“Like Paul, Michael, and Matthew, Peter, James and Philip Simon and Judas.
I am not a dictator.I am the righteous inviting haters.
Inside the life of the greatest. I’ll take you through something real get a smacked face.
Disciple, Disciple, Disciple.” –Nas
The human heart is subject to seven deadly sins. Mine was Wrath, revenge on others.
In this century you gotta make money first, then when you get it, you get the power.
I became a prince at 15, and by the time I was 18 I was a king.
No one would believe an illiterate black boy from the sticks of Mississippi would one day rule the streets of Chicago.
I was the leader of the hoodlums that terrorized Chicago Englewood gehtto.
My family moved to Chi-Town from Mississippi to have a better life; as boys we all listened to the great stories
of the lives of Al Capone, Frank Nitti and we all aspired to be Scarface.
Tony Montana, AK-47 toting, cocaine snorting savage, yes, he was our hero, and each of us must have seen that movie at least 10 times. My buddies and I started to call ourselves Supreme G.
I met a dude who claimed to be from Mississippi, he was a few years older than me, but we clicked at the off.
I’m the cat who wears a Jewish star of David around his neck. The point of the star symbolized love, life and loyalty and that started it all. But you ain’t got nothing without knowledge, wisdom and understanding.
My fellas wore mostly Georgetown gear. The BDs wore mostly Duke Blue Devil jackets.
He was a huge target, and kept catching hollows. We decided to merge and form Black Gangster Disciple Nation.
We carried American/ Smith & Wesson and Israeli Uzi’s and our cocaine came from the mountains of Nicaragua.
Crack was more potent than cocaine.
The impact of crack took the hood by storm.
We became even more ruthless and unapologetically savage.
We fought over turf and drug sales. In the hood homes were always crowed and there were always more mouths to feed.
Slanging that crack rock became our 9 to 5 for every uneducated wool haired black boy with no fear of death and no hope for a future. The music changed from the playfulness of the Sugar Hill Gang, Grandmaster Flash and
The Furious Five became harder.
Now we were hearing NWA, A2 Live Crew, Too Short.
There were also white gangs of privileged kids whose parents were politicians.
The hamburgers were led by a Wasp that would later become mayor of Chicago.
White gang members would become oligarchs of Chi-Town. We became prisoners.
The GDN had goals too! We started a record label, clothing line and invested heavily in real estate.
When it was time to break down the work, we would go to the local Bodegas for Gillette razors
(Gillette The Best A Man Can Get) a Clabber Girl baking soda, and I always used a Mickey D plate they gave out for
promotion at McDonalds. Grimace was missing an eye because of the cut marks. We started off mowing lawns, doing odd jobs to come up with enough money for an eight ball.
I was on my second eight ball by eight’ o clock.
The cluckers were coming in like fiends.
“Everybody loves you until you become the competition.” –Tony Montana
Soon as the money start getting good, opps began slowing our shit down.
We would buy sherm from the creepy mortician from the local funeral home.
Folks would get wet before we went out hunting; if you ask me, the real gangsters are politicians and morticians.
The young kids hung onto my every word as if it were literature.
My disciples became a force to be reckoned with. We felt like we were the kings of Chicago
Product was moving, money was rolling in. I became a young God in Chicago!
I was a rock star in one of the most violent parts of America.
As our power grew we became bigger targets. More money, more problems.
Children were born, arrest were made. We always kept a good lawyer on payroll.
I never got caught that dirty, but the po-po was always putting something on us anyway.
The dick would make us drop our pants on the street, or choke us out if they thought we swallowed a bag.
The money did not stop. We were pulling down a mil annually tax-free.
My partner that helped start our organization would die in prison of kidney failure.
In memory of him I made it my mission to grow our organization. Now my organization stood for growth.
F.O.L.K.S. stood for Follow- Obey- Laws- Kings- Set.
As I got bigger I put the “G” over the crown. I felt unstoppable!
A 19 year-old opp is shot up on 68th and Union Ave and everybody is pointing the finger at me.
I was in and out of jail.
After a 17-year investigation, I was sentenced to 150-200 years.
That’s six-life sentences!
I was charged with conspricy, extortion, money laudering but to add insult to injury they charged with continuing a criminal enterprise from jail. By having so much time on my hands I started to educate myself
Whenever I needed something I would tell the guard to call my mother.
As I approach my later years I feel restless.
When I look back on so much potential misdirected.
I am disappointed.
New soldiers have broken away and become LAWLESS.
No more rules, no more laws of organization loyalty.
I see so clearly the decline in the Chicago Public School System, what politicans don’t realize is that illiteracy
turns into seething hostility.
I know the young ones glorify me for all the wrong reasons.
The difference between the oldheads and the new shroties is that we had goals.
A leader has goals, a gangsta don’t!
Who knew a hoodlum from Englewood could create generations upon generations of disciples. Even the confines of my cell
couldn’t stop my literature from reaching the young.
Big Meech, Larry Hoover, whipping work. One bation under God.
Real niggas getting money from the fuckin’ start.”