Hard Rockz

                                                      -Hard Rockz-

                                       By Jamiel Dynasty Thompson

Follow the author into a world of intense dilemma where survival-mode is king…Where situations get thick… Prepare for…. “Hard Rockz”

The year was 1982, a time when hip hop was in its "golden years" and thugged-out b-boys posted-up on the block with vicious stances.  The times were filled with trials and tribulations and there were a lot of things being created and originating from the hood around that period; such as:

Urban fashion, Hip Hop, gangs, new dances and even doing the knowledge, (becoming more intelligent) was considered a priority…it was all about expression in the hood during that era.…

But then a different breed emerged from the back-blocks of the ghettos--considered as top dogs within the ranks of their affiliates, they were masters at streets brawling and regulating certain situations in the hood; such notable figures had a very distinct posture and were well known for possessing brave hearts…in essence they would be known as “hard rocks,” the type that you wouldn’t want to step to on any given day…those dudes were respected by everyone from block brawlers, cops, fly-girls, b-boys and even the stick-up kids were afraid of getting vic’d (becoming a victim)…. And so they were respected for their mean-mugging life style. 

Stroking the streets day and night was a way of keeping their minds sharp, wits cleaver and remaining thorough and on point nonetheless…. Let’s just say--they were gutta as hell! 

1982, the year was crazy…a time when Hip Hop was young.  Little honeys were on the block practicing cheerleading steps; teams such as, “Red Flames” and the “Soul Stompers” were in full and final effect and had the step game on lock.

The block was sometimes filled with playful youths running around with exciting energy, playing things like Tag, Hula Hoop, Catch-a-girl get-a-girl, Tops, Jump Rope and of course Hop Scotch. 

As the day progressed in the heat of the summertime in sweltering temperatures, you could hear a voice from down the block boisterously yelling….

"Yo’, ay Taumuh! what’s good big bruh?  It’s ya’ homie, Jahlil."  (He and Taumuh were best friends since 4th grade.)  Jahlil had a rather lean and sporty build, smooth caramel complexion with natural curly hair and stood about 5"11.  He was the type of guy the females adored...considered as a panty-wetta by all the ladies in the hood and could run his ass off...Jahlil was one fast mutha fucka. 

As they walked hurrily towards one another to meet, shots rang out from the neighboring bar, both homies ducked and dodged behind parked cars; looking around frantically they tried to see if they could catch a glimpse of the shooter but no one was in sight as far as their eyes could see.

Taumuh reached into his waist clutching his prized possession--"the nickel plated 9 millimeter hand gun’ that kept him alive in a previous shoot-out with someone he had beef with a couple weeks earlier.  “Word, Tauh!” said Jalil, "I knew you were strapped, it’s all good though, these fools are deadly so you know I have to stay with that heat for protection; it’s a good thing the little kids aren’t outside playing right now."

“True,” said Taumuh, "but check this out, I need to holla at you about that chic, Renee."  With a curious look on his face, Jalil remarked; "Renee?....

you’re losing me right now son…

oh, oh!  are you talking about shorty from Seymour Ave; are you smashin that or what?"  Taumuh lets out a big laugh and says, “listen doggy, not too many dudes hit that, you know, I had to lay my mack down on some fly shit, honey body is bangin right now, so you know I couldn’t pass that ass up; na’mean?  “Word!” said Jalil, but isn’t she the chic who’s brother sucka punched ya’ mans a few months ago when we had beef with Faheem and his boys; those cats gave us a run for our money.  “Yeah,” said Taumuh....