AFTER THE SONG “I’M A THUG” TOOK ME TO THE TOP of the rap plateau, I focused on my other true passion—kids. It’s not a gimmick when I sing “Trick Loves the Kids.” When you listen to the “Children’s Song,” that’s some shit I’m rapping about from the heart. In my childhood, there wasn’t much for me to smile about. Like me, so many kids are growing up with nightmares as opposed to playful memories. Adults need to stop making kids the scapegoats for all their mistakes. They don’t deserve it.
I hate men who leave women in the dust to raise kids on their own. If you don’t want the babies, I’ll take every last one of them. Every time I see a teenage girl pushing a baby stroller toward a bus stop, I shed a tear. That’s right. Trick Daddy’s isn’t immune to crying. I wish I could have an amusement park in my backyard. I’d invite all the kids from the projects across America.
My daughter, Imani, was born on October 31, 1995. I got her mother pregnant the same week I was released from prison. Then my son, Jayden, burst into the world on November 16, 2001. I’ll take a bullet before I let them suffer the pain I went through at their age. I’m hoping to give them the support and guidance I never had. I want Imani to grow up to be a strong black woman and Jayden to be anything he wants. Look at Barack Obama. For the rest of my life, I’m going to regret not being able to vote for America’s first black president. That’s a privilege that was taken away from me as a convicted felon. But J won’t have to sell drugs. I swallowed that pill for him. Now he can go ahead and possibly become the scientist that comes up with a cure for AIDS. Imani can be the next Oprah. That’s one sister who I have the utmost respect for. I wish I could take her around my way to see how kids in the Beans and elsewhere in Miami are still suffering.
It’s why I started my nonprofit organization. I spent so many years tearing down my community that I felt it was time to put something back into it. I know that’s what Hollywood would have wanted. I’m not the richest rapper, but if I could give kids some school supplies to further their education, I believed I was able to move a mountain. It was high time Pearl left the Beans, so I got her a house in the suburbs. My niece Nene was the first person from Pearl’s side of my family to go to college. I’m planning on sending my other niece Zuki after she graduates high school.
While I was preoccupied trying to uplift my community and taking care of my family, the media chose to focus on my subsequent arrests. Bad habits are hard to break. The fame didn’t change who I was. If someone tried to disrespect me, I was still going to run up side their head with a pistol. The money afforded more weed and cocaine.
Then in August 2004, more tragedy struck.
By the time I was at the height of my fame, Tater and Tronne were at the same plateau in the dope game. I can’t help but wonder if things would have been different if I had been able to convince them to jump in on this rap game. However, we were cut from the same cloth. They were happy for me, but they were their own men. With the Feds crashing down on them, Tater cracked. I could never see one of us giving up the other. I guess the cops put the press on Tater, because he gave up everything. He told on the supplier, where the dead bodies were hid, and everything else. When the Feds caught up with Tronne, he didn’t plan on going back to prison. They caught up to him on a bridge in Atlanta above the Chattahoochee River.
Tronne jumped. He missed the water and broke his neck on the rocks. The dope life had claimed another of my closest friends. I was devastated. I’m not sure if I could ever forgive Tater for turning on Tronne. Now more than ever I wanted to keep the circle around me close-knit. My older brother Chuck stepped in as my manager. He had managed to go to a Manhattan performing arts school he always dreamed about. Law school was next. But a baby in Miami brought him back home and full swing into the music game. In 2006, I decided to leave Slip-n-Slide and form my own label. I had made folks millions of dollars, but somehow my kids weren’t playing with their kids. I guess it’s easy to exploit a kid fresh out of prison with no options who is blessed with God-given lyrical skills. It was time for me to make my own money and be my own man. I went out and got a stable of artists I believed in. It means I’ve had to become a leader because they depend on me. I can’t keep one foot on a banana peel and the other on solid ground.
I’d like Ice Berg, Fella, Murk Camp, Kasino, A-Dot, Chocolate City, Chronic, Beans, Bo, and Rick to go where I’ve been and further. Hopefully my younger brother Keyon gets out of prison in time to share in this dream. He was locked up for drug trafficking the same year I signed him to my fledgling label. That’s the part of hip-hop folks don’t focus on. Hip-hop saved my life. If it wasn’t for these beats and rhymes, I would probably be staring you down with an AK-47 or be locked up or dead. All I did was give you my life in some verses. Now my crew can feed their kids with ghetto rhymes much the same. Hip-hop allows young black men to come together and create an avenue for those around us. I’ve seen brothers that graduated Harvard hit a glass ceiling in the corporate world. Imagine the chances for a brother with a rap sheet.
Sadly enough, the same lack of hope in Miami that sent me raising hell in those streets still exists. Liberty City street corners are still dotted with vacant lots and dilapidated stores. The Beans is still infested with the dope holes. But nowadays, the fiends can’t even afford to buy the dope. People are still hurting in the hood. If the powers that be don’t do something about it, crack is going to make the biggest comeback ever in Miami. Instead of blaming hip-hop for the problems in the black community, society could turn to it as a savior.