Jealousy Breeds Envy


I met my homeboy Drill when I first moved to the capital city. It was him and a couple other niggas hooping at the park when I walked past and all them niggas gave me this look like, “Who the fuck is this clown,” and even though I was still a hothead when I moved to Lansing, I ain’t have no dope to snort so I ain’t really pay that shit no attention. Actually, it was kind of funny to me, cause to myself I’m laughing at how them country ass niggas was trying to mug a mafucka. But what they didn’t know was that I’m from the hood for real, the slums, a city where niggas get bodied daily and whole streets get roped and taped off. I had already been up there three days and still hadn’t heard about a nigga getting bodied.
Me and my pops moved to Lansing, Michigan, from Flint, Michigan. I guess he called his self trying to save me from myself. I was knee deep in gang banging, and even when I moved I still considered myself a Woodhall Island Boy. He wanted desperately to save me from the streets, gang life, and all of the murders and shit, but I sure in the fuck ain’t wanna move to Lansing.
My mom’s got swept up in the crack wave that hit the city back in the day, and my pop tried, but he couldn’t save her. Every once in awhile though I used to see her slipping in and out of dope spots but as soon as I got close, she would disappear like a ghost. On some real shit though, she looked fucked up. All that dope had drug her down, and I know running the streets tricking and shit ain’t help much either.
I got two half sisters, but they always stayed with they moms, and I got a little brother named Mark that left Flint and came to Lansing right behind me and my pops.

My pops felt good about the whole move. He figured Michigan’s capital, average crime rate, shit, he figured it had to be jobs there too, and he was right. I was 17 when we moved and had already been shot three times. When I say three times, I mean on three different occasions. I done been shot in the right leg, the thigh and the calf, once in the left shoulder, once in the stomach, and I done had a hole blown straight through my hand. A nigga ran up on me all masked up trying to rob me, but he got too close and the next thing I knew we was wrestling over the gun, but that was until he started squeezing that bitch and my hand caught fire. Oh yeah, when I got blasted in the stomach the doctor had to cut some of my intestines out and I had to wear a stankin’ ass shit bad for three months.
My little brother was following in my footsteps and had a lil rep in the hood for roughing niggas shit off. I guess they got tired of it and hit him in the head with a slug. He lucky as shit though. The bullet only blew his ear off and grazed his skull. The way he explained it to me was like this . . . he said some niggas, he ain’t know how many, but some niggas came up from behind his car and after he saw the shadows he just heard the shots and saw blood leaking down his white t, but before he could slap the car in drive and smash off six or seven more bullets came ripping through the interior of the car. He was good except for the lil shit the ear and a bloody shirt, but when he looked over to his mans on the passenger side he was dead. Once word got back to my pops he forced him to come to Lansing with us, and as soon as this nigga feet hit the capital city pavement he went and caught an attempted murder a few months later and was sent to state prison to do a bid.
Anyway, the next day, after Drill and them other niggas was mugging me on the hoop court I seen all them niggas at school. I guess they peeped my swag and felt my heart and liked it. My pops, but mostly the older homies from Woodhall had showed me the game young. That day after school I ran into Drill by his self and we blazed up, and after I cracked mad jokes on his ghost face looking ass he was my mans from that day one. Even when he showed me the hood and where everything went down at I was still laid back. I did good and stayed out the way for a lil while, but that was until. 

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