I hope all is well. I’ve got a little ear infection, but the drops they gave me seem to be working. Other than that, just busy being busy.
I’m writing you today because I’m not sure if I told you that I was denied, again, on getting out of High Security. For those that don’t know, I was sent here almost three years ago because they found some recording equipment in my cell. That wa at the Powledge Unit in Palestine, Tx. Now, I live at the Allred Unit in Iowa Park, Tx.
When I first got here, I kept getting in trouble, so it was understandable that they wouldn’t let me out. Ya see, in High Security there is no TV, no payphones, no contact visit, and even when you go to the dentist, you have to be handcuffed. It’s tough time and times are tough, but it’s not that big of a deal. But I’ve been staying out of trouble lately, and so I thought I had a good chance of going to regular prison, which they call “general population.” But I was denied, and I’ll have to wait till October to see the committee again. That means another 4 ½ months in the house of doom.
I’ve been so busy working on a video treatment for “Angels” that I’m not even sure if they’ve got the next song ready for you. It was supposed to be “People”. I hope they got it for you, but if not, don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. I promised you a song every 45 days till the album drops, and that’s what you’ll get.
This is a very short Quick Update, but I’ll scribble you a Quick Sixteen, just so you won’t cuss me out, or nothing.
Con Chingos de Amor,
Losy Los AKA Phil Coffins
You know what? Let me do something else, here. I remember reading, on one of Incandesio’s letters, a verse that a guy named Jae Stylez wrote. Hopefully Incandesio still has that verse in her archives. I’m going to answer his challenge with a Cold Forty of my own. For some ungodly reason he felt he was ready to step to the dopest man on earth. Poor child. But, which is usually the case, he is a fan, so let me send him all my love before I get to ripping him into strips of bacon.
Love ya, Jae.
Jae's Cold 40:
"Just For You"
Few have tried to battle rap and take out SPM,
But they were whack and don’t deserve to even touch a pen,
Boyz that think they’re men, softer than some gelatin,
But this is me, I’m guaranteed to beat the rest of them,
That includes you too, Mr. South Park Mexican,
Mr. “Fuck, they locked me up for underage sex again!”
Don’t start trippin’ I’m not sayin’ you’re not innocent,
I’m just sayin’ shit to try and get under ya’ skin ;)
And I won’t say my name yet, I’ll save it for the end,
I’m on the tenth, soon enough I’ll have forty in,
Slicker than lizard tongue, S.O.N. I’m fuckin’ killin’ em these
Rhymes are worth a fortune and I still get paid the minimum!
But it’s ok, I know tomorrow that the sun will shine,
Can’t say the same for you, but hey, you’re still doing fine!
You’re still selling crack within your raps on every album!
Who cares If “The Last” one lost a couple hundred thousand!
I’m just bustin’ balls ‘Los to me you’re still the greatest,
Even if you’ve been on what, a 5 year hiatus?
Being gone that long has made some of your best players
Trade their team and now it seems they’re playin’ for the Houston Haters!
It’s a shame, blame it on the fucking Doe family!
Makes me want to grab a gat and turn ‘em to The No Family!
But then I think of you, both my diamonds and my jewels,
“Nah, I got to keep my cool, nigga What Would Jesus Do?!”
He’d probably say, “Keep your hands out my collection plate, I
Blessed your ass with two free B.O.B’s from Whataburger yesterday!”
Anyway, let me get back to dissin’ What’s his name?
Iowa Park Mexican? Don’t deserve his Dope House Chain?
I know you’re sitting in your cell trying not to laugh,
I’m sittin’ here hopin’ one day I’ll get an autograph,
Be sure to write it on them soft toilet pape’s ya’ have
That way it don’t hurt as much, once I have to wipe my ass
Soon enough, Mr. Coy you’ll know my name, and
So will every other motherfucker in the game, I’mma
Take over the world, call me Pinky and the Brain, then I’ll
Go out wit’cha girl and beat her pinky out the frame,
Yes I’m the one that came up out that rinky dinky place
Phoenix, Arizona I’m a stoner with a chinky face
Sip a cold Corona ask a hoe-a how my winky taste
Jae Stylez, dope enough to write raps with a winky face
Now, let me finish what you started:
Another Cold 40
“The Cruelest Lie”
Let the ink of this pen be the voice of disaster
let you brag "Hey, guys, I got destroyed by the master!"
here's your cup of elation, plus a slug's penetration
Losy bust then I break then call it justification
look, either you retarded or you ain't that smart
cause you sound more ragged than a gay man's fart
let the payback start, I fuckin slay wack bars
in the game just my mothafuckin name crack hearts
make ya dame's ass arch, give her train track marks
she, like, "Babe, I just did the fool with eight rap stars!"
Losy fly as a sea gull, first ride was a Regal
nigga super like unleaded but my mind is on diesel
I survive through the evil, but will die for my people
my green wife is illegal like soft white for ya needle
comp cry at the steeple, thinkin, "How can we beat'im?
Who the fuck is his father? We want his powerful semen!"
see I'm wreckin you replicas, turnin Jesse's to Jessica's
forty-seven expressionless showin men to the exodus
every word is superior, straight from my interior
I reach for my pen and ain't a man who can mirror her
I snap when the beat emerge, you glad when you see the surge
my talent release the urge, then magic just reoccurs
I laugh at the heated slurs, cause ain't no stoppin this
I'm plannin to meet the Spurs, my name's Coach Poppabitch
I been through the flames, now I'm purified gold
let me take you through the jungle on a tourist guide's road
and I promise you can take a decent pic from a distance
but gettin too close keeps a killa in business
took a pinch from my nicholas, now I'm twistin some triplets
Jae Stylez you my G, but you fit the statistics
not with snitches or bitches, but with niggas that's twisted
cause you sat in the fire as if ya biscuits were brisket
gettin flipped on a discus, that I snatched from ya spinal
have you lookin like Richie, not Valenz but Lionel
lips unspeakably swolen and nose as beefy as Hova's
now ya gotta hear ya homies keep repeating, "We told ya!"
and I've heard parents say, "Hey, anything's possible,
just put your mind to it." Well, unless it's illogical
so next time ya momma tryda drop that line
say, "I tryda battle Los and that's a gotdamn lie!" lol!
Message to the parents: Please stop
telling your kids if they work hard enough,
they can be anything they want. They can be
anything but the dopest. That would save a
lot of bloodshed. Thank you.