Just Another Day...

I wasn’t prepared to think heavily about why I wanted to join. I needed to join a ministry seemed reason enough, which is what I wrote along with a bullshit sentence or two about how it was wrong for me to hide my light under a bushel. Mostly I wanted to find a place to spit my new shit because gun-talk still captured my imagination so most of my lyrics begged for the parental advisory sticker. Boo pushed me to write more honestly.

“Leave that whack shit alone, D. You ain’t shooting nobody, be you, my nigga. Talk about the shit you know. That other shit is glass, son.”

Boo was easily on my list of top five-never-got-a-deal-MC’s. The kid was born to rhyme. He always had his marble notebook, hard at work on his next rhyme, an inspirational work ethic and an ill spit game, he could’ve been on Hot 97 everyday that’s my word. He was the first dude I ever heard talk about Gospel Hip Hop said we could change the whole game. He had a name for the group, talked about heads we could connect with when we got out and had at least a dozen ideas for our Unsigned Hype demo. Boo put together the first Gospel Hip Hop boy band. Vic grabbed his clipboard and leaned against the table.

“Aight, you three are together, correct? Who are you and what ya got for us.”

“Aight, we PT. The Prodigal Tribe, I’m Boo, that’s PJ and D. We all was raised in church, raised on the Word, and know God has a calling, plan and purpose over our lives. But we went our own way like the Prodigal Son we know street life and have a perspective hood niggas understand. We ain’t super Christians and shit but we know church so dudes can’t run game. We’re a tribe of prodigals. Our name also gives props to, A Tribe Called Quest one of our favorite groups. I mean, I don’t know what else to say I just believe Hip Hop is my calling and rhyming is a gift from God. We don’t have no beats or anything so we just gonna spit it A cappella.“

“Good start. I like your conviction, you can go right in a row, show us what ya got.”

Boo was pure with it, words dropped in place and his words made you feel like you was there with him. I knew his and P’s rhymes better than I knew my own. I was the number one fan of our group.

“Aight, aight, check it, check it, check it, raised knee deep in these slum streets/wit hate warming my heart beat and blazed to the dome piece/living daily wit the pain of my church scars/beat into dreaming failure/saw my Dad leaning left wit the paraphernalia /Mommaz screaming get the fuck out and her pastor's praising her/saying her prayers, fasting & love is wasting her away not saving ya/bx nigga chin up & chest out have my zoo bang & job corp niggas stomp you ass out...”

I knew if I could get to the second bar I’d be all right and the rest would flow. The last thing I wanted to do was mess up and be on some let me start over, that shit would’ve been whack.

“Spaced out on buddah blunts mind trashed from sips of Hennessy/I pack the daily gat and cause ruckus to check the enemy/uhh, what, check it/A nigga like D zigs wit more presence than thick strippers at stags/laughing at you funny Sheppard’s mostly dressing in drag/you lame spiritual Dads/pontificating wit mental pics of her cleavage and ass/politricking on members who only spending that cash/building funds while you store front rent/bunch of clown niggas steady stacking that cash/ smack you wit the offering plate & stick my foot in ya ass...”

P was the closer his shit cut to the heart and inspired me to write more honestly.

“Woke up to a world so cold and lonely/twisted from spago & coke dustings/trying to remember me from before/broke Moms heart but hate pop dukes/wishing craftmatic you know the thirty gun salute/nigga sniffed the coach, TV & child support loot/looking for something higher to swallow this hollow within my soul/last prayer to God was a bargain for total control …”

Vic was in the moment and bobbed to the beat in his head, he looked over at his co-laborers who nodded back in silent agreement.

“I’m feeling that right there. Y’all got some fire. Not gonna lie to you though we’re gonna have to edit some stuff at first but y’all stay with it and we might have something.”

I’m not gonna front I was mad open and had a moment where I felt understood and accepted.

“We’ll post names on the main board tomorrow after lunch.”

“Cool. Thanks.”

Boo grabbed Vic’s hand and held it up high like we just won, American Idol. He almost tripped over the row of stacked chairs as we left the room with a buzz ready to relive every moment.

“How y’all think that shit went? I’m mad amped right now, my niggas, we starting this shit from the underground up!”

“Don’t get more underground than this.”

“You know what, D? Mom-dukes always says don’t despise humble beginnings. So what y’all wanna do, where y’all wanna take this? What’s up with your spot, P?”

“Nah, got two new roommates. Some holy roller fish niggas who just put the pipe down yesterday and shit.”

The buzz off the auditions still had me geeked. As we walked I jumped on tabletops, jumped over every big ass rock in the path and was an asshole to everyone we passed.

“Fuck that! I’ve heard enough light unto my path bullshit for one day, how about the downstairs lounge. It’s always on ghost town status.”

“Nah, D, that’s because them fucking rats is strong down there. Them shits will be sitting with us.”

After hours was the coolest time on the Mountain. Cats played dominos, ping-pong, read letters from home and talked Scripture. Rooms filled with laughter and debate and shine boxes and push-ups. Tranquil old men schooled irritated youth on the chessboards and everyone glowed with the victory of another day’s sobriety.

M