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Full Version: Biggie had tupac killed? - La times says so
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This is a the story that everyone in hip-hop is talking about.It' from the LA times which is a fairly reputable newspaper. It's a long and winded article so basically it says.
1. Biggie paid the crips a million dollars to kill Tupac in las vegas.
2. He gave them the gun.And the money
3. The shooter was Orlando Anderson who was a crip and is the same guy who Pac and Suge Knight got into the fight with before the Tyson fight a few hours before Pac was killed.
Here's the article for those interested.


First of two parts

LAS VEGAS --The city's neon lights vibrated in the polished hood of the black BMW as it cruised up Las Vegas Boulevard.







The man in the passenger seat was instantly recognizable. Fans lined the streets, waving, snapping photos, begging Tupac Shakur for his autograph. Cops were everywhere, smiling.

The BMW 750 sedan, with rap magnate Marion "Suge" Knight at the wheel, was leading a procession of luxury vehicles past the MGM Grand Hotel and Caesars Palace, on their way to a hot new nightclub. It was after 11 on a Saturday night—Sept. 7, 1996. The caravan paused at a crowded intersection a block from the Strip.

Shakur flirted with a carful of women—unaware that a white Cadillac had quietly pulled up beside him. A hand emerged from the Cadillac. In it was a semiautomatic pistol, aimed straight at Shakur.

Many of the rapper's lyrics seemed to foretell this moment.

"The fast life ain't everything they told ya," he sang in an early hit, "Soulja's Story."

"Never get much older, following the tracks of a soulja."


__


Six years later, the killing of the world's most famous rap star remains officially unsolved. Las Vegas police have never made an arrest. Speculation and wild theories continue to flourish in the music media and among Shakur's followers. One is that Knight, owner of Shakur's record label, arranged the killing so he could exploit the rapper's martyrdom commercially. Another persistent legend is that Shakur faked his own death to escape the pressures of stardom.

A yearlong investigation by The Times reconstructed the crime and the events leading up to it. Evidence gathered by the paper indicates:

• The shooting was carried out by a Compton gang called the Southside Crips to avenge the beating of one of its members by Shakur a few hours earlier.

• Orlando Anderson, the Crip whom Shakur had attacked, fired the fatal shots. Las Vegas police discounted Anderson as a suspect and interviewed him only once, briefly. He was later killed in an unrelated gang shooting.

• The murder weapon was supplied by New York rapper Notorious B.I.G., who agreed to pay the Crips $1 million for killing Shakur. Notorious B.I.G. and Shakur had been feuding for more than a year, exchanging insults on recordings and at award shows and concerts. B.I.G. was gunned down six months later in Los Angeles. That killing also remains unsolved.

Before they died, Notorious B.I.G. and Anderson denied any role in Shakur's death. This account of what they and others did that night is based on police affidavits and court documents as well as interviews with investigators, witnesses to the crime and members of the Southside Crips who had never before discussed the killing outside the gang.

Fearing retribution, they agreed to be interviewed only if their names were not revealed.

Revolutionary Upbringing

The slaying silenced one of modern music's most eloquent voices—a ghetto poet whose tales of urban alienation captivated young people of all races and backgrounds. The 25-year-old Shakur had helped elevate rap from a crude street fad to a complex art form, setting the stage for the current global hip-hop phenomenon.

Tupac Amaru Shakur was born in 1971 into a family of black revolutionaries and named after a martyred Incan warrior. Radical politics shaped his upbringing and the rebellious tone of much of his music.

His godfather, Black Panther leader Elmer "Geronimo" Pratt, spent 27 years in prison for a robbery-murder in Santa Monica that he insisted he did not commit. Pratt was freed after a judge ruled in 1997 that prosecutors concealed evidence favorable to the defendant.

Shakur's stepfather, Black Panther leader Mutulu Shakur, was on the FBI's Ten Most Wanted list until the early 1980s, when he was imprisoned for robbery and murder. His mother, Afeni Shakur, also a Black Panther, was charged with conspiring to blow up a block of New York department stores—and acquitted a month before the rapper was born.

Shakur grew up in tough neighborhoods and homeless shelters in the Bronx, Harlem and Baltimore. He exhibited creative talent as a child and was admitted to the Baltimore School for the Arts, where he studied ballet, poetry, theater and literature.

In 1988, his mother sent him to live with a family friend in the Bay Area to escape gang violence in Baltimore. Living in a tough neighborhood north of Oakland, he joined the rap group Digital Underground and signed a solo record deal in 1991.

Shakur's debut album, "2Pacalypse Now," sparked a political firestorm. The lyrics were filled with vivid imagery of violence by and against police. A car thief who murdered a Texas state trooper said the lyrics incited him to kill. Law enforcement groups and politicians denounced Shakur. Then-Vice President Dan Quayle said the rapper's music "has no place in our society."

Shakur's recordings explored gang violence, drug dealing, police brutality, teenage pregnancy, single motherhood and racism. As his stature as a rapper grew, he pursued an acting career, drawing admiring reviews for his performances in "Juice" and other films.

But he never put what he called the "thug life" behind him.

During a 1993 concert in Michigan, he attacked a local rapper with a baseball bat and was sentenced to 10 days in jail. In Los Angeles, he was convicted of assaulting a music video producer. In New York, a 19-year-old fan accused Shakur and three of his friends of sexually assaulting her.

While on trial in that case, the rapper was ambushed in a Manhattan recording studio, shot five times and robbed of his gold jewelry. Shakur later said Notorious B.I.G. and his associates were behind the attack.

Shakur, convicted of sexual abuse, was serving a 4 1/2-year prison term when he was visited by Suge Knight, founder of Death Row Records in Los Angeles. Knight offered to finance an appeal of his conviction if Shakur would sign a recording contract with Death Row.

Shakur accepted the offer and was released from prison in 1995 on a $1.4-million appellate bond posted by Knight. Hours later, Shakur entered a Los Angeles studio to record "All Eyez on Me." The double CD sold more than 5 million copies, transforming Shakur into a pop superstar whose releases outsold Madonna's and the Rolling Stones'.

Two Fights

On Sept. 7, 1996, Shakur, still out on bond, traveled to Las Vegas to attend a championship boxing match between Mike Tyson and Bruce Seldon at the MGM Grand Hotel.

The sold-out arena was jammed with high rollers: Wall Street tycoons, Hollywood celebrities, entertainment moguls. The fight also attracted an assortment of underworld figures: mobsters from Chicago, drug dealers from New York, street gangs from Los Angeles.

Shakur arrived around 8:30 p.m. accompanied by armed bodyguards from the Mob Piru Bloods, a Compton street gang whose members worked for Knight's Death Row Records. Shakur and Knight sat in the front row, smoking cigars, signing autographs and waving to fans.

"Knock You Out," a song Shakur had written in honor of Tyson, blasted over the loudspeakers as the boxer entered the ring. Tyson flattened his opponent so quickly that many patrons never made it to their seats.

After congratulating Tyson, Shakur, Knight and a handful of bodyguards in silk suits headed for the exit. In the MGM Grand lobby, one of Shakur's Bloods bodyguards noticed a member of the rival Southside Crips lingering near a bank of elevators.

The Bloods and Crips have a 30-year history of turf wars: beatings, drug heists, drive-by shootings. The Crips dress in blue, the Bloods in red. When the two gangs aren't pushing dope or terrorizing citizens, they take pride in retaliating against each other.

The hoodlum standing in the lobby was Orlando "Baby Lane" Anderson, 21, a Crip who had recently helped his gang beat and rob one of Shakur's bodyguards at a mall in Lakewood. Anderson had a string of arrests for robbery, assault and other offenses. Compton police suspected him in at least one gang killing.

After the beating of Shakur's bodyguard, Anderson had dared to rip a rare Death Row medallion from the man's neck—an affront to Knight's honor and a slight to the Bloods.

The Bloods had been fuming for weeks, waiting to exact their revenge. Now, unexpectedly, there was Anderson, standing before them.

Shakur charged the Crip. "You from the South?" he asked.

Before Anderson could answer, Shakur punched him. His bodyguards jumped in, pounding and kicking Anderson to the ground. Knight joined in too—just before security guards broke up the 30-second melee, which was captured by a security camera.

Shakur and his entourage stomped triumphantly across the casino floor on their way out of the hotel. They walked half a block down the Strip to the Luxor hotel, where Death Row Records had booked more than a dozen rooms. After dropping off Shakur and the bodyguards, Knight drove about 15 minutes to a mansion he owned in a gated community in the city's southeastern valley.

The plan was to regroup later at a benefit concert for a youth boxing program featuring Shakur and other Death Row acts. The midnight concert was to be held at Club 662, a nightspot just opened by Death Row. The club's name was an emblem of how gangs had infiltrated the rap business. On a telephone keypad, 662 spells "mob."

Planning a Retaliation

A bruised and shaken Anderson gathered himself off the floor in front of dozens of startled onlookers. MGM security guards and Las Vegas police tried to persuade him to file a complaint against his assailants, but he declined.

Anderson headed out to the Strip and crossed over a pedestrian bridge to the Excalibur Hotel, where he had checked in with his girlfriend. News of the beating swept through the gang underground. Before he reached his room, Anderson's pager was beeping with calls from his Crips cohorts, according to what he later told associates.

Anderson phoned his comrades and set up a meeting at the Treasure Island hotel. He changed his clothes and hopped into a taxi, heading for the hotel with the huge neon skull and crossbones out front.

Treasure Island had served as a Crips headquarters during boxing matches for years. The gang would rent a fleet of luxury vehicles, ride across the desert in a caravan, hand their keys to the valets and head to a block of rooms booked under fake names. Drug trafficking paid for all this.

The ritual had little to do with boxing. Many gang members never attended the fights. They came to party and bask in the post-fight revelry: the drinking, the gambling, the drugs, the prostitutes. Other street gangs followed suit, flying in from Harlem and Atlanta, taking over establishments up and down the Strip.

By the time Anderson's taxi reached Treasure Island, more than a dozen gangsters were holed up in a Crips-reserved room. Marijuana smoke clouded the hallway. Alcohol was flowing as Anderson opened the door. The gang was furious. The topic of discussion: Who gets to pull the trigger?

According to people who were present, the Crips decided to shoot Shakur after his performance at Club 662. The plan was to station two vehicles of armed Crips outside the nightspot and lie in wait.

The gang put in a call to a Crips hide-out in Las Vegas, a rented house used to stash drugs and firearms and shelter gang members on the run from crimes committed in Los Angeles. They told a man there to bring some backup weapons over to the hotel. Soon.

Killers for Hire

For the Crips, the beating of Anderson was an egregious affront warranting swift and fatal retaliation. Still, the Crips thought, why not make a little money while they were at it? They decided to ask Shakur's biggest enemy to pay for the hit.

The gang arranged a rendezvous with Notorious B.I.G. The Brooklyn rapper, whose real name was Christopher Wallace, hated Shakur and had been feuding with him for more than a year.

Once tight friends, the two entertainers now ridiculed each other at events, in interviews and on recordings. In one song called "Hit 'Em Up," Shakur bragged about having sex with Wallace's wife and vowed to kill him. The threats between the rappers and their labels, Death Row and Bad Boy Entertainment, escalated into a series of assaults and shootings—one of which resulted in the killing of a Death Row bodyguard in Atlanta in 1995.

Fearing for his safety, a friend of Wallace's arranged for the Crips to supply bodyguards for the rapper whenever he traveled west. Over the years, the gang was paid to provide security for Wallace at casinos in Las Vegas, clubs in Hollywood and award shows in Los Angeles. Besides cash, Wallace gave the gang access to stars, groupies and the inner sanctums of the music business.

Wallace began flashing Crips gang signs and calling out to the homies at concerts, sometimes even inviting gang members on stage. Privately, he prodded the gang to kill Shakur—and promised to pay handsomely for the hit.

On Sept. 7, 1996, the Crips decided to take him up on the offer.

They sent an emissary to a penthouse suite at the MGM, where Wallace was booked under a false name. In Vegas to party, he didn't attend the Tyson-Seldon fight but had quickly learned about Shakur's scuffle with Anderson. Wallace gathered a handful of thugs and East Coast rap associates to hear what the Crips had to say.

According to people who were present, the Crips envoy explained that the gang was prepared to kill Shakur but expected to collect $1 million for its efforts. Wallace agreed, on one condition, a witness said. He pulled out a loaded .40-caliber Glock pistol and placed it on the table in front of him.

He didn't just want Shakur dead. He wanted the satisfaction of knowing the fatal bullet came from his gun.

On the Strip

It was a gangsta rap parade. Fans waved. Women flirted and asked for autographs. Photographers snapped pictures.

Knight was leading a caravan of at least five Death Row cars heading toward Club 662. Shakur and Knight turned heads as the convoy proceeded slowly north on Las Vegas Boulevard.

Around 11 p.m., police stopped Knight for cranking the black BMW's stereo too loud and not properly displaying its license plates. Shakur and Knight joked with the officers and talked them out of issuing a ticket. Then the BMW turned right on Flamingo Road and headed east toward the club.

Moments earlier, Anderson and three other Crips took an elevator down to the Treasure Island lobby. They walked out into the valet parking area.

Hovering under the hotel's skull-and-crossbones logo, the four Crips waited silently as the valet brought out a 1996 white Cadillac and opened the doors. They piled in and eased the sleek new sedan into traffic. A fifth Crip in an old yellow Cadillac met them at the curb and followed close behind. He rode solo, with an AK-47 assault rifle lying across the front seat.

The traffic in front of Treasure Island was bumper to bumper. Cars honked. Billboards flashed. Neon-lighted fountains trickled nearby.

The driver of the white Cadillac lighted a cigarette. Behind him sat Anderson. The Crip in the front passenger seat handed Anderson the loaded Glock from Notorious B.I.G. The four men discussed staking out the club where Shakur would perform.

After waiting at a stoplight between Caesars Palace and the Barbary Coast hotel, the Cadillacs turned onto Flamingo and headed east toward Club 662.

As they passed the Bally's hotel on the right, the driver saw a caravan of luxury cars ahead on the left. The vehicles, packed with Mob Piru Bloods and Death Row employees, were stopped at a red light across from the Maxim Hotel. The crosswalk was filled with tourists.

Leading the convoy was Knight's black BMW. Shakur was in the passenger seat. They were alone in the car, unarmed.

The Crips couldn't believe their luck. They decided to chuck their plan and strike immediately.

The Cadillac raced up on the convoy and pulled up beside the BMW. Shakur didn't notice. He was flirting with a carful of women in a lane to his left.

"I saw four black men roll by in a white Cadillac," said Atlanta rapper E.D.I. Mean, who was in the vehicle directly behind Shakur's. "I saw a gun come from the back seat out through the driver's front window."

Bullets flew, shattering the windows of the BMW. Shakur tried to duck into the rear of the car for cover, but four rounds hit him, shredding his chest. Blood was everywhere.

"We heard shots and looked to the right of us," Knight said. "Tupac was trying to get in the back seat, and I grabbed him and pulled him down. The gunshots kept coming. One hit my head."

In the chaos, neither Knight nor Mean could make out who had fired. The driver of the yellow Cadillac just behind the assailants never got a chance to fire his AK-47.

"It all happened so quick. It took three or four seconds at most," Mean said.

Then the white Cadillac screeched around the corner. A bodyguard near the back of the Death Row caravan fired at the fleeing sedan. In a ruse designed to confuse Shakur's entourage, the Crip in the yellow Cadillac chased the white Cadillac around the corner, as if in hostile pursuit.

Knight made a U-turn, his bullet-riddled BMW squealing around the concrete median. The Death Row convoy followed him back to the Strip, where he rammed his car onto a curb.

Las Vegas police were soon on the scene. After summoning an ambulance for Shakur, they ordered everyone else in the Death Row convoy out of their cars at gunpoint. The police forced Knight, who was bleeding from a head wound, to lie face down on the pavement.

By the time the detectives figured out that Knight and his caravan were victims, not suspects, the Crips had returned to their hotel rooms and gathered their belongings.

Staggering their departures to avoid attracting attention, Anderson and his fellow gang members hit the highway, each in a different car. Two younger gang members drove the white Cadillac back across the desert.

Interstate 15 moves fast at night.

It was still dark when the Crips disappeared over the California border.

Epilogue

Surgeons at University Medical Center in Las Vegas removed Shakur's right lung in an attempt to stop the internal bleeding. When his condition deteriorated, they put him on a ventilator. He died six days after the shooting, with his mother at his side.

Wallace returned to New York, where he recorded a CD called "Life After Death," which has veiled references to the shooting in several songs. According to the Crips, Wallace paid the gang $50,000 of the promised $1 million through an intermediary a week after Shakur died.

In March 1997, Wallace discussed his feud with Shakur during an interview with a San Francisco radio station. Asked whether he had a role in the rapper's death, Wallace said he "wasn't that powerful yet."

Three days later, Wallace was in Los Angeles for the Soul Train Music Awards and an after-party at the Petersen Automotive Museum. He was gunned down as he sat in his Chevrolet Blazer at a traffic light on Wilshire Boulevard. No one has ever been charged in the killing.

Two days after Shakur was shot, gang warfare erupted in Compton as the Bloods sought revenge on the Crips. A rash of drive-by shootings left three people dead and 12 injured, including a 10-year-old girl. Informants told police that Anderson had been seen brandishing a Glock pistol.

Las Vegas police interviewed Anderson once. They said they could not build a case against him as Shakur's killer because witnesses in the rapper's entourage refused to cooperate with them.

Anderson said he had nothing to do with Shakur's death. "If they have all this evidence against me, then why haven't they arrested me?" he said a year after the shooting. "It's obvious that I'm innocent."

Anderson was shot dead May 29, 1998, at a Compton carwash in a dispute police say was unrelated to Shakur's slaying.

The three other Crips who were in the white Cadillac that night in Las Vegas still live in Compton. None of them has ever been questioned by police about the crime.
This was my reaction when I heard they were dead ---> :clueless: :-) :-D :lol:
this was all pretty much assumed already, now there just happens to be credible evidence that proves it.
I dont know how credible the evidence is though. The writer of the article spoke to gang members. Who say there were involved. There's no police evidence no record of Biggie even being in vegas the night Pac was killed. I mean most likely he flew there so he bought a plane ticket. Which would mean his name would be on the passenger list. And why all of a sudden is this story coming out all these years later. It seems fishy too me.
Quote:now there just happens to be credible evidence that proves it.
An indictment would prove it, this is little more than hearsay.

My opinion of why this murder was never solved is that nobody, that could do anything, gave a shit. They were just happy that Tupac was dead.

In my opinion, the bottom line is... your mouth can only be so big before somebody shuts it for you.
"Assassinated? Assassinated? Martin Luthe King was assassinated, John F Kennedy was assainated. Them two niggas got shot!!"

They were murdered as far as who did it, who cares. We all know why, Pac pissed off more people that any rapper this side of eminem. I seriously doubt Biggie would have Pac killed, he wouldn't even respond to Pac's battle song "Hit 'em up" let alone try to have him popped.

They were two great artists in a fading form of expression who were snuffed out way before their time, simple as that.
That fading art form is not fading as quickly as you might thing. We're just taking it underground. :-o
Why, so all the geeks who think music that gets no airplay and no exposure is popular, will start listening?

I am not saying it is fading or dying but it's not excelling as much as it used to, it needs some new blood and less flash.
The problem with rap is that it lost two of it's better writers/performers to a perceived reality.

I was joking about taking it underground. White people listening to rap is what brought it to where it is today. Namely, a genre where any idiot with a mic and a decent voice (read: fabolous) can go platinum off of one single.

The storytellers of rap will always perservere, unless they start to live their stories.
People like: Nelly, Dupri, Puffy, and others have made rap too "pop".

I enjoy flowers like Nas more than guys who just have sweet beats like Jay-Z. Jay-Z is all beats he has no flow whatsoever. Mystikal, Outkast, Eminem, Snoop.. But even snoop has lost some of his edge.

Pac was rap IMHO more so than even Biggie, he was what Bob Marley was to Reggae. He took rap to a new level like DMC did.
Quote:Jay-Z is all beats he has no flow whatsoever.
What the fuck are you smoking?

Jay-Z has mad skillz. His latest efforts have been a little too poppy, but still good. Jay's the quintessential storytelling rapper. He flips from slow and laid back flows to double-time rolling flows at the blink of an eye.

Quote:No, no, no, nope
You can't see 'em
Though you got plans to be him
Pay homage if by chance you meet him
In his pants pocket, your advance and per diem
It's the undisputed champion
For clique, dough sick, no medicine for us
Competition like I said in the chorus
Let me spell it out for ya
Jay to tha Amil
(A to the Y stay real fuck how they feel, uh-huh, uh-huh)
That's how we put it down
(Uh-huh, uh-huh y'all gon get it now)
Chip off the old block
Resemble my old pops
'Cept I tote glocks and open dope spots
And I shut down rap crews
Smack them cats who flash tools
Laugh at fake ballers with bad jewels
I'll tell you once
This is shit you should've of knew
(Jigga what?)
Jigga
(Jigga who?)
Okay

and..

Quote:My mind is infested, with sick thoughts that circle
like a Lexus, if driven wrong it's sure to hurt you
Dual level like duplexes, in unity, my crew and me
commit atrocities like we got immunity
You guessed it, manifest it in tangible goods
Platinum Rolexed it, we don't lease
we buy the whole care, as you should
My confederation, dead a nation, EXPLODE
on detonation, overload the mind of a said patient
When it balls to steam, it comes to it
we all fiends gotta do it, even righteous minds go through this

I don't know what jay-z songs you've heard, but that there is one lyrical motherfucker. And, perhaps foolishly, I don't doubt that he never writes his rhymes with a pad and pen. Jay-z is one motherfucker that can flow straight from the dome.
Quote:Jay-Z has mad skillz

spelled with a z makes it much cooler :thumbs-up:
Quote:spelled with a z makes it much cooler

That's what the Boyz in the hood do. Fishiznit my nizza.
Well I won't bother posting Pac's rhymes here cause we all know, no one compares.

I didn't mean he was a bad rapper, it's just that his flow doesn't distinguish him as it does with others. He is a good rapper but you usually remember his beats and hooks more than his actual lyrics. His flow is not that great.

Nas blows jay-Z away when it comes to lyrics and flow, but no one can touch Jay-Z's beats I admit.

Quote:My first album had no famous guest appearances
the outcome, I'm was crowned the best lyricist
many years on this professional level
why would you question who's better?
the World is still mine, tattoos real
with "God's Son" across the belly, the boss of rap
you saw me in Belly with thoughts like that
to take it back to Africa, I did it with Biggie
Me and 2Pac were soldiers of the same struggle
You lames should huddle, your teams shook y'all feel
the wrath of a killer, 'cause this is my football field
Throwin' passes from a barrel, shoulder pads, apparel
but the Q.B. don't stand for no quarterback
every word is like a sawed-off blast
'cause y'all all soft and I'm the black hearse
that came to haul y'all ass in
it's for the hood by the corner store
many try, many die, come at Nas if you want a war.

I'm the N the A to the S-I-R
and If I wasn't I must've been Escobar

Quote:Don't hate me, hate the money I see, clothes that I buy
Ice that I wear, clothes that I try
Close your eyes, picture me rollin,
sixes, money foldin
Bitches honeys that swollen
the riches, nas get in ya
most critically acclaimed pulitzer prize winner
best storyteller thug narrator my style's greater
model dater, big threat to a lot of you haters
commentators bring aside try watchin my paper
almost a decade quite impressive
most of the best is in the essence
for this rap shit that I stand for
expanding more to the big screen
bill gates dreams
but it seems youd rather see me in jail
with state dreams
want me off the scene fast
but good things last
like your favorite m.c. still makin' some mean cash
first rapper to bring a platinum plaque
back to the projects
but you still wanna hate, be my guest
I suggest
Just incase..

Quote:You always was a black queen, mama
I finally understand
for a woman it ain't easy tryin to raise a man
You always was committed
A poor single mother on welfare, tell me how ya did it
There's no way I can pay you back
But the plan is to show you that I understand
You are appreciated

Quote:Cause I bet Brenda doesn't even know
Just cause your in tha ghetto doesn't mean ya can't grow
But oh, that's a thought, my own revelation
Do whatever it takes ta resist tha temptation
Brenda got herself a boyfriend
Her boyfriend was her cousin, now lets watch tha joy end
She tried to hide her pregnancy, from her family
Who didn't really care to see, or give a Damn if she
Went out and had a church of kids
As long as when tha check came they got first dibs
Now Brendas belly is gettin bigger
But no one seems ta notice any change in her figure
She's 12 years old and she's having a baby
In love with tha molester, whose sexed and crazy
And yet she thinks that he'll be with her forever
And dreams of a world with tha two of them are together,
whatever
He left her and she had tha baby solo, she had it on tha
bathroom floor
And didn't know so, she didn't know, what ta throw away and
what ta keep
She wrapped tha baby up and threw him in tha trash heep
I guess she thought she'd get away
Wouldn't hear tha cries
She didn't realize
How much tha little baby had her eyes
Now tha babys in tha trash heep balling
Momma can't help her, but it hurts ta hear her calling
Brenda wants ta run away
Momma say, you makin' me lose pay, tha social workers here
everyday
Now Brenda's gotta make her own way

Quote:Was much to young, to know
I caught a felony
lovin' the way the guns blow
And even thou we seperated
You said that you wait
Don't give nobody no coochie
While I'll be locked up state
I Kiss my mama good bye
Wipe, the tears from her lonely eyes
Said, that I'll return
But I gotta fight
The bi**h that ride
Don't shed a tear
cuz, mama I ain't happy here
I'm through trails
and no more smiles
for a couple a years
They got me goin' mad
I'm knocking brothas on their backs
in my cell
Thinkin' Hell
I know one day I'll be back
As soon as I touch down
I told my girl i'll be there
so prepare
to get f**ked down
The homies wanna kick it
But I'm just laughin' at ya
Cuz, you is a down a*s bi**h
and I ain't mad at cha
you're so white it's scary
Lyrically NAs and Eminem are the 2 best in the game right now. When Pac was alive he was THE best without a doubt. Jay's lyrics aren't in the same playing field as the above mentioned rappers. Biggie was known for his beats and his style,his flow was something different. Jiggas style and flow is the same way. It's done in a way that we the listener really never experienced before.
Pat is black.
yes
Quote:Pat is black.

And your a jew. :moonie:
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