I HAD NOTHING WHEN I WAS RELEASED ON JANUARY 25, 1995. I looked around and was alone. The state had taken two and a half years of my life. Wood wasn’t there to pick me up. I caught the bus and headed to the Beans. The corners were worse than I had imagined. Liberty City was on fire. The corners mirrored a scene from a Wild West cowboy movie.
My homeboy Big C and his former right-hand man, Tiny, were at war. They had taken over the streets together when the older hustlers went down. Liberty City belonged to Big C’s Zombie Squad. They had to cosign anything going down in the neighborhood, but Tiny started robbing the crew. He dressed up in a disguise and robbed his own crew’s dope hole. Big C figured out his former partner’s ill-hearted scheme and all hell broke loose. They had the Feds all over America on their asses. The FBI labeled Fifteenth Avenue running through the Beans the most dangerous strip in the United States.
I wandered the corners for a while. It was tempting, but I couldn’t go back there. My palms sweated, craving to clutch the powder. Even Big C wanted me to take the rap game global. I couldn’t get a day job, but I had managed to make a cassette with my songs. I gave it to a couple of homeboys to blast in their rides. Lil Nut was one of the few friends who wasn’t dead or locked up yet. He bumped the tape in his car. Everyone thought it was ice-cold. Then I saw a flyer for a talent show Uncle Luke was hosting at the Pac-Jam. The grand prize was a recording contract to become part of the new 2 Live Crew.
I planned to win. No one was going to take what I believed was mines away from me. I even told all my friends I was going to win. They took it with a grain of salt. People were sure I’d be back behind bars within the month. That night, the Pac-Jam was filled to capacity. Everyone showed up. From the Beans all the way down to Homestead, folks wanted to see if the rumors about my skills on the mike were true. I had to deliver.
After the dance group No Good But So Good performed, it was my turn. Most people recount some story of lightning and thunder moving through their bodies during their moment of truth. I didn’t experience that grand epiphany. After the shoot-outs, prison riots, and murdered friends, nothing on this planet could have spooked me. Luke played “Captain D’s Coming” and I waited. Then I ripped my verse. I didn’t even finish the verse before the crowd erupted. People went crazy. Luke nearly had to shut the club down. Finally.
I wouldn’t say I cried, but the moment was retribution. All my life, I couldn’t catch a break. I’m just a skinny kid from the Beans who was trying to find his place in a fucked-up world. That’s it. In life most people just need one shot. They just need an opportunity for someone to throw them the rock. The ball always seemed to sail clear over my head. You can’t knock a man for turning down the wrong alley if all the other routes have roadblocks.
I closed my eyes.
I’m in the first phase of my dream. Now please don’t wake me up. God, let this be a real dream. Everything in my life has been a nightmare. Please let this be real.
Trick Daddy Dollars was born.
The dream was as real as a heart attack. Things happened fast. Luke Records was the first independent label owned by an artist. A lot of folks believe that’s why the powers that be gave him so much trouble. As I mentioned earlier, a black man on top is a threat in America, but also some in the community felt he did a disservice to black women with songs like “Me So Horny” and “Pop That Coochie.” America hadn’t seen women getting down like that in music videos before.
It isn’t our fault our women were blessed with curves. All I can say is that Luke gave this brother that opportunity I talked about earlier. Hell, he was the only person I could remember back then really doing anything charitable in the community. His football league gave a lot of kids an alternative besides robbing and dope dealing.
But the censorship battles took their toll on Luke’s record label. Someone needed to resurrect the Miami sound in the mainstream. He had signed JT Money and Deboniar, who formed the Poison Clan. They were putting out some dope music. Miami needed to be put back in the forefront. Luke put me on the song “Scarred” and the rest is history. The song was a huge hit and brought Miami back to the forefront of hip-hop. Laying down my verse wasn’t much work because I took it from the material I wrote in prison. A year ago I was in a six-by-nine-foot cell. Now, I was rapping my behind off in a music video on MTV. I lived in Luke’s condo. The place sure beat a prison cell. I was on my way, but Luke’s legal troubles had his label going down in ruins. He had to let go of me and a couple of his other acts like Tre+6 along with several of his employees.
Ted stepped in, his apprehension about signing me having dissipated. Now he knew I was a gold mine, so I became the face of Slip-n-Slide Records. Putting out my first album, Based on a True Story, was easy. The title was self-explanatory. Like my verse in “Scarred,” most of the songs were written in prison. Many of the records were dedicated to Hollywood. In fact, most of the songs on my first three albums were written in prison. It’s why people always tell me they feel the pain in my music. Those lyrics aren’t some scripted shit penned in some fancy recording studio. We got a distribution deal from an independent label called Warlock Records and hit the ground running.
I wanted to bring my whole crew with me. This was their moment in the sun as much as it was mines. Dante came straight out of prison to hop in the studio and give us a song he had written in prison called “Killa Head a Body Head.” The song’s lyrics were some heartfelt gutter shit he was feeling in the cage. We sought out Tronne and Tater, but they were busy making major moves in the street. You could say I took that fork in the road, but we stayed close. Whatever they needed, if I could provide, I did. Ted’s plan was for me and another dope emcee named Buddy Roe to come out as a supergroup. Buddy Roe and me were like brothers from another mother musically. We were both raw and soon became connected at the hip. Then he got jammed for cocaine trafficking. That white girl is seductive indeed. Once again I hit a brick wall. Roe and I were like a two-headed monster. We had already laid down tons of tracks. The streets were going to be ours, but I sucked it up for what it was. Roe gave me his blessing to continue making music. In that moment I wanted to throw in the towel. Who was I kidding? Everyone and everything around me was reinforcing the truth.
Trick is just a dope-dealing crook trying his hand at music. Soon enough folks would see the light and he’ll be back in the pen like all of his comrades.
God gave me the strength to stay on track when Roe went in. Our street team pushed my records out the trunks of cars, flea markets, and even corner stores. Call it guerrilla marketing. Master P had done it. He showed America the power of the grassroots dollar. As Southern rappers we were already at a handicap. Any hip-hop not coming out of New York or California was deemed unworthy. The hip-hop elites didn’t think Southern rappers could be good lyricists and storytellers. Scarface was the only emcee thus far getting that kind of recognition. Goodie Mob, OutKast, and other Atlanta acts were putting in work and not getting the credit they deserved. The West Coast faced much the same hardships before they broke out the gate and were sitting on top of the hip-hop throne. Ironically, East Coast rappers were playing in our backyard, but not showing us any love.
Although rappers and producers were always flocking to do shows in Miami, local rappers didn’t get to share in the spotlight. A lot of big records came out of Miami. Out-of-towners stole our records and made them theirs. People weren’t returning the love we showed them. Most people don’t even know KC and the Sunshine Band came out of Miami. It’s safe to say Miami was a forgotten stepchild on the hip-hop front. We were seen as nothing more than the folks who brought booty-shaking music. I wanted to shine a light on the other part of my city. I wanted to take folks to Overtown, Opa-locka, Ghouls, Liberty City, and the other ghettos. I wanted to introduce the world to that raw Miami shit. No other emcee was like me and no other city was like mines. That’s right. There wasn’t nann nigga in hip-hop like Trick Daddy.