I’m trying to understand why I used to love rap that was — on the highest of levels — very homicidal.
Murders, home invasions, drug busts, drug robberies, drive-by, kidnappings. I used to listen to some very aggressive content.
Until last night, when I was — one-by-one — blasting every last one of my favorite songs was 2011. That was when Ciara had an imaginary ax to grind and everyone was in her way.
From Freddie Gibbs to LEP Bogus Boys. Trouble, Alley Boy, that entire Duct Tape Entertainment family. Twista. Somebody on my favorite record had to die. Somebody had to become a statistic.
My favorite Gibbs record was one where he detailed a home invasion. Where he talked about how there was nothing loyal about the streets. If you’re hungry, you did what you had to do to survive.
I was 23. Living at home. Full time job with the Federal government. Who do I have to be afraid of? Who am I gunning down for breakfast?
I’ve tried to understand why I was attracted to some hardcore hip-hop. Sometimes I think it’s because I was trying so hard to be perceived as hard. I remember my best friend asking me, “why are you so angry? that ain’t you.” I remember wanting to pick fights, dreaming to debate everyone in sight. I wanted you to think that you shouldn’t want to fight me.
I can’t fight to save my life. When I was 12, I instigated a fight and it did not end well. Haven’t fought since.
I wonder if it was because I was trying to impress people. The only reason why I cared about Twista was because a certain person did. The reason why I cared about Trouble and Alley Boy so much was that it made me stand out in a room for a chicks that only knew hip-hop for play-play.
Either way, it was my life. And I loved it. And stuck to it.
And when I found myself listening to it last night, I downloaded every song I could.
Because you never know when you might have to drop a body or two.
Metaphorically, of course.
This is part of my attempt to write every day in July. You can follow the series here.