Disclaimer: If you’re a fake trapper you a hoe, stop reading this now. Also, lots of cursing.
After being heavily involved in the DMV’s trap rap scene for a year or two, I realized what’s real and what’s fake. I constantly observed and learned from guys who were placed in less privileged situations than my own and in turn my life was changed in ways that I didn’t really understand until now. Back then, I was a privileged 17 year-old who drove a 2011 mid-sized BMW and went to private school, but all my friends sold drugs. My parents are two affluent blacks that made it out of a small one light town where I visit time-to-time to ride horses and sit outside on the porch with grandma to talk about nothing. With that being said, how I ended up with a digital scale and an ounce a weed a week in the summer of 2014 is beyond me.
Not all of our parents teach us street smarts, but mine definitely did. My father was a man who made it out of the fuckin’ trenches, dead ass. The first time my father took me to his old neighborhood I was 12 years old on Christmas Eve. Long story short, one of his old homeboys from way back was stretched out in the street, pissed on himself, high as shit and we had to carry him to his house not too far from the top of the street. Whole time we left the car running, we got lucky nobody took that shit because niggas was definitely giving out them Christmas crack deals on every corner. I will never forget that night for as long as I live. It showed me how hard both my parents worked to put my family in the position that we’re in today; A position that put their eldest son in a relatively new BMW.
But summer of 2014 I was just a young nigga that wanted to buy cool clothes, cool shoes, and some cool shit for my car every other week; Just like every other young nigga in P.G. county. But how the fuck did a nigga like me not get robbed? A normal day of debauchery would go like this: link up with the homies, design some shit, smoke a jay or two or few, then link up with one of the other cliques our area consisted of; whether it’d be Thraxxx, Skeem or Die, DDB, whoever. I’m not by any means saying I’m a sweet nigga that would go like that, but some of these guys were real.
I had that stamp that allowed me to be around these guys, and live and learn in peace. Before I knew Flock, I knew Lil Chris. He used to come around my way to play basketball and vice versa. Chris was a living legend. Chris was every young nigga’s idol for the most obvious reasons: he had all the finest women, all the money, all the shoes, all the clothes, and on top of that good grades. He showed the youth that it was possible. He and Flock were inseparable. I heard the craziest stories about the shit he and Flock would do and would be in awe. The day I met Flock this nigga he seemed like a god of some sort, no sice. At this time I was a young nigga meeting the best rapper our area had seen since Glizzy and Trel and I ultimately ended up working with him and becoming his go-to guy for designs, it was like a dream. This is what got me most of my buzz and weight to my name. But there were two guys who were always in the room, that didn’t really say much, and were most intriguing to me.
That summer, Thraxxx had a performance/appearance at UMD, so we all went and linked up at the student union. I saw a familiar face that I couldn’t really put a name to, one of my homies had introduced me to him and he said “what’s good bruh it’s Lil Dude, did we go to basketball camp together or some shit?” I said, “Kill yeah, what’s good bruh” we had a lil moment and didn’t really speak after that. After that long ass day I follow him on twitter, do some research, and yeah I definitely remember this nigga. Later I was introduced to his close mans, Baby Ahk; now this nigga looked like he could’ve been a real ball player but said fuck it and went with the trap, on some cliché movie shit. Anyway, I got my first design assignment for their group called DDB, which I had no idea what that acronym meant. I got an email and the attachment said “birdsflyy.mp3” I listen and that joint cranks. I make the cover in like 30 minutes and boom the song comes out the same day and it’s a hit on the trap scene; that’s when I knew these guys had some talent, but couldn’t pay too much attention to it because of my current platform, No Stallin’.
Ironically not too long after meeting these guys, maybe a few weeks I find myself chillin’ on a summer afternoon in my basement watching Gangland. I shit you not, an episode about Riverdale and MS-13 comes on and I’m in shock. I think to myself “Yo this where DDB from, this can’t be how they living.” But in fact it was, and it opened my eyes. I’m not trying to snitch or nothing when I say this but, Baby Ahk was real live the first guy I saw in real life that had a trap phone, and that bitch was ringing, constantly. After a few trips to Riverdale, I knew these two niggas were real, not for no games. They both had playful and energizing personalities, but when it was time to get money, it was time.
These were real get money niggas. Not some fake trap stories you hear on a song, not some niggas waving around .380s in music videos, this was real. A big problem during this time was: a lot of dudes were hot, I mean scorching. Why would you talk about guns and drugs on twitter every day and put up pictures of the shit you own? That’s hot. But I realized that this is what separated the real from the fake. Every week there was a dude I knew getting bagged off a gun charge, a kick door, drugs, anything; and I knew as soon as they got in that interrogation room the first thing they could pull up was a nigga’s twitter, or his Instagram. But most of the hot niggas, weren’t in this dirty game to eat or feed their kids, they were in it because they were surrounded by it, felt as if that was their only option, or it was just the cool thing to do.
After Flock went to jail, I never touched a digital scale again, unless I felt like a nigga skimped me. I was going to college, that shit wasn’t me. I went to college and I found out who I really was as well. Drugs, money and guns were not my vibe, it wasn’t what I needed to be around, but for me it was an option, for others, not so much. I also realized that the trap scene was just a bunch of high schoolers retweeting their favorite hood star, and I’m bigger than that. I think way bigger than what’s right in front of me, way bigger than anyone could ever imagine. I left No Stallin’ on a pretty bad note but it was honestly one of the best decisions of my life, and I still kept the necessary contacts and the real have surfaced. Lil Dude and Baby Ahk taught me what glorification of the trap really was. A bunch of fake motherfuckers waving guns, selling a pack jay by jay, and using their money for studio time. For Lil Dude and Baby Ahk, this shit was real. They kept their heads down and made their money because that was the way they had to. Even though we not the best fucking friends in the world, I got so much love and respect for these niggas for teaching me this lesson. I would gladly work with them any day.
If you not about it, don’t rap about it, don’t sing about it, don’t fucking play with this shit. The trap is how niggas feed themselves and their families. The trap is how niggas put clothes on their backs. As fucked up as it is, it is what it is.
Thank you to 2HypeMike, No Stallin', Thraxxx, DDB.