Post by Lynch on Jan 16, 2009 23:01:08 GMT -4
It was aways back, a day I can never forget. I was rolling hard, my pockets were always on overload. Needless to say the street hustle payed very well, and was turning out to be a lucrative business for myself. I remember this day as if it were yesterday. I was heading to the park, in my 87 Cutlass. This car was the shit, blood red candy paint, plushed out interior, Chrome 100 spokes, and juiced up. I hit three wheel motion as I pulled into the parking lot, the trunk pounding from my speakers. I stooped the ride sideways in a couple of spots next to Baby Reg's car. Reg was rolling Regal decked out, this fucker was sick. Low rider was going to do a spread on it, but Reg told them no. He said it would bring too much attention. As if a black cherry painted topless Regal didn't cause enough. Anyways, I was checking in with some of the top G's. We had a major shipment coming through, and needed some rats to move the product.
Now when it came to checking rats, and making sure they don't fuck around I was the man. These nigga's knew how I rolled, and respected the Jackson family. None the less we met for a while, discussed the shipment. Baby Reg asked if I could pick up his nephew from School, Lil nigga was only in eighth grade but was down as hell. Reg wanted to keep him as far away from the game as he could, but it's hard when your trying to run the hood, and keep him close for protection.
So I fired up the Cutlass and headed to swoop up this little motherfucker. I pulled up at the school, and Lil E was excited to see me. Son of a bitch started blood walking to the car showing off for all his friends on the bus, and walking home. He asked if he could hit the switches, and I sure as hell let him do so. I gassed it up leaving a fat burner on the parking lot of the school as Lil E dropped the ass of my ride. Sparks flew as we bailed down the street. I decided to be a spoiler, and take the young g for something to eat at Tommy's. That fucking shack has the best burgers, and some raunchy cheese fries. We sat down to eat at one of the outside tables.
"So whats up, hows those grades?" I asked Baby Reg's brother. HE shrugged his shoulders as if not wanting to discuss that. The kid was no dummy, but wanted to be down. I don't blame him, growing up around this shit you can't help. We are like rock stars of the hood. We have money, cars, and sluts all the things a young teen looks up to as the finer things of life.
Then it began, the start of an innocent that would forever change my life. A Garden Bloc Crip strolled by. He saw me decked out in my best Piru, with my red flag hanging from my pocket. This crab threw up his knot, then yelled out slob killa. No for those of you who don't really know the crazy terms that have left my mouth, let me explain. As a life long blood, you take offense to the word slob, cause it's meant to be a derogative term for our set, as is vice versa crab for crip.
I tried to let it just slide, being with Lil E. Had this been any other day, my Teflon filled nine would be pulled out and stuffed in the right nostril of this fucking crab ass nigga. So I decide for today this bitch ass nigga can be the hard mother fucker that he's trying to show off as. Baby Reg is one of the down-est G's I have ever seen. Seeing that Lil E is his baby brother, some of this has rubbed off. I gave him that look as if he decided to get crazy he would not only have to deal with that busta ass nigga, but would have me in his shit soon after.
Just then, my cell phone rings. it was Baby Reg. "Lynch...did you swoop up Lil E?" asked my top dog. "Sure did, we're at Tommy's getting' a burger. I guess the Lil nigga doesn't like cafeteria food." I replied.
"You remember that shit food, we didn't like that shit either. Listen I'm almost done, drop him off at home and roll through Gerson park we got take care of something."barks Baby Reg. I simply told him I'll be there. Just as I hang up the phone, I notice Lil E throwing up the Piru toward the cocky crip. I hear the crab begin yelling toward Lil E. With a deep breath, I slide my pistol under the table to Lil E. I gave him direct instructions to place my nine in his back pack. I spin around just as the big talking gangster strolls over. I stand grabbing my red flag from my back pocket. I quickly wrap the bandanna around my fist. Crips don't like to be punched by the mighty color red, and Piru's love to get crab blood on their flag. I can't tell you how much opposing DNA is stained this rag, none the less if this nigga doesn't back down I will surely be adding some more.
Not waisting any time, I swing first cracking this nigga in the eye socket. He stumbles backward and I charge forward swinging a few more fists. This mother fucker goes down, and I reign down a few more mighty knuckle shots. Suddenly Lil E begins scrapping with another full size crip. These crab bitches don't care about kids, or women. Lil E catches a nasty right dropping him back first on the table. I quickly grab a chair from one of the other tables. Hoist it high, and crack this motherfucker in the skull. I see Lil E come to, and begin to reach for the back pack. Now I know this Lil gangsta is hot, and wants to get revenge on being layed out.
"NO NIGGA" I screamed. Lil E listen and left the bag alone. I noticed the bitch layed down from the chair reach for a pistol in his waistband. I began stomping his head until blood pooled the ground. My favorite color spilled on that pavement. The man who claimed to hate Bloods, and the color red has just spilled his true inner feelings all over the concrete. It didn't take long for the sirens to be heard. Before the jubilee of lights arrived I walked over handing Lil E my cell phone and car keys, then took my nine out of his back pack. I placed it in my waist tucking my shirt in it so it can be visually seen. I told the little nigga to walk on, and call his brother. Baby Reg would come through, take care of E, and my Cutlass. Soon the police arrived on the scene. I hand my hands folded behind my head before they even asked. "I know the drill" I exclaimed as they took my nine. Soon I was cuffed, and stuffed taking that fancy ride in the plastic back seat of a cruiser.
Over the next month, I spent time in county awaiting trial. I got some visits from some of the family. Baby Reg came through the same day I was to be sentenced. He told me how much he owed me for looking after his Lil brother. I threw up the mighty P as they took me off to see the judge. That was the last time I was to ever see Baby Reg again. I think it was the first year in prison, or maybe the beginning of the second I got word that my top dog got owed down by a street sweeper one of the Crips got a hold of. Those fuckers spit out a ton of bullets, and make swiss cheese out of a any nigga.
So I was transferred to up state California, prison wasn't so bad for gangsters. Rapist's, Pedophiles, and con men seemed to struggle a bit. I spent much of my time playing cards and lifting weights. From time to time I would read a book or two. Many people talked of getting out, what they would do, who they would see. Many claimed to go the straight path, others were emphatic that they would hit it ten times harder then prior to getting clinked up. Me, I loved my life. The respect, the money, I was a fucking superstar. I mean taking money and flipping it into even more money was a thing that drove me. At about year three I lost contact with all my family, and all the Piru. I was the forgotten G in the cage. They were busy, they were at war on the streets everyday. I understand, it's daily grind. Hustle just to stay alive. At the same time it sank in that I was the forgotten, i was told that a legal team was working on my early release. I didn't get into much trouble while in. I'm an easy going guy, I don't need to talk or act tough. A nigga can tell when another nigga is down. It's like we have special vision showing the insides of other men. I look into a nigga's eyes, and can tell right away. Mother fucker is as hard as me, or a Lilly ass nigga. Needless to say most of us just did our time. People got into scuffles, but I think we just took it as entertainment. In the streets I would lay a bitch down, in here there was no need. I walked in with respect, and had much for others in as well.
I got word that my release was days away. The legal team had did it, and I would be free on early out for good behavior. I didn't know what to do. I thought about going back home, but had some doubts. I mean I haven't spoke with any one from the hood in some time. I got no money to get home, will these nigga's even roll with a washed up jailbird. Baby Reg long gone by this point, surely going home would be different.
The day came, I was out processed. I strolled past the gate. My blood red Dickies, a wife beater tank top and my Addias with the red stripes covered my body as I walked out a free man. The gate rattled closed behind me, and there I was not sure where to go or how to get there. The as I looked back at my previous home I wondered who paid for the legal team who worked on my early release. Just as I turned back around to the street, a car pulled up. The driver rolled the window down on the Lincoln Town Car, and the driver spoke. "I guess you have a choice to make."
"You can get in and see where the car takes you, or stroll on and see what comes of your life next" uttered the driver. These words pierced my soul, and sparked my curiosity. I decided to get in the car, opening the back door and slide in.
So I was taken to a farm in Montana, where in the barn instead of animals it was set up for conditioning, weight training and wrestling. Why was I chosen, who was paying for all this. The man running the farm was a quiet but stern teacher. He seemed very knowledgeable about the business. and has trained many of people. As I joined this camp a man left getting signed to a contract with a company called TNA. Over the next year I was taught the fundamentals of the business, how to work soft, stiff and everywhere in between. I was sent out to compete in local shows. I entered the ring, and the emotion from the crowd seemed to drive me. I began growing in popularity and turned to the form of hardcore. It gained the biggest pops, had the most fan support, and seemed to produce a color that I so loved, not to mention it was right up my alley. The form was so pure, fast paced, and as close as you can get to being back on the street without getting locked up.
Within a a year, wrestling promotions came from all over. They talked with my mentor, then spoke with me. All had offers of stardom, money and fame. I listened to them respectfully, and sent them on their way. My mentor took me aside, letting me know what was in store for me. He sternly said I was not trained for them, the benefactor didn't have those other organizations in mind. It was about a week later, a limo arrived. My mentor spoke with the man in the back for about a half an hour. He soon came over with a envelope in hand. He handed it my direction, and I of course opened it. Inside a plane ticket, a wad of cash, and a contract. I pulled it out reading the header Action Packed Wrestling. My mentor said I was just inked to a solid deal, that the cash was my sign on bonus, and the ticket was to head to their development facility.
This type of action didn't sit real well with me. I mean a few White folks dictating my future, signing me off like slave trade. A true nigga from the hood doesn't roll like that. I must wear my emotions on my sleeve cause my mentor came over as I was chilling by a tree, and had a few words for me. He spoke about how I'm not in the hood anymore, I don't have any ties to the Piru, and things can be different for me. "You never leave the set, once a blood always a blood " I replied. "Besides...if I'm going to be on TV, all the niggas from the hood will see their old role dog." Most crackers would have been perplexed by my words, but this good ole boy understood me, hence why we are speaking about this very subject.
Things were worked out, and I packed up. I headed off to make a name for myself. I officially on the APW development roster. It's been a few months now, and there are talks of me being called up to the main roster. So you sick fucks that love blood spilling, bone crunching hardcore brutality....watch out for Lynch.
Now when it came to checking rats, and making sure they don't fuck around I was the man. These nigga's knew how I rolled, and respected the Jackson family. None the less we met for a while, discussed the shipment. Baby Reg asked if I could pick up his nephew from School, Lil nigga was only in eighth grade but was down as hell. Reg wanted to keep him as far away from the game as he could, but it's hard when your trying to run the hood, and keep him close for protection.
So I fired up the Cutlass and headed to swoop up this little motherfucker. I pulled up at the school, and Lil E was excited to see me. Son of a bitch started blood walking to the car showing off for all his friends on the bus, and walking home. He asked if he could hit the switches, and I sure as hell let him do so. I gassed it up leaving a fat burner on the parking lot of the school as Lil E dropped the ass of my ride. Sparks flew as we bailed down the street. I decided to be a spoiler, and take the young g for something to eat at Tommy's. That fucking shack has the best burgers, and some raunchy cheese fries. We sat down to eat at one of the outside tables.
"So whats up, hows those grades?" I asked Baby Reg's brother. HE shrugged his shoulders as if not wanting to discuss that. The kid was no dummy, but wanted to be down. I don't blame him, growing up around this shit you can't help. We are like rock stars of the hood. We have money, cars, and sluts all the things a young teen looks up to as the finer things of life.
Then it began, the start of an innocent that would forever change my life. A Garden Bloc Crip strolled by. He saw me decked out in my best Piru, with my red flag hanging from my pocket. This crab threw up his knot, then yelled out slob killa. No for those of you who don't really know the crazy terms that have left my mouth, let me explain. As a life long blood, you take offense to the word slob, cause it's meant to be a derogative term for our set, as is vice versa crab for crip.
I tried to let it just slide, being with Lil E. Had this been any other day, my Teflon filled nine would be pulled out and stuffed in the right nostril of this fucking crab ass nigga. So I decide for today this bitch ass nigga can be the hard mother fucker that he's trying to show off as. Baby Reg is one of the down-est G's I have ever seen. Seeing that Lil E is his baby brother, some of this has rubbed off. I gave him that look as if he decided to get crazy he would not only have to deal with that busta ass nigga, but would have me in his shit soon after.
Just then, my cell phone rings. it was Baby Reg. "Lynch...did you swoop up Lil E?" asked my top dog. "Sure did, we're at Tommy's getting' a burger. I guess the Lil nigga doesn't like cafeteria food." I replied.
"You remember that shit food, we didn't like that shit either. Listen I'm almost done, drop him off at home and roll through Gerson park we got take care of something."barks Baby Reg. I simply told him I'll be there. Just as I hang up the phone, I notice Lil E throwing up the Piru toward the cocky crip. I hear the crab begin yelling toward Lil E. With a deep breath, I slide my pistol under the table to Lil E. I gave him direct instructions to place my nine in his back pack. I spin around just as the big talking gangster strolls over. I stand grabbing my red flag from my back pocket. I quickly wrap the bandanna around my fist. Crips don't like to be punched by the mighty color red, and Piru's love to get crab blood on their flag. I can't tell you how much opposing DNA is stained this rag, none the less if this nigga doesn't back down I will surely be adding some more.
Not waisting any time, I swing first cracking this nigga in the eye socket. He stumbles backward and I charge forward swinging a few more fists. This mother fucker goes down, and I reign down a few more mighty knuckle shots. Suddenly Lil E begins scrapping with another full size crip. These crab bitches don't care about kids, or women. Lil E catches a nasty right dropping him back first on the table. I quickly grab a chair from one of the other tables. Hoist it high, and crack this motherfucker in the skull. I see Lil E come to, and begin to reach for the back pack. Now I know this Lil gangsta is hot, and wants to get revenge on being layed out.
"NO NIGGA" I screamed. Lil E listen and left the bag alone. I noticed the bitch layed down from the chair reach for a pistol in his waistband. I began stomping his head until blood pooled the ground. My favorite color spilled on that pavement. The man who claimed to hate Bloods, and the color red has just spilled his true inner feelings all over the concrete. It didn't take long for the sirens to be heard. Before the jubilee of lights arrived I walked over handing Lil E my cell phone and car keys, then took my nine out of his back pack. I placed it in my waist tucking my shirt in it so it can be visually seen. I told the little nigga to walk on, and call his brother. Baby Reg would come through, take care of E, and my Cutlass. Soon the police arrived on the scene. I hand my hands folded behind my head before they even asked. "I know the drill" I exclaimed as they took my nine. Soon I was cuffed, and stuffed taking that fancy ride in the plastic back seat of a cruiser.
Over the next month, I spent time in county awaiting trial. I got some visits from some of the family. Baby Reg came through the same day I was to be sentenced. He told me how much he owed me for looking after his Lil brother. I threw up the mighty P as they took me off to see the judge. That was the last time I was to ever see Baby Reg again. I think it was the first year in prison, or maybe the beginning of the second I got word that my top dog got owed down by a street sweeper one of the Crips got a hold of. Those fuckers spit out a ton of bullets, and make swiss cheese out of a any nigga.
So I was transferred to up state California, prison wasn't so bad for gangsters. Rapist's, Pedophiles, and con men seemed to struggle a bit. I spent much of my time playing cards and lifting weights. From time to time I would read a book or two. Many people talked of getting out, what they would do, who they would see. Many claimed to go the straight path, others were emphatic that they would hit it ten times harder then prior to getting clinked up. Me, I loved my life. The respect, the money, I was a fucking superstar. I mean taking money and flipping it into even more money was a thing that drove me. At about year three I lost contact with all my family, and all the Piru. I was the forgotten G in the cage. They were busy, they were at war on the streets everyday. I understand, it's daily grind. Hustle just to stay alive. At the same time it sank in that I was the forgotten, i was told that a legal team was working on my early release. I didn't get into much trouble while in. I'm an easy going guy, I don't need to talk or act tough. A nigga can tell when another nigga is down. It's like we have special vision showing the insides of other men. I look into a nigga's eyes, and can tell right away. Mother fucker is as hard as me, or a Lilly ass nigga. Needless to say most of us just did our time. People got into scuffles, but I think we just took it as entertainment. In the streets I would lay a bitch down, in here there was no need. I walked in with respect, and had much for others in as well.
I got word that my release was days away. The legal team had did it, and I would be free on early out for good behavior. I didn't know what to do. I thought about going back home, but had some doubts. I mean I haven't spoke with any one from the hood in some time. I got no money to get home, will these nigga's even roll with a washed up jailbird. Baby Reg long gone by this point, surely going home would be different.
The day came, I was out processed. I strolled past the gate. My blood red Dickies, a wife beater tank top and my Addias with the red stripes covered my body as I walked out a free man. The gate rattled closed behind me, and there I was not sure where to go or how to get there. The as I looked back at my previous home I wondered who paid for the legal team who worked on my early release. Just as I turned back around to the street, a car pulled up. The driver rolled the window down on the Lincoln Town Car, and the driver spoke. "I guess you have a choice to make."
"You can get in and see where the car takes you, or stroll on and see what comes of your life next" uttered the driver. These words pierced my soul, and sparked my curiosity. I decided to get in the car, opening the back door and slide in.
So I was taken to a farm in Montana, where in the barn instead of animals it was set up for conditioning, weight training and wrestling. Why was I chosen, who was paying for all this. The man running the farm was a quiet but stern teacher. He seemed very knowledgeable about the business. and has trained many of people. As I joined this camp a man left getting signed to a contract with a company called TNA. Over the next year I was taught the fundamentals of the business, how to work soft, stiff and everywhere in between. I was sent out to compete in local shows. I entered the ring, and the emotion from the crowd seemed to drive me. I began growing in popularity and turned to the form of hardcore. It gained the biggest pops, had the most fan support, and seemed to produce a color that I so loved, not to mention it was right up my alley. The form was so pure, fast paced, and as close as you can get to being back on the street without getting locked up.
Within a a year, wrestling promotions came from all over. They talked with my mentor, then spoke with me. All had offers of stardom, money and fame. I listened to them respectfully, and sent them on their way. My mentor took me aside, letting me know what was in store for me. He sternly said I was not trained for them, the benefactor didn't have those other organizations in mind. It was about a week later, a limo arrived. My mentor spoke with the man in the back for about a half an hour. He soon came over with a envelope in hand. He handed it my direction, and I of course opened it. Inside a plane ticket, a wad of cash, and a contract. I pulled it out reading the header Action Packed Wrestling. My mentor said I was just inked to a solid deal, that the cash was my sign on bonus, and the ticket was to head to their development facility.
This type of action didn't sit real well with me. I mean a few White folks dictating my future, signing me off like slave trade. A true nigga from the hood doesn't roll like that. I must wear my emotions on my sleeve cause my mentor came over as I was chilling by a tree, and had a few words for me. He spoke about how I'm not in the hood anymore, I don't have any ties to the Piru, and things can be different for me. "You never leave the set, once a blood always a blood " I replied. "Besides...if I'm going to be on TV, all the niggas from the hood will see their old role dog." Most crackers would have been perplexed by my words, but this good ole boy understood me, hence why we are speaking about this very subject.
Things were worked out, and I packed up. I headed off to make a name for myself. I officially on the APW development roster. It's been a few months now, and there are talks of me being called up to the main roster. So you sick fucks that love blood spilling, bone crunching hardcore brutality....watch out for Lynch.
