I sat in my room with the lights low, scrolling beats, weed burning. I was not trying to make anything. No session, no goal. Just me and whatever came up on the feed.
A beat hit and it was hard. Simple knock underneath, nothing fancy. I let it run a few bars and then I just started talking over it. Not thinking. Just going.
* * *
Motor in the back with the trunk in the front
Smokin' on gas, three-five in a blunt
Made it off the streets, I came up from a crumb
That line surprised me a little. Came up from a crumb. I let it ride and kept going.
Two thousand just for the shoes I put on
Freestylin' while I got kush in my lung
Crocodile Burberry, that's what I'm on
The second verse opened up and I stopped holding back.
Money and sex is bringin' me problems
But I'm at my best when I'm runnin' through models
Came out the trap, a hood nigga role model
I ran the hook back three times. By the third one it was locked in.
Hundreds of baddies, it's hard to choose one
Green light the shooters, it's already done
I sat back. That was good. Not saying much but every word was real. Something I had done or thought or lived. I saved it and called it Hard to Choose One.
I had not made a new beat in a while. That last one felt like the one before everything fell apart. I opened YouTube, found a beat I had been sleeping on, downloaded it, and went back in. This one was darker. I felt it right away.
* * *
Man, fuck these niggas
Boosted's back, Boosted's back
That's all these bitches screaming, that Boosted's back
I kept it moving through the first verse, the energy building.
Out on bail
Work on the scale
Put some change on ya head, boy you on sale
Pop pop get well
Make breakfast cause I got you walking on egg shells
Out on bail. I laughed a little when I heard it back. That one was a little too real. I kept it anyway.
I'm the one with the money so I ain't the one with the gun
All I do is give the word to the one with the gun
Fuck bitches get money, mission complete
The second verse went harder.
Swear to God I never shoot unless I'm shooting to kill
Young wild motherfucka pop you and a pill
Boy instead of writing raps you should be writing your will
I ended it where it needed to end.
I'm a dog hoe, camo cargos, semi autos
My bitch sniff more lines than a barcode
Wish I could take a shot of Ciroc with Pac
I played it back. Raw. Edge to it. Every line earned. I did not overthink it. Saved it and kept going.
I wanted to try singing one. I had been thinking about it since the competition. The way it felt to just let the voice go without wrapping everything in production. I found a beat that had room in it and started.
* * *
Drop the roof and let the smoke clear
I got diamonds doin' toosie slides in both ears
Dice rollin' on the Las Vegas strip tonight
The verse flowed easy. I was not forcing anything.
This that roll myself a J and count my figure shit
This that steppin' out, I feel like I'm that nigga shit
I dropped thirty on this room, we ain't gon' sleep for shit
Then the hook hit and I let it breathe.
But you can do what you wanna
Live, how you wanna
Be, who you wanna be
A young stunner
'Til I D-I-E
Second verse I went somewhere else.
Fuck it, I just run it up before I go
Would you tell the world my secrets, if I let you close?
I held that line for a second after I sang it.
This shit might drive you mad
Feeling pretty mixed up
But this life shit ain't all bad
Hook again. I let it ride out to the end and then I sat in the quiet after it.
A young stunner
'Til I D-I-E
* * *
I played all three back to back.
Hard to Choose One. Boosted's Back. Dead man walking. Three different moods, same person, same night, no plan. The hard one, the raw one, the one with some melody underneath it. Together they made sense in a way I had not been expecting when I sat down.
I decided they were going on an EP.
I opened Photoshop.
I had been thinking about the title since the verdict. The jury foreperson reading not guilty three times. My lawyer's hand on my arm. He's a good kid, Your Honor. That was the entire argument. The whole case reduced to one sentence. Whether it was completely true or not, it was what got me out.
I built the cover. Dark background, smoke and low light. Myself from the back, locs, the fit I had been wearing all week. Blue on the left side: Good Kid. Red on the right: Your Honor. The contrast between the two colors
I worked on it for about an hour. When it was done I looked at it and it was right.
I saved it.
He's a Good Kid, Your Honor. Three tracks. Made in one night with weed and no agenda.
Felt like a statement.
I published it, texted Cassie tomorrow at 10am, set my alarm and slept