JDnG

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Days gone by

L'Venice "L-Dawg" Jackson had grown up a child of hip-hop, barely now 1 years old, he had been rapping as long as he could remember. In Elementary and Middle School, his friends had called him Freestyle because that's what LD would do. At recess, after lunch, after school… whenever, wherever, whatever, give him a beat and he was bound to give you tight lines. When he was 14 he started at Madison Park High School. Madison Park was an all black school in nearby Roxbury, MA. That's where LD met Gulleas (pronounced Julius). All of the kids there knew Gulleas as "G" and so that's what L'Venice came to know him as. "G" was a charismatic guy and he and LD quickly became friends.

It turned out that Gulleas always wanted to make beats and LD always thought of himself as a prominent, up-and-coming rapper; so it seemed that the two new friends had formed a match made in heaven. And indeed the two were inseparable. They spent all their time together, whether in school or in G's basement studio, LD and Gulleas were together talking and thinking about their futures together. Mostly LD wanted to rap for the love of the game and G was the one who was really serious about the money. "G" tinkered around with spinning the wheels of steel, but was most successful when he and LD worked together on sick beats laced with even more ill rhymes. But the small amount of success that came from being well-known, well-liked high school rappers also brought small profits to the table.

Gulleas loved to make music and LD worked with him as far as making rhymes went, but his love was always the idea of making money. Vontr�, G's older brother, had gotten him hooked to the fast life and the quick money as a youngster. Trwas a hustler. He had taught his younger brother many things about the game and about how to go about making money, but he did not teach him about the ducking of gun fights and the times he had to hide in ditches and bushes to evade the police. Trended up in jail when Gulleas was only 11 years old�maybe a good thing because most in the community believed that he would have been killed otherwise�but his impression was strong on the personality and the life of the young G.

Grown

Gulleas Anton Mitchell had been hustling since he was 14 years old. He always told himself that he was in control of the game and not the other way around. He started out hanging on the outskirts of Boston Common on Beacon and Park doing mostly nickel and dimeing. By the time he turned 16 he had started make trips to D.C. and N.Y. to roll with the older niggas who were bringing in raw. He didn't understand why people called Baltimore "B-More careful" until he saw a guy shot in the face in broad daylight in the middle of a crowded street. Dude who shot him was so gangsta, he took off hat and spit on the bitch, hollerin', "E.C.P. for life muthafucka!" This shook the 16 year old, but he assured himself that he would never be that stupid as to roll in the street with beef and no heat.

Things were good for LD and G with the rhymes. They had begun to call themselves Freestyle. With more street knowledge than LD, G was schooling LD to the game while LD was showing G the finer side of ways to keep a crowd interested and how to link verses together. LD was so fresh with the raps that some people said he could walk into a studio with a pen, one piece of paper, and some background music and make a platinum album. The dynamic duo had preformed at school, in parks, at clubs and everywhere else from Medford to Newton and all throughout Boston Metro. But all the traveling was putting a wear and tear on the young G who was still making trips to pick up white on the weekends that they didn't perform. He was also out late, even after they left the studio at midnight some nights to make that 10 minute drive from Malcolm X Street to his more familiar clientele over in Boston Common. LD did not condone what G did outside the studio but had always told G that it was against his better judgment to go so far from your own neighborhood to make street money. But G was a grown man and no one could tell him how to make his money.

A lot of these ideas came from a girl G had met on one of his trips to Baltimore named Netta. Netta was the daughter of a street hustler and was a hustler in her own right mostly dating big chip players with mounds of cash and flashy whips. She wasn't usually involved with outsiders, but his smooth Boston accent got over on her. Plus, he seemed like a young up and comer in the game, so she wanted to get him hooked before he realized that he didn't need a woman to help him run things in the streets. The two were very much so sexually attracted and the sex was so good that it fooled G into thinking that this woman was in love with him. "No girl would do all that freaky stuff if she ain't love a nigga," he frequently told himself, "I gotta be the shit."

The first sign LD had that trouble was near was the New Years Day concert at the Wheelock College Auditorium on The Riverway in '01. There was something strange going on with G and LD knew what it was…

"Hey G man, are you alright? You look fucked up."

"Hey LD yo, I'm aw'ight yo. Just be cool yo. We gone flip these fools in here tonight yo!"

"Dawg, what's up wit' all that 'yo' shit, man? I told you, you spennin' way too much time in B-More with that chic man."

"Nah yo, I'm just doin' what I gotta do to eat yo'. Plain as dat yo. I cain't be waiting all day fa dis rap shit yo. I'm trying to pay bills my nigga. Just like you yo."

"Yeah, whatever G. I guess that why you roun'here looking like you never heard of Visine. Man you need to leave that bitch alone, that shit ain't good for you."

"Whatever yo. Let's just get out here and make this money yo."

"Fa real baby G, let's do this shit nigga."

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