Quick Update: Rumors
At the end of my latest “SPM Responds” I told you I would be writing you a “Quick Update” on “The Son of Norma.” Well, tadaaaaaaaah!
I just had another meeting with Tudy Coy and Pain Ortiz, so here’s what I know:
Pain is completely done with the music for The S.O.N. It’s already been mixed and mastered and is ready for pressing. But Tudy said he wouldn’t announce a release date till all the artwork is done. That’s because, if the artwork isn’t done in time for a date, (that we’ve spent all kinds of effort promoting), we’re screwed. All we need is maybe three or four weels to finish all the artwork: CD cover, insert artwork, whatever design will be on the actual CD, etc.
Here is the official songlist:
1.) K-Love Vs. SPM 10.) Without The S.O.N.
2.) People 11.) Don’t Go Away
3.) Hustla World 12.) Poor Kids
4.) Cheifin 13.) My Homegirl
5.) Twenty Eight 14.) To The Flame
6.) The River 15.) What If It Were You
7.) And They Said 16.) Addicted To Storms
8.) Frustration 17.) Angels
9.) Cry Don’t Cry
I’ve given this songlist out before, on our Facebook page. “Cry Don’t Cry” was formerly “Till They Come.”
I heard a few complaints about “Beat From Hotan” and “Life” not making the album. “Beat From Hotan” needs a bassline. We’ve had two professional bassists come in, and no one can figure out anything that works. Pain has an idea to re-make the beat, using the same sample Hotan used, but from another part of the song he sampled it from. He’s positive that will work, and as soon as it gets done, you will have that song.
“Life” had a Diana Ross inflection that could possibly land us in court if we used it. But I wasn’t crazy about that beat anyway. What we’ll do is re-make the beat to where it still matches the original lyrics, and everybody will be happy.
Let me just say to all the people who are upset about those two songs not making The S.O.N.; you are suffering from a common syndrome. It’s called “I Really Want What I Can’t have Syndrome.” It’s very common and it causes painful hemorrhoids and much heartache. But there’s something to make you feel better: At this point in time, those two songs can’t fuck with anything on “The Son of Norma.” Once they go through surgery, then, and only then, will they be ready for an SPM album. Trust me on that.
Now, we shall talk about the snippet. Pain Ortiz is only releasing snippets of the songs that land on even numbers. So, if you go to the songlist, songs 2, 4, 6, 8, 10, 12, 14 and 16 will be on the snippet. You won’t know what the odd numbers sound like until the album is released. I argued with him, but he wants half the album to be a total surprise, and he ultimately won the argument by buying me a BBQ sandwich and some microwave popcorn from the vending machines. He always gets me that way!
Then we talked about a video. Tudy wants at least two videos released before the album drops. The two discussed were “What If It Were You” and “My Homegirl.” Both of these tell powerful stories about specific people, and they both contain serious subject matter. I was thinking we should do a video for “People” first, which has comedy, story-line and seriousness all in one song. At this point, I’m still not sure what video we’ll be shooting, but it will surely get shot shometime within a month. (Was the “shometime” word funny? I hope it was.)
CTS. I called this letter “Rumors” because so many people believe so much false information, it’s unreal. And I’m not even talking about my legal situation. One person said I was part of a prison gang, and that I fucked over a lot of the homies. I’ve never been in any kind of gang, little brother, and I’ve never fucked over anyone, except my beautiful wife. I’ve heard this rumor more than enough so let me explain the situation.
One night, I was at a club called Jamaica-Jamaica, and I was approached by one of my homeboys from Hillwood. He was a Muslim, and was starting a security business with some of his Muslim brothers. He said, “Los, you should use us for security.”
I said, “Bro, I don’t need security. I take care of myself.”
“Not just for safety reasons,” he said, “we can control the crowd at your shows and you’ll look more important. My guys are all licensed to carry rifles, and we suit up in military uniforms.”
I thought that sounded cool, so I asked him how much it would cost. To make a long story short, I started using my friend's service, just to look good. I’d have these four Black dudes, with real rifles, standing around my limousine like I was King Burrito.
After a while, a guy I knew, from him hanging around Dope House, said, “Say, Los, I got some homies who want to talk to you.”
I said, “Who?”
He said, “Some vatos with a lot of power. They want to talk business.”
I met up with these dudes at a pool hall called Slick Willy’s, on the southeast side. They were a group of Mexican Americans who were in a serious gang.
Let me say that I was naïve about gangs back then. I just knew that gangs destroyed kid’s lives, and I wanted nothing to do with them. The leader of this particular gang was well dressed, and seemed intelligent, so I heard him out. He was telling me that I should use my own race for security. That it don’t look right having Black dudes surrounding a Mexican artist. I said, “Homie, I’m from an all-Black hood. These dudes are like brothers to me.”
He explained that that’s not what he meant. That it was the image I was portraying. He said his people were disciplined, and would be 100% professional.
I said, “First of all, I don’t even need security. I just use my homeboys to keep people at bay so I can drink and fuck with hoes. They only charge a few hundred dollars a show.”
He said, “I’ll charge the same, with twice as much personel.”
My dumbass gave the guys a try, even though I was against any kind of gang, set, click, side, etc. It just shows how my mind was deteriorating out there. I had an organization called “Gangs ’R’ Out (G.R.O.)” and here I was using their services.
After a few shows, people who I was close to expressed their disapproval. I started realizing that it was a dumb thing to do, but I didn’t cut my ties soon enough. I was at a big car show in Houston, walking around with this “security” of mine, and a guy from another record label started talking shit to me. This guy was a friend, and till this day I have no idea what he was mad about. Then he started arguing with one of the guys who was with me and got punched in the face. The cops were right there and broke it up before anything else could go down. I told the dudes I was with that I don’t handle my business like that, and I walked away by myself. The dudes walked outside, and the guy who got punched followed them with another homeboy. It was two against five out there, but thankfully the cops broke it up before anyone was seriously hurt.
That’s why the person on Incandesio’s blog said I fucked over a lot of the homies, because those two dudes were from my Mexican hood. But I had no control of that situation, and a few weeks after that carshow, I met up with the homie who got punched. We met at a Hooter’s and I apologized for how shit went down. We hugged and I told’em that I had since separated myself from any kind of “security.” I never needed any in the first place. But because I used those dudes for a few shows, people started that rumor, that I was a part of them. That couldn’t be further from the truth.
In prison, I’ve heard all kinds of shit. If it were all true, I’d have about seventeen brothers I never met, I’d be in seven different gangs I never joined, and I’d have about seven hundred close friends I never knew. I’d be dead by suicide, dead by murder, I’d be raped and last I heard, I was home, enjoying life. The downside of being well-known is that people are always talking about you. It doesn’t matter whether it’s good or bad or somewhere in-between, it creates the perfect environment for rumors to develop. What trips me out even worse, is how so many people believe all this shit.
I wouldn’t wish fame on my worst enemy. Not only is it nothing but drama, it can also put you in perilous situations. Especially a Mexican like me, because our people are divided a thousand ways, and I’m in the middle of it. When I get out this bitch, don’t be mad when you see me hanging with nothing but Chinese people. I’ll be, like, “Chicken Chow mayne, hold’em up!”
I would never join a gang, or anything that would separate me from my own people. My dream is for all of us to get our fair share, and excel in this nation. But divided we fall, and that’s our story today. People say that it will never change, but I’ll never give up on my dream.
The dude who said I was in a prison gang said that O.G. Sambo told him that. Samuel Jurardo would never say that. In fact, he’s the first person I connected with when I came to prison. He told me to never join anything except the Lord’s family. I told him I already knew that, and even Sambo has turned away from everything except Jesus Christ. He started that whole deal in Southeast, and now there’s a lot of youngsters throwing up that set. But he doesn’t consider that a good thing anymore, and we’ve talked about that. Sammy’s a man with tremendous wisdom, and he helped me get through my first years in prison. Then they made a law where inmates couldn’t write each other anymore, and we lost contact. I just pray one day we’ll land on the same unit. Bing, too. I love all my Southeast brothers, and the realest know that’s the truth. But if you don’t believe what I’ve said, write Sambo yourself. Go to the TDCJ website and look up his name, Samuel Jurardo. That’s how a lot of people get my address. You guys think I’m smart, shit, Sammy’s a genius, and I don’t use that term loosely.
The bitter-sweet story of Carlos Coy is that I’ve always been gifted. I’m not too modest to say it because all gifts come from above. It’s brought me a lot of love and, also, a lot of hate. The ones who’ve hated were always those who tried to do what I did. The dudes on Incandesio’s blog, who try to make me look bad, are the same dudes who’ve always hated on me. God knows I’ve never done anything shady to them. Those who know me, stick with me and love me, because they know I operate with love. That’s why the Dope House Family remains unscathed after almost twenty years.
But I don’t blame people for the role they play. They can’t do what I do, and they’ll never be as dope as me, and I’m sure that’s frustrating. Like Lil Wayne said, “If I were you, I’d probably hate on me, too.”
Just remember, I’ll never hate you back. I might call you a hot dick licker, or a penis panther, but those words aren’t even in the dictionary. Alright, changing the subject.
Another person said I must be paying somebody for protection because I’m still alive, and I’ve got money. Lol! You’re something else. I would rather be a dead bitch than to give a mothafucker a half-o-cookie to protect me. Come on, man, what the fuck do you think I am? I’ll bite a mothafucker’s nose off. Let me make this clear: No gangs, no protection, no hate, all love, all unity, all real. That’s what I’m about.
Since I don’t write Cold Forties on my “Quick Updates”, I decided to write you a “Throwed Thirty.” But here’s the deal. There was a guy named Rob D on Incandesio’s blog, who wrote a flow, but I’m not sure if it was meant to challenge me. Right before his verse, there was a message by Almazan 187, who spoke about battling me. I’m not sure if they’re the same person, but when I read the challenge, then Rob D’s verse, I instantly turned into John Rhymbo and started screaming, “He drew first blood!”
Rob, I’m very sorry if your flow was meant to be friendly, because I had to destroy you. Ya see, bud, if something even sounds like a challenge, my right hand starts trembling as I reach for my magic pen. It does get ugly, my friend.
Con Mucho Amor,
I will battle los, this miglo character is obviously mentally handicapped. I'll Battle los!!!!
Robert Diaz said...
Rob D is far from finished now witness how im relentless,
Im in this and bout to rupture in ya face like an appendix,
I try ta stay optimistic, never be unrealistic, im explicit, futuristic, and just a little sadistic,
I kno about consequences, known to be hoppin fences,
Im workin on my expenses and leavin rappers defenseless,
Im the mennace that you cant miss, stirin up the whole campus,
Rappers nowadays enchanted and they doin funny dances.... - Rob D- S*T*R (Small Town Representas) YouTube Search: Rob D Sick Wit It - Rob D Destiny.
A Throwed Thirty
"Los The Ox"
Mr. Rob D, ya more dillusional than Miglo is
couldn't spread ya name even if ya had three mo kids
who the fuck told ya you can rap, man, ya drunk aunt?
You should grab a pencil 'n' go stab her in the butt crack
cause she told a flat lie, analyze my word play
can't you see it makes ya shit sound like you in 3rd grade?
mistic, listic, blistic bullshit is not what skill is
ya got as much gift as a Muslim got on Christmas
fuck it though, here's some advice: Be safe dog,
and neva quit rappin, jus neva quit ya day job
study how I came down, listen to the compounds
hotta than a hun pounds jus found by blood hounds
wreck ya ass in one round, from the first drum sounds
before I even rap, while the words are in my lung valves
"consequences" "hoppin fences" was a decent rhyme I thought
but it's not the type-o-talk that keeps the fuckin climate hot
you will stay small town, pissed widda long frown
yellin at'cha mom, she, like, "Robbie, please calm down!"
I'm ya drunk step dad, hit'cha widda left jab
kick ya out your room cause I need it for a meth lab
then I'll drink the Sprite that you hid in the refrigerator
berp like a bear while you thinkin, "I'mma kill'im later!"
change the television to the channel that I wanna watch
Have you, like, "Hey! I was watching that you fucking ox!"
Listen, Rob, you know that I love you like my own kid,
but it's that time for you to take a long road trip,
tell ya chick to go strip or learn how'da coke flip,
but ya need to find ya own home, this is Los crib.
You be, like, "But you just moved in a month ago!"
Rob, you can visit us at Christmas time, love ya bro. (laughing)
Now Dat's What You Call
Murder, my nigga,