so he enrolled into Morehouse and was a business management major.
In 2012, Metro was accepted to Morehouse, the prestigious Atlanta HBCU. But he felt obligated to enroll. “What black mom is not gon’ be happy about their son going to Morehouse?” he says now. “From birth,” Leslie says, “I always called him my little Morehouse man.”
'' I would really be in class, come back to my room, have an hour between my next class. I had my speakers and everything on my desk in my dorm room, and I’d be in there making beats. Everybody in the hall would hear it, knock on my door trying to get in.'' -Young Metro
Just months into the first semester, though, he couldn’t ignore his own momentum. He was just an 18-year-old freshman when his Future collaboration “Karate Chop” became a surprise hit. And he was spending as much time in class as he was at fellow producer Sonny Digital’s house.
The place was a bit wild: years after Metro was spending time there regularly, a bullet accidentally wizzed into the downstairs apartment, and an eviction notice soon followed. But for Metro, it was a lovely little oasis of productivity and positivity. And that communal vibe was elemental to Metro and Sonny and their class of producers’ damn-near socialist mentality. To this day, they all cheerily make beats together—Southside and DJ Spinz and 808 Mafia—worrying about how to split out songwriting credits only long after the music has been made.
At 516, Sonny, patiently, would hear Metro out as he bytched about how much he hated school. “I seen how he was stressing,” Sonny says now. “I knew, damn, that ain’t what he really wanna do.” So he told Metro: “Bro, you really might have to dead that.”
without the Morehouse dorms Metro would be homeless, Sonny promised him a place, rent-free, for as long as he wanted. “Sonny’s always been that open-hearted person,” Metro says.
Metro went into the bathroom and paced for an hour and a half, working up the nerve. Then finally, he called his mother. He couched it, at first, saying he was only taking a semester off. And still, she was furious. But as she lit into him, there was relief, too: this wasn’t part-time hustling anymore. He was now, God help him, a full-time, professional producer.
bruh didn't take advantage of being at a HBCU, to hook up with all them young college hoes especially the ones at Spelman. maybe either he worked hard and didn't take advantage or he wasn't getting play from Spelman and Clark ATL chicks and took out his frustration through music. which is genius
In 2012, Metro was accepted to Morehouse, the prestigious Atlanta HBCU. But he felt obligated to enroll. “What black mom is not gon’ be happy about their son going to Morehouse?” he says now. “From birth,” Leslie says, “I always called him my little Morehouse man.”
'' I would really be in class, come back to my room, have an hour between my next class. I had my speakers and everything on my desk in my dorm room, and I’d be in there making beats. Everybody in the hall would hear it, knock on my door trying to get in.'' -Young Metro
Just months into the first semester, though, he couldn’t ignore his own momentum. He was just an 18-year-old freshman when his Future collaboration “Karate Chop” became a surprise hit. And he was spending as much time in class as he was at fellow producer Sonny Digital’s house.
The place was a bit wild: years after Metro was spending time there regularly, a bullet accidentally wizzed into the downstairs apartment, and an eviction notice soon followed. But for Metro, it was a lovely little oasis of productivity and positivity. And that communal vibe was elemental to Metro and Sonny and their class of producers’ damn-near socialist mentality. To this day, they all cheerily make beats together—Southside and DJ Spinz and 808 Mafia—worrying about how to split out songwriting credits only long after the music has been made.
At 516, Sonny, patiently, would hear Metro out as he bytched about how much he hated school. “I seen how he was stressing,” Sonny says now. “I knew, damn, that ain’t what he really wanna do.” So he told Metro: “Bro, you really might have to dead that.”
without the Morehouse dorms Metro would be homeless, Sonny promised him a place, rent-free, for as long as he wanted. “Sonny’s always been that open-hearted person,” Metro says.
Metro went into the bathroom and paced for an hour and a half, working up the nerve. Then finally, he called his mother. He couched it, at first, saying he was only taking a semester off. And still, she was furious. But as she lit into him, there was relief, too: this wasn’t part-time hustling anymore. He was now, God help him, a full-time, professional producer.
bruh didn't take advantage of being at a HBCU, to hook up with all them young college hoes especially the ones at Spelman. maybe either he worked hard and didn't take advantage or he wasn't getting play from Spelman and Clark ATL chicks and took out his frustration through music. which is genius
