Changes.

Phase #2.

I was on my way to the trap, as I had Kendrick Lamar's album blasting from my speakers. I loved this dude, he actually knows what it's like to grow up in the hood. The only difference between him and a lot of other niggas is that, he made his way out of the hood. Other niggas, just sitting and listening to his album, hoping they can make it out.

Me and my niggas roll deep in a white Toyota. A quarter tank of gas, one pistol, an orange soda. Jankie's stash box, if the federally's a roll up. Basketball shorts with the Gonzales park odor. We on a mission for bad bitches in trouble, I hope the universe love you today. Cause the energy we bring, is sure to carry away a flock of positive activists and fill they body with hate. If it's necessary, bumping Jeezy first album lookin' distracted. Speak a language only we know, you think it's an accent. The windows rolled down all I see is a hand pass it, hot boxing like George Forman grill in the masses of the working world. We pulled up on a bunch of working girls and asked 'em what they workin' wit'. Look at me, I got the blunt in my mouth. Usually I'm drug free, but shit I wit' the homies.

I continued to blast the song, until I pulled into the driveway of the trap house. You probably think that it's the obvious trap house, dirty, no maintenance on the house, a bunch of bums hanging around? Nah, we kept our shit clean. I got out of my car and made my way inside, when I was greeted with my niggas, who had some bitties around.

"Yoo, wassup Royal?" Marco said, dapping me up.

"Wassup man, Ricky wassup dawg?!" I exclaimed, not knowing that he had gotten out of jail.

"Nothin' man, just let a nigga out last night!" He said, as he pulled the blunt to his lips, taking a long drag.

"That's wassup man, did anybody see Rodney or Malik?" I asked, as everybody gave me confused looks.

"What y'all starin' at?" I asked, as I plopped down on the couch.

"Look, Rod and Malik went on a mission to get some money from this nigga named Manny. If you ask me, I think it's petty." Ricky said, as he pulled one of the girls onto his lap.

"Why?" I asked, as I took a swig at the bottle of vodka that sat on the table.

"The nigga owes five petty ass dollars, when Rodney got all this money over here, he's worried about five petty ass dollars!" Ricky said, officially killing everybody's high, including his own.

"Just chill man, business is business. I'm sure Rodney has valid reasoning to why he's doing this." I said, calming him down and passing him another blunt.

"I guess you right, can I ask you a question?" He asked me, as he took another long drag of the blunt.

"Holla' at me." I said, as I tucked the blunt inbetween my lips, rolling up another and started to pass them around.

"What happened to ya' moms, I haven't seen her because I got locked up. Is she good?" He asked, as he began to look around the couch for the remote.

"Uhh...she...passed away...her funeral was yesterday." I said, choking on my words a little bit. I watched as everybody's eyes landed on me once again.

"So, you buried your mother yesterday and you woke up this morning, deciding that you should come to the trap." Ricky asked, as Rodney and Malik walked through the front door.

"Aye Rodney, did you know that Royal's moms funeral was yesterday? Who told him to come to the house today, y'know we have a fourty-eight hour grieving period." Ricky said, as he stood up from the couch.

"I didn't know anything about that." Rodney shrugged, as he waltz into the kitchen.

"Really, I told Malik and Jiggy that I wasn't coming yesterday because I had to bury my mother." I growled, as I stood up in disbelief.