A.V.
reTIreMEnt: THE ALBUM (01/22) ALL DSPs
So this came from another thread. (http://www.thecoli.com/threads/get-...realizations-daps-rep-4-honesty.237744/page-5) Figured shyt was too long and too real to let go to waste without at least making a new one, but if nobody reads or replies, cool. It's more like a release for me.I ain't the koombaya type nikka to talk and all that good therapy type shyt, so here it is. For the first time in a long time, a breh can actually say he's happy with where he's at in life. 
But hol up...Let me explain.
I was stabbed by my own pops at the age of 12. He was a violent, controlling, strict disciplinarian from Africa that had ridiculous views on what me & my families lives should turn out to be & a micromanager/education-above-all type of individual who valued accomplishments over compassion/"normal" parenting. Couldn't keep me from the streets though...I was too "Americanized", in boxing & Tae Kwon Doe classes to channel anger issues (no doubt inherited from him). He wanted me to be something I never wanted to be, and it was too late by the time he tried to force his ways onto me.
The hood had a hold of me by that time. Lost nearly lost a couple fingers and my gotdamn mind...& got lifetime scars & memories from the incident, in which I grabbed the knife recklessly while pinned to the ground by him. Broke his nose & bounced out the crib & up the block, not even noticing my left middle finger was missing the top third, barely hanging on by a tendon, bone showing & all. shyt was wrapped up in my T-shirt as I ran away from the only place I knew as home. He'd divorced my moms years earlier who happened to be living hundreds of miles away in VA. As I ran up the block, not a tear was shed, and not a soul stopped me to see what the deal was. nikkas just figured I'd been shot the fukk up & was running for help. Ended up at my boy's crib, in which I knocked on the door and asked his moms to call an ambulance. Never said who was responsible & charges were never pressed. From that point on, bottling shyt up, turning cold, and learning to supress any emotion (other than extreme happiness or anger) became the norm for me.
Ended up coming to VA months later after being basically on the run, and my life began in a downward spiral. No respect for male authority, lack of discipline with anger, frequent black-outs, mini-strokes during my teen years, numerous fights, expulsions...Was always the brightest in my classes, finished work early and fukked around to the point I was kicked out. Mom dukes did her best, but I ain't have that male guidance. The streets & Hip-Hop raised me. Which turned into gangbanging, car thefts, frequent trips back to NY, swearing if I ever caught my pops, I'd body him. That rage fueled most of the fukked up and twisted shyt I got away with in my prime years in the street (15-21). Linked up with all kinds of street nikkas, killers, thieves, drug dealers and generally unsavory characters. Put in all kind of work that I'm not proud of, shyt that still haunts me and I regret to this day. I'm not even supposed to be alive, let alone free.
In the midst of all this street shyt, I had about 3 or 4 mixtapes (2 group, 2 solo) that did HIGHLY well in my region, and sold beats I made in my studio (not basement, but legitimate studio) within 30 minutes, on the side, as a front for the work moving in & out that bytch. Had meetings with labels, local and major, and the general consensus was that I should sign here & there...but ONLY me, not my team. They ain't want them nikkas. I was loyal to a fault with cats I got money & came up with, wether it was rap or the streets, and I wasn't having that. Refused any deal that didn't include my nikkas eating with me.
The week before my 21st bday, (which was on July 1st, 2008) I had been preparing for an out of state move. One year removed from a 6 month bid, for a case in which my "nikkas" that I put on (I was the mastermind behind a lot of shyt I had these country ass nikkas doing) ratted on me...I was set to start a new chapter in life. Crib out of state, new town I could get money in & had clientele heavy at, and was one foot out of VA, which I miraculously was about to escape with only misdemeanors on my record. Cat I had working for me at the time owed me a large amount of money, and my "new" right hand, whom I'd pretty much raised and gave the game to, like he was my son, owed me as well...But that was the little homie. He was fukked up, fukking up his bread that I put him in a position to make, and fukked up that I was leaving and embarking on a new journey.
In a nutshell, I told him to ride....just RIDE with me on a lick, to get my money back from my worker. (5 figures). I put the work in, I was the getaway driver, it was I who put the pump in the nikka mouth after tailing and clocking the nikka whereabouts after he went M.I.A. with my bread. It was I who left a few cops in the dust on a high-speed chase reaching up to 80mph on country ass back roads at 4:30 am in late June of 2008. "Put On For My City" and "Lollipop" by Wayne were the hits at the time, I remember like it was yesterday. I also remember playing Lloyd Banks "Til' The End" (If you my nikka, you my nikka til the end...) In the getaway car, on the way to pull the robbery, with my "nikka, my lil son" in the passenger seat, vibing...ready to put the work in.
Flash forward seven months later. No evidence, except for a cop call. Mossberg 12 gague shotgun with NOBODIES prints on it. No victim/witness testimony, no nothing. Just dead leads and uncooperative "victims". They knew what me & my team up top was about and wanted no parts of it. Me & my "nikka"...who was now my co-defendant, were slated to be released February 2009. I find out 2 days before court that he told everything and agreed to testify if I didn't take whatever plea agreement the Commonwealth's Attorney threw at me. It ended up being half of my charges dropped (one of the dropped charges - Armed Burglary...carrying a MINIMUM of 20 years to life, if convicted. All that was needed for THAT conviction was the 911 call, and his testimony), in exchange for what's called an Alford plea.
An Alford plea isn't an admission of guilt, but an admission that there's enough suitable evidence (in my case, his testimony) for a defendant to be found guilty with probable cause beyond a reasonable doubt. Basically a guilty plea. No time was attached to the plea however, meaning I was going to court for sentencing, 3 months after my co-d came home & moved halfway across the country, waiting to get my time. I'd already mentally prepared myself for what my sentencing guidelines called for: 2-5 years. But with an Alford plea, the prosecutors can push for however much time they like. They pushed for 20 at my sentencing hearing.
Here's the kicker, the lead detective on the case was once a high school "hall" / "resource" officer who rose up in the ranks. The same officer that was present at my 10th grade expulsion hearing when I put a nikka head through a window. The same detective who was on my case when I did 6 months in 2007, and my "people" told on me, fingered me as the "mastermind" behind our crimes. The same detective whom I beat a case against, AFTER ALL THAT, in which I literally got away with threaning to kill his whole family & told him the addresses of his home, and mother's workplace. (God strike me dead if I'm making this shyt up, I'm not proud of it at all.) So I was 1-2 vs. this fakkit, and he was testifying all of my past crimes & run ins during a case in which my life was on the line. Not even 22 years old yet, and mentally, awaiting sentencing for 3 months...I went from preparing myself for a 2-5, to coming to terms with the fact I'd have to lay down until I was at least 37. Half the charges were dropped in my plea, but enough time was still there with the charges that were left over, to put me away for a long time, if they'd all been prosecuted to their maximum extent.
But hol up...Let me explain.I was stabbed by my own pops at the age of 12. He was a violent, controlling, strict disciplinarian from Africa that had ridiculous views on what me & my families lives should turn out to be & a micromanager/education-above-all type of individual who valued accomplishments over compassion/"normal" parenting. Couldn't keep me from the streets though...I was too "Americanized", in boxing & Tae Kwon Doe classes to channel anger issues (no doubt inherited from him). He wanted me to be something I never wanted to be, and it was too late by the time he tried to force his ways onto me.
The hood had a hold of me by that time. Lost nearly lost a couple fingers and my gotdamn mind...& got lifetime scars & memories from the incident, in which I grabbed the knife recklessly while pinned to the ground by him. Broke his nose & bounced out the crib & up the block, not even noticing my left middle finger was missing the top third, barely hanging on by a tendon, bone showing & all. shyt was wrapped up in my T-shirt as I ran away from the only place I knew as home. He'd divorced my moms years earlier who happened to be living hundreds of miles away in VA. As I ran up the block, not a tear was shed, and not a soul stopped me to see what the deal was. nikkas just figured I'd been shot the fukk up & was running for help. Ended up at my boy's crib, in which I knocked on the door and asked his moms to call an ambulance. Never said who was responsible & charges were never pressed. From that point on, bottling shyt up, turning cold, and learning to supress any emotion (other than extreme happiness or anger) became the norm for me.
Ended up coming to VA months later after being basically on the run, and my life began in a downward spiral. No respect for male authority, lack of discipline with anger, frequent black-outs, mini-strokes during my teen years, numerous fights, expulsions...Was always the brightest in my classes, finished work early and fukked around to the point I was kicked out. Mom dukes did her best, but I ain't have that male guidance. The streets & Hip-Hop raised me. Which turned into gangbanging, car thefts, frequent trips back to NY, swearing if I ever caught my pops, I'd body him. That rage fueled most of the fukked up and twisted shyt I got away with in my prime years in the street (15-21). Linked up with all kinds of street nikkas, killers, thieves, drug dealers and generally unsavory characters. Put in all kind of work that I'm not proud of, shyt that still haunts me and I regret to this day. I'm not even supposed to be alive, let alone free.
In the midst of all this street shyt, I had about 3 or 4 mixtapes (2 group, 2 solo) that did HIGHLY well in my region, and sold beats I made in my studio (not basement, but legitimate studio) within 30 minutes, on the side, as a front for the work moving in & out that bytch. Had meetings with labels, local and major, and the general consensus was that I should sign here & there...but ONLY me, not my team. They ain't want them nikkas. I was loyal to a fault with cats I got money & came up with, wether it was rap or the streets, and I wasn't having that. Refused any deal that didn't include my nikkas eating with me.
The week before my 21st bday, (which was on July 1st, 2008) I had been preparing for an out of state move. One year removed from a 6 month bid, for a case in which my "nikkas" that I put on (I was the mastermind behind a lot of shyt I had these country ass nikkas doing) ratted on me...I was set to start a new chapter in life. Crib out of state, new town I could get money in & had clientele heavy at, and was one foot out of VA, which I miraculously was about to escape with only misdemeanors on my record. Cat I had working for me at the time owed me a large amount of money, and my "new" right hand, whom I'd pretty much raised and gave the game to, like he was my son, owed me as well...But that was the little homie. He was fukked up, fukking up his bread that I put him in a position to make, and fukked up that I was leaving and embarking on a new journey.
In a nutshell, I told him to ride....just RIDE with me on a lick, to get my money back from my worker. (5 figures). I put the work in, I was the getaway driver, it was I who put the pump in the nikka mouth after tailing and clocking the nikka whereabouts after he went M.I.A. with my bread. It was I who left a few cops in the dust on a high-speed chase reaching up to 80mph on country ass back roads at 4:30 am in late June of 2008. "Put On For My City" and "Lollipop" by Wayne were the hits at the time, I remember like it was yesterday. I also remember playing Lloyd Banks "Til' The End" (If you my nikka, you my nikka til the end...) In the getaway car, on the way to pull the robbery, with my "nikka, my lil son" in the passenger seat, vibing...ready to put the work in.
Flash forward seven months later. No evidence, except for a cop call. Mossberg 12 gague shotgun with NOBODIES prints on it. No victim/witness testimony, no nothing. Just dead leads and uncooperative "victims". They knew what me & my team up top was about and wanted no parts of it. Me & my "nikka"...who was now my co-defendant, were slated to be released February 2009. I find out 2 days before court that he told everything and agreed to testify if I didn't take whatever plea agreement the Commonwealth's Attorney threw at me. It ended up being half of my charges dropped (one of the dropped charges - Armed Burglary...carrying a MINIMUM of 20 years to life, if convicted. All that was needed for THAT conviction was the 911 call, and his testimony), in exchange for what's called an Alford plea.
An Alford plea isn't an admission of guilt, but an admission that there's enough suitable evidence (in my case, his testimony) for a defendant to be found guilty with probable cause beyond a reasonable doubt. Basically a guilty plea. No time was attached to the plea however, meaning I was going to court for sentencing, 3 months after my co-d came home & moved halfway across the country, waiting to get my time. I'd already mentally prepared myself for what my sentencing guidelines called for: 2-5 years. But with an Alford plea, the prosecutors can push for however much time they like. They pushed for 20 at my sentencing hearing.
Here's the kicker, the lead detective on the case was once a high school "hall" / "resource" officer who rose up in the ranks. The same officer that was present at my 10th grade expulsion hearing when I put a nikka head through a window. The same detective who was on my case when I did 6 months in 2007, and my "people" told on me, fingered me as the "mastermind" behind our crimes. The same detective whom I beat a case against, AFTER ALL THAT, in which I literally got away with threaning to kill his whole family & told him the addresses of his home, and mother's workplace. (God strike me dead if I'm making this shyt up, I'm not proud of it at all.) So I was 1-2 vs. this fakkit, and he was testifying all of my past crimes & run ins during a case in which my life was on the line. Not even 22 years old yet, and mentally, awaiting sentencing for 3 months...I went from preparing myself for a 2-5, to coming to terms with the fact I'd have to lay down until I was at least 37. Half the charges were dropped in my plea, but enough time was still there with the charges that were left over, to put me away for a long time, if they'd all been prosecuted to their maximum extent.
breh... 
