggot-nigga Puff wasn't in this, man, niggas woulda been alright. But it's all that high publicity, all eyes on niggas. They gotta play for this camera, man.

What's your impression of the media coverage?
It's all about Puff. Niggas is actin' like I'm not sittin' here facin' 25 years. They actin' like, I'm not the nigga charged with the attempted murder wrongly. And they don't even know if it was my gun that hit them people. And ain't nobody talkin' 'bout that in press. Them niggas is more talkin' about, "Well Puff was playin' with his son in the snow." That's what they puttin' on the front page. That shit is crazy, son. I might get my life snatched from me, man.

What do you do when you home at night? Do you watch TV? Are you writing rhymes?
I did ten songs. Needless to say I'm leavin' Bad Boy. So I stopped recordin'. I did like ten new joints, ten new heaters. But I just pray, man. I pray in the mornin' when I wake up. And I go home and I pray to God that I was able to stand there lookin' my enemies in they eyes and not fold. Look at the jurors in they eyes and not fold. Look at the judge, and just be a man about this. Even talkin' to you right now, dog, I thank God that I wasn't no coward and I ain't get up on that stand and testify against niggas to save myself. I'd rather die with honor, man. I just pray that God have mercy on a nigga. 'Cause nobody don't control this, man. Whatever God wanna happen is gonna happen, man. If that nigga want me to suffer, I'ma suffer, man. I just ask the nigga that he let me endure like Jesus did when he was on that cross.

What would be dishonorable about getting on the stand and telling the truth?
You just not supposed to get up there and burn niggas, man.

They were ready to burn you. And you were ready to shoot back.
You know, it's one thing to defend yourself, as far as you could die. But it's another thing to start rattin' people out.

Every single one of those people hasn't been afraid of going up on that stand or—
I don't live my life by what other people do, dog. And I don't think that's a fair comparison. I got a choice not to start rattin' on niggas. Somebody's tryin' to kill you, you really don't. I got a choice, dog, and that's just how I wanna live my life.

Pain From The Game
No one can imagine the agony a mother goes through with her only son incarcerated. In an exclusive talk, Shyne's mother Frances Franklin speaks on the trial that changed her life.
Words Elliott Wilson
Images Barron Claiborne
Editor’s Note: This story originally appeared in the June 2004 issue of XXL Magazine.

Frances Franklin gave birth to her only child, Jamal Barrow, in Belize on November 8, 1978. (Her baby’s daddy, Dean Barrow, is now deputy prime minister of the Central American country.) Seven years later, she brought her baby boy to Amerikkka—Flatbush, Brooklyn, to be exact.

Times were tough for a single parent in the hood. Frances worked as a housekeeper, hustling as many jobs as she could to keep a roof over her young son’s head. Her mother helped out, but often left to his own devices, Jamal found his way into trouble. He was shot in the shoulder when he was just 15.

Doing everything in her power to prevent her son from becoming just another statistic, she moved the fam to another section of Brooklyn and encouraged him to hit the books and stay off the streets. Jamal got into writing poetry, and seemed to be headed for college. One day, Foxy Brown’s ex-manager Don Pooh heard the young buck rhyming in a barbershop. Soon after a meeting with Sean “Puffy” Combs, Jamal “Shyne” Barrow was signed to the hottest label in the game, Bad Boy Records. He was only 18 years old.

December 27, 1999 is a date that Frances will never forget. Shyne, Puffy and the Bad Boy entourage were partying at Manhattan’s Club New York when what started as a minor dispute led to chaos and gunshots. Three bystanders were struck by bullets. Shyne, Puff, his bodygaurd Anthony “Wolf” Jones were arrested and hit with weapons charges. Shyne, though, also faced counts of attempted murder and assault and reckless endangerment.

The high-profile trail began Jan 17, 2001. Each defendant had separate counsel. Shyne’s lawyers, Ian Niles and Murray Richman were paid by Bad Boy, but Puff retained the more famous names Benjamin Braffman and Johnny Cochran.

Frances, who attended every day of the two-month trail, believes that the turning point occurred when the defense called a witness, Club New York bouncer Cherise Myers, who named Shyne as the shooter, and (in a detail that differed from an earlier account she’d given police) said that Puff had no gun. A week later, in Niles’ closing arguments, he acknowledged, for the first time in the trial, that Shyne did have a gun that night. (Later that day, Shyne gave an angry interview to XXL, in which he publicly severed ties with Bad Boy.)

On Mar 17, 2001, while Puffy and Wolf were both acquitted of all wrongdoing, Shyne was found guilty of all charges except attempted murder. He was sentenced to 10 years in prison, to be served at Dannemora New York’s Clinton Correctional Facility (formerly home to Tupac Shakur and Ol’ Dirty Bastard.)

Three years later, Shyne has secured the heavyweight legal help of Alan Dershowtiz in hopes of winning an appeal. Rumors of his impending release have reached a fever pitch, and word has it, the major labels have come courting.

Frances, meanwhile, remains convinced that her son took the fall for his boss. Holding him responsible for Shyne’s current plight, she often refers to Puff as “the other guy” to emphasize her anger. Today, in an exclusive interview with XXL, she breaks her silence. Mama’s got somethin’ to stay.

XXL: In the aftermath of the trial, there were a couple of newspaper articles you were quoted in. You seemed very upset with the things the mainstream media was writing about your son.
They were saying that he was a gun-toting brother. They were saying he was reckless, which he was not. He just made one mistake. I don’t see why during the trial they really bashed him. The reckless endangerment, the hurting of other people—they don’t have proof of that. There was another gun in the club too, a 40. caliber there. Linked to nobody. It wasn’t even a trial about him. It was all about the other guy. I always wondered why.

Do you think your son got a fair trial?
I don’t think it was a fair trial because of the lawyers. The lawyers didn’t do their job for him. My son’s lawyers were working more for the other guy. You understand? Ian Niles was a friend of Puffy. That’s the way Jamal got to know him.

If the other guy’s paying for your defense, most naturally the other guy can call the shots and say “I want you to do this,” and “I want you to do that.” It’s a conflict of interest right there. Ian and Murray Richman didn’t care about working for Shyne. Puffy was telling them what to do what not to do.

Were you in the courtroom during the trial?
I went there for three people. I didn’t go there to just support my son. I went to support, God bless him, Wolf, Puffy and Jamal. I went there not knowing anybody, this was the first time I ever went into a courtroom. The first day we was sitting on the other side [the prosecution’s side], ‘cause I didn’t know there was gonna be anyplace for me to be. When we had a break me and my mom went downstairs and later, we were coming up in the elevator with Puff. He looks at me and said, “You look familiar.” And I said, “Yes, I’m Shyne’s mother.” He said, “Oh, you’re Shyne’s mother. I knew you looked familiar.” And then he said, “Well, I want you to come and sit on the other side [the defense’s side] with us.” So I said, “Okay.”

Days after that, when me and my mom came, there was no space for us, no seats for us. Already the people for Puff were there seated—they weren’t thinking about Shyne’s mother or his grandmother. A lot of people came in support of Puff. So this tall guy, the guard, one day he had to say to them, “There has to be a row of seats for Shyne’s mom and his family.” And that’s the way we tried to squeeze ourselves in. And from there I looked at like they don’t care anything about us—it’s all about the other guy.

What was your opinion of the way the trail was going?
It was looking bad—not for Shyne but for Puff. Puffy’s bodyguard went on the stand talking about the gun, and things was really looking bad for Puff. And I felt very bad, too. And the next day Charise Myers came on the stand and I could not believe it! Puff came up to me to apologize. And I was so shocked, I couldn’t say anything to him.

He apologized to you after Charise Myers testified?
Yes, he said I’m sorry. He, Puff, came to me and said, “I’m sorry.”

Her testimony was damaging to Shyne?
She totally changed her story. When he was going down in the elevator with the lawyers, I said to Murray, “How did you let this happen? You didn’t know Charise was going to talk against my son?” He said, “You have to ask Puff that.” That’s what opened my eyes. If you are representing my child, how could you let something like this happen? But then again, it’s about who calls the shots.

I always thought there was gonna be a unity between them, that they were going to work something out. But he wasn’t looking out for nobody else but Puff.

Do you think Richman always had that intention? Or did something happen in the trial that made him go into panic mode?
I think he always had that intention, because we never knew what was going on until that day I walked into the courtroom and I heard this and I heard that. I don’t think he had a way of letting my son get off. Another thing I was totally upset with was that the jury didn’t even bring Puff in guilty of gun possession. Nothing! How could that ever happen in history!

Everyday I get... Not everyday now, because I’ve accepted it—but still not fully... But, God did it for a reason. Because if Jamal had gotten off, if he was free, maybe he would have to go back with the other guy. He betrayed my son totally. I don’t know who in the whole world doesn’t see that.

I read in publicationTK that after the verdicts were delivered, Puff, his mother and Johnny Cochran came over to you and said, “We’re going to appeal this, we’re gonna do whatever we can.”
I wasn’t even there. I was not hearing anything. I was in total shock. I didn’t even shed a tear then. I couldn’t even cry. I cannot remember what Puffy said. I was out for a few seconds. I did not think that was going to happen. I didn’t like the defense. ‘Cause all along they were saying Jamal didn’t have a gun, he wasn’t guilty. And then all of a sudden they have a plan. You understand? I didn’t like when I heard my son was gonna acknowledge guilt in any way. They threw the bag in his lap, let him be the fall guy. They think he had nothing to lose.

Has Puffy given you any financial support?
I want to set the record straight. Because it took him a year, and I write down everything. This [pulls out address book and points to the date] is when he called me because he wanted to give me money: 3rd January, 2002. He called and said, “Mrs.... Mrs. Barrow?” So I said, “Who is this? Because I’m not Mrs. Barrow.” It was Puffy. And he went on and immediately I did not entertain him, because I knew that Jamal would be very upset.

It took him a year to call me since my son had been convicted. And I said, “Yes, what is the problem?” And he said, “Oh, I have something for you.” So I said, “I cannot talk to you, because my son is going to call me right now and I cannot talk to you.” Immediately after, one of his guys called me and told me he had something for me. I said “$3500 from who?” And he said, “$3500 from Puff.” So I said, “Well, you better keep that.” [He said] “You gotta be kidding.” [I said] “No! No! No!” I just hope that guy took that money back, 'cause I want Puffy to know I didn’t take it. Because he’s always saying that he’s taking care of my son. No way. He doesn’t know the pain I go through every day. Every day for the last three years. My only child. The world is not easy. Not easy at all.

Listen to me: that was a slap to me and my son’s face—very disrespectful. And I want you to tell everybody that, and that’s coming from me.

So your son’s no longer doing business with Puffy?
See, I can’t talk about that. I don’t want my son to get upset—I don’t want to say.

You just know that you don’t want nothing to do with Puffy.
No. He wasn’t fair to me and my son.

Can you talk about Shyne growing up?
Of course.

A lot of people have different images of your son. What was he like when he was growing up?
Shyne was a very smart kid from when he was a baby. When he was six months old he was trying to talk. I knew he was a special kid. He started school when he was two years old.

In Brooklyn or Belize?
In Belize. I don’t want to talk too much about Belize. He was such a special kid. He was always doing excellent in school up here in New York. He went to Manhattan High School, did very well—honors in language arts and English. He was a smart kid.

You say Jamal was a good student, but he definitely got into some trouble...
Peer pressure! I was a very strict mom. Very strict mom—he can tell you. But he was really sometimes on his own. I go to work in the morning, I come in like at eight o’clock. He’d go to his grandmother, but my mother had to work too. So when Jamal comes home from school, he’s there alone until eight o’clock in the night time. [This was] ‘til he was fifteen. It was really, really hard. And he didn’t have the parental guidance. It was like he was on his own most of the time. It’s not because that’s what I wanted, or that I wasn’t a good parent. I had to go to work to pay the bills. So I didn’t have to go on welfare because that is not in my system. I don’t want to live on nobody, and I gotta do what I gotta do. So I would go and clean people’s homes. In my country, I was a teacher, a third grade teacher. But I came. I was prepared to do what I had to do to take care of my boy. It still wasn’t all that good. After I paid the bills sometimes food was limited. Very limited. But I had to work and did the best that I can.

Did you know he was interested in becoming a rapper?
Yes, I knew he was writing poems. But when I came home... I used to work so hard cleaning other people’s houses that by the time I got home, I was so tired. I didn’t even pay those talents any attention. It wasn’t until we moved—after he had gotten shot at 15 years old—that’s when things started changing. We moved to a better neighborhood, and I wanted him to go to college.

He was already signed up to college. And he said to me one day, “Mom I’m going to put college on hold. ‘Cause I have this vision that I can rap, and I’m going to be a rapper.” And I said, “What are you talking about? You better go to college.” And I walked out of the room. He said, “I’m sorry mom, but college is going to be on hold.” He was seventeen. And he said, “I’m signing a contract with Don Pooh Entertainment.” I’m like, “What are you talking about, boy?”

Later on, I did not think any more of the deal. ‘Cause I knew he didn’t have any money to go into a studio. Then one day he said to me, “I’m going to meet Puff Daddy.” But I didn’t pay him any attention, because I didn’t think it was going to be anything. He had the calling. It was the gift that God sent to him that day. He knew something was going to happen. He was gonna be rich and make a lot of money, ‘cause God gave him that vision. He dreamed it.

Are you and your son very religious?
I pray a lot everyday. Before I speak on my phone in the morning, before I turn on my TV. I go to church every now and again. It’s not that just because my son’s got problems I go running to the church. I pray every day, because we were born Christian. My grandfather was a preacher.

I know your son carried a bible with him during the trial.
He keeps that as his strength. He’s a spiritual person from when he was small and my mother was always talking about the bible. My mom, his grandmother.

What do you want to happen when your son gets released? Are you worried about him getting right back in the music business? There’s such a demand for him.
All I want is for him to be aware now of the people around him. And to always remember: Never put too much trust in people. And I think he learned that. I can say that my son learned not to be trusting of people. I know he loves his music, and he should focus on his music. That’s a gift nobody can take that from him. But just be aware.

What do you make of your son’s popularity?
I think my son is bigger than anything right now. And he doesn’t even talk. The thing is he hasn’t talked to anyone in three years—since your magazine. I think there was a message that he wanted to put out there for the young people: To never give up, to never give up hope. Don’t care what, even if your pops is not there for you. Even when your father is not there, you should never give up hope. If you have a dream, just go for it. Never stop. He never stopped. So I think he had a message out there to put out to these kids—especially with his life. He’s telling a true story of what’s out there. And maybe he didn’t live many of it, but he was around it. Living in Flatbush, he saw what was going on and he was telling the story.

Do you visit him in jail?
No. The last time I saw him was when he was being convicted. Sometimes I want so badly to see him, but then I wonder how I’m going to react. Because I don’t want to be emotional. I want to have the strength for him. But we speak every day, and sometimes I get very sad.

He gives me strength from there. And I know he’s down, but we don’t discuss that. Most of the time, he stays positive and he gives me strength to keep going. Especially his spirit. I always think, Wow—He’s where he’s at, and he has that spirit. You know some people would be so… I commend him, I’m very proud of him. That’s what keeps me going to.

What do you want to say to Shyne’s fans?
I always wanted to say that my son really appreciates them writing him letters, ‘cause he has a lot of people that always write him. They keep his music alive. I want to say thanks, especially, to Angie Martinez from Hot 97. Because she kept the flag waving for Jamal from before I even knew her or who she was. She played my son’s songs, and I got to know her a little bit from when my son was being sentenced. I got to meet her, and I really, really wanted to say to her: Thank you. Because she’s always playing his music. I know the other radio stations do, too. But she really kept him alive up there.

How do you react when you hear the rumors that he’s coming out?
You know, it’s a good thing. But it’s bad to spread rumors. Saying stuff like, “He’s coming up to this radio station right now.” People calling me—sometimes I don’t even answer. It’s a good thing, but it’s not good to me. It’s like, when I go out, people approach me: “Oh, when is your son coming home?” Especially the kids, all the kids love him so much. They want to write him. They ask me to give his address. And everywhere I go, people know me. People would tell them, “That’s Shyne’s mama.” But I don’t like that. ‘Cause you don’t know what the people have in the back of their heads.

I just tell everyone, just keep praying. Keep positive. I can’t give them no time [when Shyne will be released]. God is the one to make all the decisions. He’s the one that knows everything.

Home, Free
He was buried alive for almost a decade. Now, a year after his release from prison, Belizean rapper Shyne is back in the country of his birth, committed to making music, committed to making good, and ready to tell his tale.
Words Vanessa Satten
Images Perou
Editor’s Note: This story originally appeared in the September 2010 issue of XXL Magazine.

It’s been 10 years since XXL magazine interviewed Shyne Po outside of prison walls. Nine of those 10 years he spent locked up behind bars and barbed wire. On this sticky mid-June evening, though, lounging in his penthouse apartment, looking out over the Caribbean Sea and almost all the other buildings in the capital city of his native country, Belize, Shyne is a free man. “I learned several things from my experience in the pen,” he says. “Humility. How powerless we are as human beings. And I just really mastered who I was. It’s all about mastering who you are. And you can’t master who you are unless that’s challenged.”

Certainly, who Shyne is has been challenged. On December 27, 1999, when he was just a 21-year-old rookie MC from Flatbush, Brooklyn, working on his debut album for Bad Boy Records, he was involved in one of the most infamous incidents in hip-hop history: a shooting at a midtown Manhattan nightclub called Club New York that left three people injured and led to a much-publicized trial for Shyne and his boss, Bad Boy owner Sean “Puffy” Combs.

During what the media began calling “the Puffy Trial,” testimony indicated that as many as three different people shot weapons in the club that night. Evidence from the scene showed that the fi red bullets came from a .40-caliber gun. Shyne was caught with a 9-mm weapon. The mysterious .40-caliber gunman, who was described by two witnesses, was never identifi ed or charged.

During the trial, Shyne granted this magazine a blockbuster cover story, in which he discussed his frustrations with Combs and the proceedings. He admitted to XXL, and later in court, that he’d shot his weapon into the air that night in self-defense, but he refused to identify any other shooters. Shyne claimed Combs was a “snitch” who hired witnesses to testify against him in court. Whatever the truth was, at the end of the trial, Shyne was found guilty of assault in the fi rst and second degrees, reckless endangerment in the fi rst degree and criminal possession of a weapon in the second and third degrees, then sentenced to jail.

Shyne the album dropped during the trial and sold a million records, but Shyne the person spent the next nine years at Rikers Island and as New York State Department of Corrections prisoner No. 01A3886 at Clinton and Woodbourne Correctional Facilities. In 2004, he signed a multi-million deal with Def Jam Recordings for his label, Gangland Records, and put out his second album, Godfather Buried Alive. In 2006, he legally changed his name to Moses Levi.

Upon completing his sentence last October, Shyne was detained by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement and taken to a federal prison. As a convicted violent felon of foreign birth, he was subject to automatic deportation under laws passed after the terrorist attacks of 2001. He started a legal appeals process, but 22 days later, he chose to accept deportation to the Central American country where he’d lived until the age of seven, and where his father, Dean Barrow, has been prime minister since 2008.

These days, Shyne is an orthodox Jew who says his prayers every evening, eats only kosher food, observes the Sabbath from sundown Friday ’til sundown Saturday, and travels around Central America visiting synagogues. In April, he was named Belize’s official Musical Ambassador and appointed as the head of the music program at the Natural Institute of Culture and History. Meanwhile, he hits the studio and is gearing up for the fourth quarter release of two new albums. One through a renewed partnership between Gangland and Def Jam, and one through an undisclosed deal. He also hopes to one day return to the United States. But only if he can do so as a free man.

XXL: So take me back. What can you say about the night of your case and what happened?
Shyne: I can tell you I was defending myself and the muthafuckas that was with me.

And, that night, did you have any idea that it could turn out the way it did?
Listen, I live my life for what’s right. When I grew up, death and harsh consequences and spending the rest of your life in the pen is a matter of fact. It’s not somethin’ that you read about in the newspaper, or you’re watching TV and you say, “Wow, that’s fascinating.”

It’s a possibility at any moment.
No, that is a fuckin’ damn near probability. Not even a possibility—a strong probability. In my life, when I make decisions to roll, I roll. And I don’t give a fuck what the consequences are. If I’ma defend myself, I’ma defend myself. If somebody tryna kill or hurt one of my partnas or my comrades that’s with me, there is no, Yo… or Damn, well, if I pull this shit out, this is what’s gonna happen. No! I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna be laid up in no fuckin’ hospital with a tube runnin’ through me, hurtin’ and sufferin’. Pain is real. So you know what? I’m not doin’ that. You gon’ do that, muthafucka. You gon’ roll and say hi to Satan, not me. And that’s that. After the fact, you deal with it. Your survival instincts tell you to protect and preserve, and you deal with whatever later. When you runnin’ on your foot that you just got shot on, not until you get to where it’s safe do you collapse. Because your body is designed to preserve. So it’s more important for your body to get to a place where it won’t die, than to just not work. The foot is gon’ work until you get to that point where it’s okay. Then the body will automatically shut down. And that’s how it was. So when I popped, I popped. Not because I was tryna be tough. For me, when you do things for show or you do things for wrong reasons, then you might think of consequences, and you calculate. But when you do what’s right, then any red-blooded human being [would do it], ya dig? A muthafucka threatenin’ your life, you do what you gotta do now. It ain’t about, Yo, did I do the right thing? Of course I did the right thing.

At the time, do you believe that one of the people you’re doing it for is someone that’s gonna look out for you in return?
No, no. You’re doing it because someone is threatening your life, as well as your comrade’s life. It has nothing to do with my comrade, with the exception that you protect and you preserve those that you love and you fuck with. You don’t sit there and think, Yo, I don’t know, man. Is this guy gonna…? I don’t give a fuck about that. In the world I’m from, comrades take care of they comrades. When you’re on the battlefi eld, you gon’ drag the dead body back to home base and bury him. And you’re gon’ give your soldier the honor that he deserves. You’re not gonna leave your soldier. Even if he’s dead. You’re still gonna carry his dead body back to base and bury him, like he deserves. So I assume that everybody is honorable and everybody has integrity and character and does the right thing. When I make my move, I’m not making my move questioning what people are gonna do. I know what I’m supposed to do.

Was that a mistake on your end?
Never a mistake. ’Cause I live with myself, and I sleep at night. And I sit here before you with all my dreams realized and being rewarded from the universe for having my character and my integrity. So I’m good. I did what I was supposed to do, and I was rewarded greatly for it.

Did your comrade—Puffy, in this situation—let you down?
You can always say, “Man, that ain’t the way to handle the situation.” Sure, I know in my soul that the situation was supposed to be handled in a different way. But it ain’t really a matter of disappointment or letdown, ’cause I never really… I grew up never having shit, never having anybody. So I never was that dude to depend on a muthafucka. Obviously, the actions is not something that you condone or that you’re happy with. Not at all.

But, ultimately, that’s the reason why you got a longer bid?
Yeah, if it was handled different, muthafuckas could have did a shorter stretch. If muthafuckas was banding together and we was all on the same team. For him, I don’t know whether he was nervous, afraid. When you’re afraid and you’re emotional, that’s a different survival tactic. Those are the people that do anything, regardless of character and integrity, to preserve and protect themselves, regardless of who they hurt. I guess maybe that was the situation. Never been in a situation like that, where he facing years, and he got hundreds of millions and all that shit at stake. But where I’m from, doesn’t matter. You lose everything for your comrade. Again, if you’re in battle, I’ll catch a bullet, too. It ain’t like, Yo, he’s dead. Don’t make no sense for me to die, too. Nah, I’ma die, too! So you hope or you take for granted that all men are the same. But I know all men are not. It’s disappointing when they don’t live up to themselves, but you roll. You know that the creep is in all of us. It’s just a few of us is able to suppress that creep, and some of us are able to extract it from our soul altogether.

I get living a life and accepting the probability of what could happen with decisions that you make. But there has to be an element of saying, “Okay, I’ve got this record deal, I’ve got this buzz, now I’m going away for 10 years. This is devastating.”
I mean, sure it’s devastating. Of course, being in the cage like a dog is devastating. But, again, I can’t let that devastate me. ’Cause I’m a survivor, and I’ma persevere. So what I did was, I licked my wounds and said, How am I gonna master and resolve this situation? And the way was to continue to have character and integrity and continue to grow and develop. I looked at bein’ in the pen for 10 joints as my opportunity to concentrate, to get things in perspective. And I never let it devastate me, although it was devastating, because I never thought I was gonna be in jail for 10 years. I thought I was gon’ make a bail. I thought I was gon’ get my shit reversed. I’m terribly optimistic.

And when the courts shut you down, did you shut down?
Nah. I mean, you put your motion in, it gets denied, it gets delayed. While I’m doin’ that, Oh, shit, this rapper’s rappin’ about Shyne… This one is callin’, sayin’ he wanna sign me to his record company. I just did a distribution deal with Def Jam. So it’s not like I was sittin’ there every year not accomplishing anything. I was getting young bloods to go to school and learn. I was sittin’ in there, choppin’ it up with the Locs, tryin’ to bring unity to the different colors. I was developing and dealing with different challenges as a man. I was growing, I was moving, I was accomplishing things. It’s not like it was years of desolate and despondency. Although, no matter what you do, there’s a level of tragedy and fuckin’ horrifi c existence there. But you become so immune to that shit. It’s a matter of not looking at that, and concentrating on what is right and what you can do and accomplish in that situation.

Do you ever think about anyone who was injured, or the victims from that night?
Listen, I never wanna hurt nobody. I don’t even wanna hurt my enemies. One of the dudes that got popped was somebody that was, you know, he wasn’t innocent. But whoever was innocent that got hit, you never wanna hurt nobody. Me, personally, I’m not built like that. I just wanna defend mines. And when I defend mines, I’ma defend it to the thousand. But for anybody that got hit, defi nitely, I would refl ect on that shit and be like, Damn. I would understand my pain as the same way a muthafucka that ain’t have nothing to do with nothing had to go through pain because of me. Same way I be feelin’ all innocent, maybe I’m paying for that shit. So, defi nitely, you think about it, and you don’t want that, for an innocent person to have to suffer. But I never did anything that was wrong. All I tried to do was defend myself. And even if you go back to the case, there’s no proof that it was my bullets that shot those people. So I would say, “Listen, man, if I hurt those people, my bad.” But it ain’t a certified fact, ’cause they ain’t take the bullets out the victims, and it was, like, four ratchets. A few of them was, like, mine, and one of them wasn’t, and they couldn’t never determine what kind of bullet it was… So, again, you never want innocent people that ain’t got nothing to do with this shit to be involved with it. You regret that, you dig? But I’m coming from the side of right. So that’s why I was able to get through that. That didn’t break me, ’cause I knew what I was doing was right. But you never want innocent people to suffer.

How were you treated in jail?
There’s always gonna be a muthafucka that want to jump in front of the bus. So you run his ass down. So everybody else is on the sidewalk, see him just got ran over. They gon’ be like, “Yo, when that bus comin’, wait ’til the fuckin’ red light, and then you walk.” So, for me, wherever I go, I’m ready to cop. Nobody’s gonna interfere with my vibe. You not gon’ fuck wit’ what I do. I’m gonna have my space, and anything that interferes with that...I won’t tolerate that. That’s how I be on the streets. I ain’t come in the can for runnin’ no fuckin’ red light or for stealin’ credit cards or robbing an old lady. I’m here for airin’ it out. So you know what I’ma do in the pen if a muthafucka violate. I’ma air him out. And that’s what I did. I aired muthafuckas out if it called for it. But that was never my style, to be runnin’ around, causin’ trouble on no rah-rah shit. That ain’t who I am. So I’m mindin’ my business and was into what I do. But if a muthafucka interfere with my space, I’ma give it to him. But I was good. I saw God’s face wherever I went.

I don’t think people realize how religious you are or that you were Jewish before you went in. Can you explain a little bit about how your religion has played a role in your life?
Religion is a fuckin’ strange word. I think, for me, it’s just facing a higher power. My understanding of how the planet works and who runs the planet. I had that before I went to the can, and that’s how I survived.

You were Jewish before you went into jail...
Yeah! My parents were nonreligious, but my grandmother, when she would tell me about God, she would tell me in the Jewish perspective. From Moses and David. I never went to church or none of that other shit. I believed in God and Moses. That connection was made since I was a young muthafucka. But not on the level of the way it is now, where I know the laws, the history of the Hebrews on the scholastic level, you can say. Like, I know all the ins and outs. Like, at that point, all I knew was the soul of it, which was the essence of it, which was the connection of God and man. That’s the fundamental connection.

Was that something that you found the need for in prison?
Noooo. It was a natural growth. It ain’t got nothing to do with prison. Because I was on the street doing more. I was fasting for 48 hours, doing all type of shit. I been reading. It’s a matter of natural growth, coming to different points in your life, like, Yo, this is what I need to do. I had a greater connection with God on the town. I’ve come close to that in the pen. But I was on a totally superior level on the town, without doing any of the practicing shit. So don’t tie them together as if they intensifi ed or it became because of… Since a young blood, I was already on that. So, for me, this was just a natural development. It wasn’t something that happened because of there.

What’s the reason for your name change, from Jamal Barrow to Moses Levi?
I could have did that on the street. I could have did that on my second album, and after went away to Israel. You would think I could make a greater connection on the street than in the pen. But, anyway, that just came across natural growth, natural development. You know what Jamal Barrow means? Nothing. I don’t connect with that. My mother didn’t give me that name. Even though me and my pops is cool now, me and him didn’t have a relationship to have life in that name. So that name didn’t contribute to who I was and who I am. The only thing that contributed to me was my direct relationship with God. And the only person I could think of that had such a great relationship with God was Moses. Like they say, he walked with God, talked to God face-to-face. You know, God will reveal himself in different ways, and people will have different connections. But, like, Moses fucked with God. And being on the streets, surviving bullets, poverty, I dealt with God face-to-face. Getting pinched and trying to put that record out so I can feed my family, to see my dreams come true. I looked at my life and was like, I got a real, real, real relationship with this muthafuckin’ man, probably more than most men on the earth. And who got this relationship? Moses. And that’s why I came up with that. That’s who I wanted to be like. I don’t want to be like a Jamal. I wanna be like a Moses. And Levi, he was a singer, a priest—he was a musician. And so I’m a musician. And Levi, I didn’t even know, was Moses’ grandfather. Come to find out, everything you know it before you know it. It’s in you before you even understand the dynamics of it.

Who kept in touch with you while you were in there? Who held you down?
My moms. She tried her best. I had a broad I went to high school with, and ever since school she was always there for me. Kinda hard, because of my faith I can only marry a Jewish woman. So that’s a real complex, sensitive situation. She was always there for me, and she’ll always be my friend. Wish I could marry her, but I can’t argue with God as far as… That’s who was really there for me, you dig? So I can’t fuck with that. You know, I had people. Enough, I had enough. Anybody that was supposed to be there was there. But it was never about those people. ’Cause whether or not I had a visit, whether or not shortie had something to do, my moms couldn’t afford to take my collect call, I had to keep going… There was times I ain’t have nothing in my commissary, times I was takin’ my last to make sure my moms was good. I wasn’t about that. I’m not about calling to say, Hi. “Oh, it’s Memorial Day. Where y’all goin’?” I don’t give a fuck. I’m here. I wasn’t about being connected to the outside world. Fuck the outside world.

Did you get what you wanted out of your 2004 Gangland/Def Jam Records deal?
Being able to do the Gangland shit in the pen was a miracle. I didn’t think any of that shit was going to happen until I hit the town. It would have been more practical when a muthafucka touch the town, but when that came together, that was a dream come true. Even though it was miraculous, it’s a matter of making it happen and sustaining it… And everything I did with [the Godfather Buried Alive album] was me. It was my marketing plan, my catchphrases, so I take all blame and all credit. For me, it was just having the opportunity to run my company, to facilitate my dreams. You gotta remember, when you live in the pen, they got a muthafucka to tell you when to shit, when to eat, when to take a shower, when you can’t be close to family on the visiting fl oor. So to decide when your album is going to come out... Just having photographs coming to me to approve for the album cover was a dream come true.

When did you realize you were going to have to leave the United States when you were released, that you wouldn’t be going back to Flatbush, Brooklyn?
I always knew it was a possibility I might be deported. I had lawyers, and I had people with serious relationships working to get me a fuckin’ opportunity to continue my life in the place that raised me and developed me and grew me, after payin’ my debt, ya dig? So it was reasonable that, after I did all this time, fi rst offense, you got a lot of shit in our favor. I could go to try to deter young muthafuckas from making the terrible mistakes I made and had to make. We felt, with all that, somebody would hear it and be like, “Yo, man, let’s give this dude a shot.” So it wasn’t a foregone conclusion that I would be deported. But I knew that that was a very serious possibility… Once I did all that I was supposed to do, had all type of lawyers, all type of political relationships, lobbying, there came a point where I decided to return to Belize. So it wasn’t really deportation in the sense that I ain’t have no choice. I could have stayed and fought in immigration in the feds.

But I decided, after a week in that bitch, I reached my max out. October 6th, 2009, was it. That’s it for my soul. So I made a choice. I coulda sat there and got myself out of that. But all the Belizean people were waiting for me to come back. It was like a big thing down here. And it was like, “Yo, what the fuck am I doing? Ain’t nothin’ wrong with my country. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with my people. If I make it back to the United States, I make it back. But that ain’t the end of me. I’m global. I’m planetary. Wherever I am, there I am. Wherever I be, there I be. My voice will be heard.” I’ve always had that planetary vision. So bein’ in Belize, that’s just geographics, and geographics don’t determine me. So I’m like, “Yo, why am I gon’ keep suffering like a dog and like an animal? If it’s God’s will, I’ll make it to New York.” But then it was like, “I’ma go where I’m from. I’ma put it in hard, help these kids, build my country up, do my global philanthropic shit throughout the world and show Obama and show [New York State Governor] Patterson and show these muthafuckas that I’m a partner in doin’ what’s right for sufferers and for poor people and for muthafuckas on the bottom.” ’Cause a muthafucka, when he’s in the can, he write you and tell you anything—he’s reformed, he’s rehabilitated, he’s this, he’s that. So, nah, you know what? I’ma show you muthafuckas. And that’s what I did. So even when I got off the plane, the fi rst place I went to was the juvenile home. Went to see the muthafuckas in the can. Went to fuck with the people that’s struggling and suffering, to see what I could do once my shit pop.

Filed Under: Diddy, featured, issue 126, issue 26, issue 59, Shyne, XXL Magazine

Categories: News

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