Queen Bee

June 2004 (2)

As the loud beat rolled through the speakers, I could feel the bass vibrating inside of my chest, giving me the most incredible feeling of adrenaline mixed with power. I felt powerful being back in the studio, almost as if I had finally regained access to my most natural habitat. The place where I create. The place where I thrive. The place where I was always meant to be. 

Surprisingly, it was a hell of a lot easier than I originally thought starting a new album would be. Every word, rhyme, cadence, and flow, it was all just ebbing from me in the most organic way that you would never even think I had just taken three years off. Feeling proud of myself is definitely an understatement. Gratified. Elevated. And you know... Maybe a little cocky. But I deserve it. I am one of the highest top selling female rappers of all mothafuckin' time, I can do this shit with heels or Nikes on... Damn, that's good. Lemme write that down. 

"Aight, I think ya should go back and run through the first verse once more just for good measure, but the other two are flawless in my opinion." Jayceon said from beside me after he finished toying around with the soundboard. 

I nodded, continuing to stare down at my pad. "Aight, gimme a sec." Can't reach me on the phone, then send a bitch a kite/Man I do's it in heels or a pair of crisp Nikes... Fuck, that's perfect! God damn it, this is gonna be my best record yet. 

Throwing down my pen and paper, I quickly jolted up from my chair and headed towards the booth. Securing the headphones tightly over my ears, I yelled, "ready!" Simultaneously jabbing my thumb up into the air. Game nodded and within only moments, I heard as the familiar beat came through. Waiting for the right count, I inhaled a deep breath as my eyes scanned the torn out page. 

"Every word I utter, I feel strictly gutter/That's why I touch more green than Tiger's putter/So you mad motherfuckers mutter what you wanna/I ain't worried 'bout none of ya and I'll say it in front of ya/I hear the snakes hiss, talkin' reckless/Thought I'd let it go and I wouldn't stress it/Haters in the street, y'all worse than the press is/And they all wanna hang like the charm on my necklace/I guess things just ain't the same for gangsters/How a snitch n**** make a record called 'Wankstas'?/Everything these haters do just to degrade ya/Only made me strong, I say thanks for the favour/Now the D.A., wanna give me time in the feds/I'm from Brooklyn, I could do that time on my head/Come down with my weave straight sittin' on bread/At the gate, gettin' picked up in a new Coupe Benz."

Finishing, I inhaled another giant gush of air, realizing just how bad my breath control has gotten over the last few years while the music cut out in my headphones. "Hell yeah, that's the one, Angel! Ya fuckin' killed that shit! Come back out here and listen!" Jayceon yelled excitedly through his mic. Laughing, I took off the headphones, exiting the booth as I made my way back over towards my chair. Immediately, he began to play it back for me, both of us instinctually bobbing our heads to the beat. 

Just shortly after the minute was done, a wide, smug smile painted across my face. "I sound so fuckin' good." I boasted. 

Jayceon laughed. "Yeah this shit is tight, Angel. Ya doin' real good." Smiling at him, I grabbed my notebook from the table. "Yo, you ain't really think Fifty's a snitch though, do ya?"

Shrugging, I twirled my pen around in my fingers. "Personally? No. But I know that's what people been callin' him, so I'mma definitely jump on that bandwagon." Jayceon chuckled and nodded. "Why? Ya been tellin' him shit ya ain't want gettin' out?" 

"I mean, nah not really, but y'know... He knows some shit, and Bloods ain't really fuck with snitches." 

"Ohh." I nodded. "Right, you runnin' with the Bloods, aren't ya?" 

"Uh, yeah, I mean me and my brother do, he's the Piru Bloods leader out in West Compton. But that's kinda how I got shot, so y'know. Been tryna take a step back from the gang shit, I guess."