Dre Day

Real Muthaf***in G's

October 1993

Dre POV

As the studio buzzed with creative fervor, Snoop and I were knee-deep in crafting the magic of "Doggystyle." D.O.C., Kurupt, Daz, Lady of Rage, and RBX vibed together, weaving their talents into the tracks, when the door swung open, interrupting our rhythm.

In walked Suge dressed in all red, his forceful presence that commanded attention, his demeanor serious as he wheeled T.A into the studio. The sight hit me like a gut punch—T.A, my friend, in a wheelchair, a stark reminder of the ordeal with the police.

"What the fuck! What the hell happened, man?" My voice echoed through the studio, a mix of disbelief and concern. I reached for the controls, halting the music, my attention fully on T.A.

Snoop and the others crowded around, their faces mirroring my shock and worry. "Yo, big homie, what's going on?" Snoop's voice held a hint of incredulity, his concern palpable.

Suge's voice cut through the tension, his words carrying a weight of frustration. "They advised him to rest up, he can walk but he's still in a little pain. Don't even sweat it, he's gonna be alright," he explained, a flicker of determination in his gaze.

T.A managed a faint smile, despite the pain etched on his face. "I'm hanging in there, Dre," he murmured, his voice strained but resilient. The studio seemed to hold its breath as I watch Snoop kneel beside T.A, his hand resting gently on T.A's shoulder. There was a bond between them. Snoop's eyes held a mix of concern and a deep respect for T.A, who had always been like a guiding presence, a mentor, a big brother to him.

"Dre, man, this ain't right," Snoop murmured, his voice laden with worry as he glanced up at me, seeking reassurance or answers that were hard to provide in that moment.

My concern for T.A was written across my face. "I know, Snoop. We're gonna figure this out," I assured him, but the uncertainty gnawed at me.

T.A, despite his discomfort, managed a reassuring smile hinting his gold tooth. "I'll be good, Dre. Just a bump in the road," he said, his voice carrying a quiet strength despite the pain. His resilience was a testament to his character, but it didn't ease the worry etched in our hearts.

I nodded, trying to contain the worry that threatened to overwhelm me. "We got your back, T Always," I affirmed, my voice firm, a vow of support for my homie who had always stood by me through thick and thin.

T.A reached into his pocket, pulling out a tape with a solemn look in his eyes. "Dre, I got something for you," he said, offering me the tape. Confusion swept over me as I took it, my brow furrowing in puzzlement.

"What's this?" I asked, studying the tape with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty.

"Play it," T.A insisted, a hint of intrigue dancing in his eyes despite the pain etched on his face.

I hesitated for a moment, then nodded, slotting the tape into the player without hesitation. As the music began to play, the studio was enveloped in a hushed tension, everyone's attention fixated on the track that emerged from the speakers.

The familiar voice of Eazy-E filled the room, responding to the diss track I had released. My eyes widened in surprise, my heart skipping a beat as the lyrics unraveled, each word laden with a mix of defiance and a sense of personal vendetta.

Hey yo Doctor, here's another proper track
And it's phat, watch the sniper, time to pay the piper
And let that real shit provoke
See you's a wannabe 'loc, and you'll get smoked and I hope
That your fans understand when you talk about sprayin' me
The same records that you makin' is payin' me
Motherfuck Dre, motherfuck Snoop, motherfuck Death Row
Yo, and here comes my left blow
Cause I'm the E-A-Z-Y-E and this is the season
To let the real motherfuckin' G's in