T.I.
Interview by Soren Baker
Back in the day, what made you proclaim yourself to be the King Of The South?
Because I had a clear vision of what I planned on doing in the future. I wasn’t trying to discredit none of the artists who paved the way for me or anybody else coming up in my generation. I just knew what I wanted to do, what I planned to do and what the South was missing. I knew what the people from the South who came up like I came up and who were doing the things I was doing before I was started rapping, I knew what they were identifying
with
and there wasn’t enough out there on a major level.
Be specific. What was the South missing?
It was missing a nigga who was really representing the hoods on a major level. There were niggas doing it. I ain’t gonna say niggas weren’t representing the hood. I’ll say in Atlanta it was missing. Like OutKast, they do their thing. They’re wonderful artists and it’s artistic and as diverse as they are, niggas who are from where I’m from can’t really identify with them, except for the fact that they’re from Atlanta. Goodie Mob, yeah. But that’s a whole ’nother generation, both of those acts. You’ve got Ludacris. As diverse and as versatile an artist as he is and as reputable as he is, niggas who are from where I’m from can’t necessarily identify with that. So it was just a gap that needed to be bridged. I chose to put the weight on my back. I never knew that calling myself the King of the South would cause such controversy and would bring such an uproar to the industry. I wasn’t trying to really cause no trouble or nothing. I was just going for mine. I didn’t feel half as strong about it then as I do now. If muthafuckas wouldn’t have never come at me so negative and sideways about that shit, I probably wouldn’t hold on to that shit so tight.
What do you think made it such a problem?
Muthafuckas were mad that they didn’t think about it first. That’s all. Then they was mad because they couldn’t find nothing bad to say about me. They couldn’t say, “Well, he can’t even rap,” because he’s busting on every song. They couldn’t say, “Well, his album ain’t jamming,” because every time I put something out I make sure that it’s of enormous proportions as far as standards and being able to play that shit from top to bottom is concerned. I make sure that shit is ready to go. I feel like they’re upset because a lot of people feel like they should be the King of the South. But my whole thing is if you’re secure with yourself and you’re really doing what in your heart and soul you feel is the best, ain’t shit me, the next nigga or the next nigga can say to change your mind. So if you take offense to me calling myself the King of the South, then there’s something wrong with you. It’s your insecure ass. It ain’t got nothing to do with me.
You called yourself that and your first major album, I’m Serious, didn’t live up to what you thought it would, I’m sure. What was going through your mind?
The King of the South, that shit ain’t measured by record sales, by money, by critical acclaim. That shit is measured by the response and the acceptance by the people. If you got the acceptance and support of the people that you need to become the King of the South, then guess what you’re going to be: The King of the Muthafuckin South. I’m the muthafucka who everybody wanted to blow that didn’t blow. So they’re like, “Why is my nigga not blowing and why is all these other muthafuckas representing all of these other sides of life they’re getting so much airtime and so many record sales, but the nigga who representing how I’m living, he ain’t getting the same credit and he’s just as good, if not better.” So they take offense to that more so that look down on it. That shit is clear and simple and easy to see, but I ain’t tripping. I ain’t never begged nobody, never complained. I just kept doing my thing. I kept it moving.
Looking back, do you think that the Beenie Man single was the right move?
Nah. Hell nah, it wasn’t. But you’ve got to keep in mind that the Beenie Man single ain’t the single that we went with first. We took “Dope Boys” to the radio stations first. They were scared to play it. They said, “We can’t play nothing that’s saying ‘Dope Boys.’” Why not? Then we did the Beenie Man single with the Neptunes. That shit didn’t catch. If you ain’t got no foundation, you can’t go home. You can’t go nowhere. It was a hot song and it showed diversity, talent and it displayed a lot of shit that new muthafuckas coming up from the South, they weren’t willing to put out there at the time. So it was definitely a well-needed song for the album, but the first single, nah.
When the reaction to the song wasn’t that strong, what were you thinking? Did you think it was over?
I knew I should have pushed for what the fuck I wanted to do in the first place. I knew I shouldn’t have never listened to these muthafuckas who ain’t never been where I’m from say, “This is the one.” You’re sitting in an office with a muthafucka and this nigga got way more money than you, he’s the muthafucka that took you out the trap, out the position that you were in an put you in the position that you’re in now. So, when he say, “I believe in this,” you want his support. You want him to behind you, to feel like what he’s marketing and what he’s promoting is the best thing in his personal belief. If he say that this is the one and that the shit’s going to launch and it’s going to blast off, then all right. I’m not going to argue with you. I owe you that much if not nothing else. But little did I know that if that didn’t work I wouldn’t have a chance to come back and say, “Hey now, what you tried didn’t work so let’s try it my way this time.”
How do you think that failure impacted you going into “Never Scared,” since you were able to rebound pretty quickly?
It never really hit me as a failure because when I’m Serious came out, it sold 14,000 the first week. It came out the same day as Bubba Sparxxx, around the same time as Petey Pablo’s first album. I feel like just as many if not more people identified and rode to my music as theirs, and they had way more publicity, way more airtime. Not taking anything away from them. I know both of these guys personally and we’re cool. We don’t have no problems with one another. I came in the game and I didn’t have no co-signers, nobody saying, “Yeah, this is my little nigga. I signed him,” except for KP and LA, and LA was KP’s boy. I was KP’s boy. Me and LA, we was alright, but we wasn’t really tight like that, so I really didn’t have no major endorsements, so I had to go off of merit, talent and just sheer hunger. So I feel like I don’t see it as a failure. I see it as a building block and a steppingstone. As long as everybody who bought that album, and I don’t give a damn whether it’s five or 5 million, if you bought that album, you liked that album and you rode to it, then I’m satisfied.
The song “The Greatest” from your new album has a lot of punchlines. Why do you think there’s always been a stigma that people from the South don’t have lyrical skill?
I don’t know. I see a lot of muthafuckas down here spitting. Bun B, 8 Ball, MJG, Andre 3000, Big Boi, Trick Daddy, myself, Lil’ Wayne, B.G., Mystikal. If you count Virginia as the South, you’ve got the Clipse.
What about Petey Pablo?
Petey Pablo do his thing. I don’t see him as necessarily a real lyricist. He’s a mood rapper. He captures the moment and makes you feel what he’s saying, kind of like Pac, like Lil Jon, like Pimp C. He might not say nothing that’s hellafied, but you’re going to feel what he’s saying because of his expression and because of his conviction. You can tell that what he’s saying is true. I’m talking about people who can really spit, people who can go up top and who can stand on the stage in a cipher and hold a mic and rap against the best of the best up there. If I had a squad of rappers and I had to go across country and they were just Southern rappers, give me five men. Give me Andre 3000, Bun B, MJG, Lil’ Wayne and Ludacris. I feel like we can North, South, East, West, Midwest, wherever and we’re going to hold the South down as far as lyricism is concerned. No problem. Then, other people do their thing, make great songs and have good albums. Trick Daddy, too. Those are the people that I look at like they’re doing their thing.
As rap seems to have gotten more popular, it seems to have gotten away from what made it matter: the streets.
I feel that way. I felt that way when I called myself the King of the South. I felt like it started in the streets, it should remain in the streets. Whatever it grows to, that’s extra. But it should never leave what it started from. That’s one of the reasons why I felt like I should call myself the King. I felt like I was warranted to call myself the King because I had been through all the shit that other muthafuckas is rapping about, except getting shot. I ain’t never been shot, thank the Lord and knock on wood. Everything else I done been through. I had the talent, the street credibility, the support of the people and I had a jamming-ass album with I’m Serious, Trap Muzik and now Urban Legend. All the people who I respected in the game, I asked them about it, calling myself King of the South. I asked Andre, Big Boi, Bun, 8 Ball, Khujo, Gipp. All the people I grew up listening to that I had resources to contact, I spoke to them about it. “How do you feel about this? Would you take offense to it?” All of them told me, “Nah, nigga. You’re busting, doing your thing. Don’t stop for nobody.”
As far as the streets, on “ASAP,” you talk about “half of jail’s just like me.” What do you mean?
Half the jails is just like me because they can identify with me, relate to me. When I was locked up, a lot of police wanted to put me in protective custody. I was like, “Nah. I’m good. Put me in regular population with everybody else. I’m straight. Ain’t nobody finna fuck with me.” If it go down, it go down. I’m ready for whatever. Plus, I went to elementary school with half these niggas who’s in here. That’s what I meant that “half the jail’s just like me/and polices think I’m crazy and scared a nigga’s gonna strike me/but contrarily, a nigga trying me is unlikely/they barking don’t bother me/I’ll be bombing before they bite me.” It’s basically me saying that while I was locked up, muthafuckin polices wanted to give me more protection than I feel like I needed. I didn’t feel threatened. It wasn’t a situation that I had never been in before. I’ve been locked up way before the music shit popped off. This shit wasn’t new for me.
What was that like for you at the time?
It was an inconvenience, uncomfortable, uncalled for. But at the same time, it was mandatory. There wasn’t no way around it. I had to go through that to move forward. That’s just that. I got the shit done and that was it.
Now a lot of affiliate you with the word “trap” thanks to the title Trap Muzik. What made you feel like that was the right thing to say?
Trap Muzik, it was based off of a lifestyle that me and partnas had lived all the way up until I made another way for us. That’s what we were doing. It was my childhood, how I grew up. It ain’t no secret. Check my record. It’s public record.
If a lot of the good rappers come from the streets, how come the music has moved away from that?
Because a lot of people tend to emulate and mock a lot of the shit they hear and see on TV. Aside from that, it’s just growth. It ain’t just niggas in the streets that’s buying rap no more. It’s muthafuckas in the suburbs, white kids who ain’t never been to the ghetto, old ladies. It’s all kinds of muthafuckas. Now it ain’t got nothing to do with what street you’re from. It’s all about what song you can make. If you can produce a hit, me, you, any one of the people out there, they’re just one hit away. If they go to a studio tonight, spit some bullshit on a track and they play that shit on the radio and they play it on the radio and muthafuckas are like, “Oh yeah. That’s the new shit.” There you go. You’ve got yourself a star. Everybody’s one hit away. It ain’t got nothing to do with the streets no more. Although I disagree with it and a lot of other people like myself may disagree with it, that’s just the fact of the matter. It ain’t got nothing to do with the streets, your background or nothing no more. People are going to believe whatever you tell them. Truth don’t matter. The better story is what matters. Whatever sounds better.
Let’s get into the Flip situation, then.
I don’t really have much to say about it.
Why not?
I don’t feel like it’s for the public. The reason that it has been as been as public as it has been thus far is because I was in a situation where I couldn’t move, I couldn’t go out and see a nigga, put my hands on a nigga and holla at a nigga like I thought I needed to. So I had to defend myself the best way that I knew how. So I’m locked up, doing time right now and while I’m doing time, you’re out there on stage doing your thing, badmouthing me. No problem. But when I get my little time, which was at the Birthday Bash, I’m going to use it wisely. I’m going to tell people how I feel, let them know what’s happening, let you know that I know what’s happening. I’m going to call you to the stage and invite you to do whatever you feel is necessary to do. A muthafucka can say that they ain’t let him come back. That’s a muthafuckin bold-faced lie, on my kids. All five of them. I waited until the man was backstage. Muthafucka came and said, “Hey. He back there.” OK. Cool. “I heard you’re back there. Bring your ass on out here so you can tell the people what you’ve got to say about me and how you feel about me.” Then I went into my verse, but I ain’t even on that shit no more. It ain’t fair because he can’t even defend himself on a record. He ain’t even equipped. That’s like fighting a man in a wheelchair. What is he going to do? So I’m going to let that shit go. We’ll just address the situation when we see each other, which will be sooner than later.
What about the situation with the video tape in jail?
I felt like it was a good idea since my incarceration was so widely publicized and everybody was speaking on it for me to come out to the Birthday Bash. But just me having a video tape in jail, I just contacted some people that I knew in the jail and asked them if I could come in there and do this, that and the other. They said, “Yeah. Let me call my superior and make sure.” They called and called me back and was like, “Yeah. It’s all good.” So we did a little 30 second to two-minutes long thing and while we were there, somebody escaped. After somebody escaped, then the people who gave permission to do the shit were like, “Nah, I ain’t never give permission.” They backed down and passed the buck, to no fault of my own or the person who I called to ask, cause he got proper authority. He went through the proper channels to get the shit done, so the shit wouldn’t have never been a big deal if that coincidental situation wouldn’t have popped off.
On “The Goodlife” and “Praying For Help” from Urban Legend, you made the story so personal to where it makes an impact on the listener. What do you think that adds to your music?
It think it just separates me from the people who are acting like they live like that and who never really lived like that. It’s my way of proving that I know what I’m talking about. The niggas who can relate and identify with it, they’re going to ride with me. That’s why I will continue to be solidified as the King of the South.
Then why do you think singles are often about partying or girls than things of substance?
They might be insecure, scared. They might wonder what muthafuckas think about them if they know this, if they do that, if they show themselves in this way or that way. Me, I am what I am. Love me or leave me alone. I ain’t finna try to change myself, try to make it seem one way when I know it’s the other way. I’m going to give it to you how it is. What you see is what you get. Like it, love it or leave it alone.
When you finish writing those type of songs, does it give you a sense of relief?
Sometimes. Now, I’m numb to it. It’s systematic, whatever the song calls for. That’s what I’m here to do.
Is this the most comfortable you’ve been recording?
Yeah. I don’t even write shit. Trap Muzik was a paperless album. Urban Legend is a paperless album. I listen to the beat, pace back and forth around the studio for about 15, 20 minutes and I go in there and record my shit. A lot of people do it like that. Writing shit, that slows me down because I think a lot way faster than I can write.
Do you feel like you have to dumb yourself down?
Yeah. A lot. I just don’t even think about it. I just freestyle. When I’m freestyling, what I seem to find effortless, people seem to find valuable, like “ASAP,” “Stand Up,” “You Don’t Know Me,” “She’s A Freak.” I’m saying some shit that niggas can relate to. I ain’t talking no bullshit and the shit ain’t garbage, but it ain’t just displaying as much lyrical ability as muthafuckas know that I have the capability of displaying.
If it were up to you, would you make a whole like that?
Yeah. Like Jay-Z said, “Truthfully, I want to rhyme like Common Sense/But I sold five mil/I ain’t been rhyming like Common since.” If I can spit knowledge all over the album and still be as successful as if I reach the people who may not understand that shit that I’m talking about, then I would. But I can’t. I’ve got to sell music to everybody, to smart people, dumb people, ghetto people, lame people, suburban people, white people, black people, women, men, old people, young people. I’ve got to find a way to sell music to everybody, so it’s a sacrifice and a compromise.
But looking at “24s” and “Rubber Band Man,” those are still for people in the trap.
I understand that and I still have more evolving to do. But then you look at “Let’s Get Away,” “Let Me Tell You Something,” “I Still Love You,” “I Can’t Quit.” There’s some of them on there that people can really relate to, whether they’ve been to the ghetto or not. Some like “Just Doing My Job,” even if you ain’t never been there, I’m getting you in the head of a nigga who live that life every day. It’s education and information.
When you were a kid, what were you thinking about?
I was just trying to get it. I really didn’t really give a fuck about how, when, where, why. I just knew I needed it. I was with my uncles all the time. They were getting money, spending big money, riding new cars every day. Then my uncle got locked up and did 10 years. That just made me even hungrier because I knew wasn’t nobody else representing for the family like that, nobody else going to come through on Mother’s Day with side-by-side refrigerators and a brand new car for my grandmother, nobody that was going to take me shopping, to the arcade or give me hundreds of dollars to throw in my pocket when I was 7, 8 years old. So I knew I had to do it for myself at that point. That’s really when I really got buckwild, started doing whatever it takes.
When you look back, what do you feel about that part of your life?
It was a learning experience. Whatever good or bad, it made me what I am today so I can’t complain. I learned that everything that glitter ain’t gold and that everything that shine ain’t a diamond. Even though I’m still kind of hotheaded, I feel like I’ve got a much more mild mannered persona. I’m a little cooler, smarter. I think things through a little more. Even though I got a long way to go, me compared to how I was then, I’m a totally different person. I was without the ability to reason at that point. It was just whatever I thought, felt. If you disagreed, fuck you. I didn’t give a fuck about right or wrong. It was about what I felt was right or wrong. There was no real room for discussions or negotiations.
What changed that?
Watching your partner does it. Going to jail does it. I knew I didn’t want to be there, that there was a lot of other things I could have been doing with myself. I felt like I had failed myself, that I wasn’t living up to my full potential. Every time you check yourself. You hope to, anyway.
Interview by Soren Baker
Back in the day, what made you proclaim yourself to be the King Of The South?
Because I had a clear vision of what I planned on doing in the future. I wasn’t trying to discredit none of the artists who paved the way for me or anybody else coming up in my generation. I just knew what I wanted to do, what I planned to do and what the South was missing. I knew what the people from the South who came up like I came up and who were doing the things I was doing before I was started rapping, I knew what they were identifying
with
and there wasn’t enough out there on a major level.Be specific. What was the South missing?
It was missing a nigga who was really representing the hoods on a major level. There were niggas doing it. I ain’t gonna say niggas weren’t representing the hood. I’ll say in Atlanta it was missing. Like OutKast, they do their thing. They’re wonderful artists and it’s artistic and as diverse as they are, niggas who are from where I’m from can’t really identify with them, except for the fact that they’re from Atlanta. Goodie Mob, yeah. But that’s a whole ’nother generation, both of those acts. You’ve got Ludacris. As diverse and as versatile an artist as he is and as reputable as he is, niggas who are from where I’m from can’t necessarily identify with that. So it was just a gap that needed to be bridged. I chose to put the weight on my back. I never knew that calling myself the King of the South would cause such controversy and would bring such an uproar to the industry. I wasn’t trying to really cause no trouble or nothing. I was just going for mine. I didn’t feel half as strong about it then as I do now. If muthafuckas wouldn’t have never come at me so negative and sideways about that shit, I probably wouldn’t hold on to that shit so tight.
What do you think made it such a problem?
Muthafuckas were mad that they didn’t think about it first. That’s all. Then they was mad because they couldn’t find nothing bad to say about me. They couldn’t say, “Well, he can’t even rap,” because he’s busting on every song. They couldn’t say, “Well, his album ain’t jamming,” because every time I put something out I make sure that it’s of enormous proportions as far as standards and being able to play that shit from top to bottom is concerned. I make sure that shit is ready to go. I feel like they’re upset because a lot of people feel like they should be the King of the South. But my whole thing is if you’re secure with yourself and you’re really doing what in your heart and soul you feel is the best, ain’t shit me, the next nigga or the next nigga can say to change your mind. So if you take offense to me calling myself the King of the South, then there’s something wrong with you. It’s your insecure ass. It ain’t got nothing to do with me.
You called yourself that and your first major album, I’m Serious, didn’t live up to what you thought it would, I’m sure. What was going through your mind?
The King of the South, that shit ain’t measured by record sales, by money, by critical acclaim. That shit is measured by the response and the acceptance by the people. If you got the acceptance and support of the people that you need to become the King of the South, then guess what you’re going to be: The King of the Muthafuckin South. I’m the muthafucka who everybody wanted to blow that didn’t blow. So they’re like, “Why is my nigga not blowing and why is all these other muthafuckas representing all of these other sides of life they’re getting so much airtime and so many record sales, but the nigga who representing how I’m living, he ain’t getting the same credit and he’s just as good, if not better.” So they take offense to that more so that look down on it. That shit is clear and simple and easy to see, but I ain’t tripping. I ain’t never begged nobody, never complained. I just kept doing my thing. I kept it moving.
Looking back, do you think that the Beenie Man single was the right move?
Nah. Hell nah, it wasn’t. But you’ve got to keep in mind that the Beenie Man single ain’t the single that we went with first. We took “Dope Boys” to the radio stations first. They were scared to play it. They said, “We can’t play nothing that’s saying ‘Dope Boys.’” Why not? Then we did the Beenie Man single with the Neptunes. That shit didn’t catch. If you ain’t got no foundation, you can’t go home. You can’t go nowhere. It was a hot song and it showed diversity, talent and it displayed a lot of shit that new muthafuckas coming up from the South, they weren’t willing to put out there at the time. So it was definitely a well-needed song for the album, but the first single, nah.
When the reaction to the song wasn’t that strong, what were you thinking? Did you think it was over?
I knew I should have pushed for what the fuck I wanted to do in the first place. I knew I shouldn’t have never listened to these muthafuckas who ain’t never been where I’m from say, “This is the one.” You’re sitting in an office with a muthafucka and this nigga got way more money than you, he’s the muthafucka that took you out the trap, out the position that you were in an put you in the position that you’re in now. So, when he say, “I believe in this,” you want his support. You want him to behind you, to feel like what he’s marketing and what he’s promoting is the best thing in his personal belief. If he say that this is the one and that the shit’s going to launch and it’s going to blast off, then all right. I’m not going to argue with you. I owe you that much if not nothing else. But little did I know that if that didn’t work I wouldn’t have a chance to come back and say, “Hey now, what you tried didn’t work so let’s try it my way this time.”
How do you think that failure impacted you going into “Never Scared,” since you were able to rebound pretty quickly?
It never really hit me as a failure because when I’m Serious came out, it sold 14,000 the first week. It came out the same day as Bubba Sparxxx, around the same time as Petey Pablo’s first album. I feel like just as many if not more people identified and rode to my music as theirs, and they had way more publicity, way more airtime. Not taking anything away from them. I know both of these guys personally and we’re cool. We don’t have no problems with one another. I came in the game and I didn’t have no co-signers, nobody saying, “Yeah, this is my little nigga. I signed him,” except for KP and LA, and LA was KP’s boy. I was KP’s boy. Me and LA, we was alright, but we wasn’t really tight like that, so I really didn’t have no major endorsements, so I had to go off of merit, talent and just sheer hunger. So I feel like I don’t see it as a failure. I see it as a building block and a steppingstone. As long as everybody who bought that album, and I don’t give a damn whether it’s five or 5 million, if you bought that album, you liked that album and you rode to it, then I’m satisfied.
The song “The Greatest” from your new album has a lot of punchlines. Why do you think there’s always been a stigma that people from the South don’t have lyrical skill?
I don’t know. I see a lot of muthafuckas down here spitting. Bun B, 8 Ball, MJG, Andre 3000, Big Boi, Trick Daddy, myself, Lil’ Wayne, B.G., Mystikal. If you count Virginia as the South, you’ve got the Clipse.
What about Petey Pablo?
Petey Pablo do his thing. I don’t see him as necessarily a real lyricist. He’s a mood rapper. He captures the moment and makes you feel what he’s saying, kind of like Pac, like Lil Jon, like Pimp C. He might not say nothing that’s hellafied, but you’re going to feel what he’s saying because of his expression and because of his conviction. You can tell that what he’s saying is true. I’m talking about people who can really spit, people who can go up top and who can stand on the stage in a cipher and hold a mic and rap against the best of the best up there. If I had a squad of rappers and I had to go across country and they were just Southern rappers, give me five men. Give me Andre 3000, Bun B, MJG, Lil’ Wayne and Ludacris. I feel like we can North, South, East, West, Midwest, wherever and we’re going to hold the South down as far as lyricism is concerned. No problem. Then, other people do their thing, make great songs and have good albums. Trick Daddy, too. Those are the people that I look at like they’re doing their thing.
As rap seems to have gotten more popular, it seems to have gotten away from what made it matter: the streets.
I feel that way. I felt that way when I called myself the King of the South. I felt like it started in the streets, it should remain in the streets. Whatever it grows to, that’s extra. But it should never leave what it started from. That’s one of the reasons why I felt like I should call myself the King. I felt like I was warranted to call myself the King because I had been through all the shit that other muthafuckas is rapping about, except getting shot. I ain’t never been shot, thank the Lord and knock on wood. Everything else I done been through. I had the talent, the street credibility, the support of the people and I had a jamming-ass album with I’m Serious, Trap Muzik and now Urban Legend. All the people who I respected in the game, I asked them about it, calling myself King of the South. I asked Andre, Big Boi, Bun, 8 Ball, Khujo, Gipp. All the people I grew up listening to that I had resources to contact, I spoke to them about it. “How do you feel about this? Would you take offense to it?” All of them told me, “Nah, nigga. You’re busting, doing your thing. Don’t stop for nobody.”
As far as the streets, on “ASAP,” you talk about “half of jail’s just like me.” What do you mean?
Half the jails is just like me because they can identify with me, relate to me. When I was locked up, a lot of police wanted to put me in protective custody. I was like, “Nah. I’m good. Put me in regular population with everybody else. I’m straight. Ain’t nobody finna fuck with me.” If it go down, it go down. I’m ready for whatever. Plus, I went to elementary school with half these niggas who’s in here. That’s what I meant that “half the jail’s just like me/and polices think I’m crazy and scared a nigga’s gonna strike me/but contrarily, a nigga trying me is unlikely/they barking don’t bother me/I’ll be bombing before they bite me.” It’s basically me saying that while I was locked up, muthafuckin polices wanted to give me more protection than I feel like I needed. I didn’t feel threatened. It wasn’t a situation that I had never been in before. I’ve been locked up way before the music shit popped off. This shit wasn’t new for me.
What was that like for you at the time?
It was an inconvenience, uncomfortable, uncalled for. But at the same time, it was mandatory. There wasn’t no way around it. I had to go through that to move forward. That’s just that. I got the shit done and that was it.
Now a lot of affiliate you with the word “trap” thanks to the title Trap Muzik. What made you feel like that was the right thing to say?
Trap Muzik, it was based off of a lifestyle that me and partnas had lived all the way up until I made another way for us. That’s what we were doing. It was my childhood, how I grew up. It ain’t no secret. Check my record. It’s public record.
If a lot of the good rappers come from the streets, how come the music has moved away from that?
Because a lot of people tend to emulate and mock a lot of the shit they hear and see on TV. Aside from that, it’s just growth. It ain’t just niggas in the streets that’s buying rap no more. It’s muthafuckas in the suburbs, white kids who ain’t never been to the ghetto, old ladies. It’s all kinds of muthafuckas. Now it ain’t got nothing to do with what street you’re from. It’s all about what song you can make. If you can produce a hit, me, you, any one of the people out there, they’re just one hit away. If they go to a studio tonight, spit some bullshit on a track and they play that shit on the radio and they play it on the radio and muthafuckas are like, “Oh yeah. That’s the new shit.” There you go. You’ve got yourself a star. Everybody’s one hit away. It ain’t got nothing to do with the streets no more. Although I disagree with it and a lot of other people like myself may disagree with it, that’s just the fact of the matter. It ain’t got nothing to do with the streets, your background or nothing no more. People are going to believe whatever you tell them. Truth don’t matter. The better story is what matters. Whatever sounds better.
Let’s get into the Flip situation, then.
I don’t really have much to say about it.
Why not?
I don’t feel like it’s for the public. The reason that it has been as been as public as it has been thus far is because I was in a situation where I couldn’t move, I couldn’t go out and see a nigga, put my hands on a nigga and holla at a nigga like I thought I needed to. So I had to defend myself the best way that I knew how. So I’m locked up, doing time right now and while I’m doing time, you’re out there on stage doing your thing, badmouthing me. No problem. But when I get my little time, which was at the Birthday Bash, I’m going to use it wisely. I’m going to tell people how I feel, let them know what’s happening, let you know that I know what’s happening. I’m going to call you to the stage and invite you to do whatever you feel is necessary to do. A muthafucka can say that they ain’t let him come back. That’s a muthafuckin bold-faced lie, on my kids. All five of them. I waited until the man was backstage. Muthafucka came and said, “Hey. He back there.” OK. Cool. “I heard you’re back there. Bring your ass on out here so you can tell the people what you’ve got to say about me and how you feel about me.” Then I went into my verse, but I ain’t even on that shit no more. It ain’t fair because he can’t even defend himself on a record. He ain’t even equipped. That’s like fighting a man in a wheelchair. What is he going to do? So I’m going to let that shit go. We’ll just address the situation when we see each other, which will be sooner than later.
What about the situation with the video tape in jail?
I felt like it was a good idea since my incarceration was so widely publicized and everybody was speaking on it for me to come out to the Birthday Bash. But just me having a video tape in jail, I just contacted some people that I knew in the jail and asked them if I could come in there and do this, that and the other. They said, “Yeah. Let me call my superior and make sure.” They called and called me back and was like, “Yeah. It’s all good.” So we did a little 30 second to two-minutes long thing and while we were there, somebody escaped. After somebody escaped, then the people who gave permission to do the shit were like, “Nah, I ain’t never give permission.” They backed down and passed the buck, to no fault of my own or the person who I called to ask, cause he got proper authority. He went through the proper channels to get the shit done, so the shit wouldn’t have never been a big deal if that coincidental situation wouldn’t have popped off.
On “The Goodlife” and “Praying For Help” from Urban Legend, you made the story so personal to where it makes an impact on the listener. What do you think that adds to your music?
It think it just separates me from the people who are acting like they live like that and who never really lived like that. It’s my way of proving that I know what I’m talking about. The niggas who can relate and identify with it, they’re going to ride with me. That’s why I will continue to be solidified as the King of the South.
Then why do you think singles are often about partying or girls than things of substance?
They might be insecure, scared. They might wonder what muthafuckas think about them if they know this, if they do that, if they show themselves in this way or that way. Me, I am what I am. Love me or leave me alone. I ain’t finna try to change myself, try to make it seem one way when I know it’s the other way. I’m going to give it to you how it is. What you see is what you get. Like it, love it or leave it alone.
When you finish writing those type of songs, does it give you a sense of relief?
Sometimes. Now, I’m numb to it. It’s systematic, whatever the song calls for. That’s what I’m here to do.
Is this the most comfortable you’ve been recording?
Yeah. I don’t even write shit. Trap Muzik was a paperless album. Urban Legend is a paperless album. I listen to the beat, pace back and forth around the studio for about 15, 20 minutes and I go in there and record my shit. A lot of people do it like that. Writing shit, that slows me down because I think a lot way faster than I can write.
Do you feel like you have to dumb yourself down?
Yeah. A lot. I just don’t even think about it. I just freestyle. When I’m freestyling, what I seem to find effortless, people seem to find valuable, like “ASAP,” “Stand Up,” “You Don’t Know Me,” “She’s A Freak.” I’m saying some shit that niggas can relate to. I ain’t talking no bullshit and the shit ain’t garbage, but it ain’t just displaying as much lyrical ability as muthafuckas know that I have the capability of displaying.
If it were up to you, would you make a whole like that?
Yeah. Like Jay-Z said, “Truthfully, I want to rhyme like Common Sense/But I sold five mil/I ain’t been rhyming like Common since.” If I can spit knowledge all over the album and still be as successful as if I reach the people who may not understand that shit that I’m talking about, then I would. But I can’t. I’ve got to sell music to everybody, to smart people, dumb people, ghetto people, lame people, suburban people, white people, black people, women, men, old people, young people. I’ve got to find a way to sell music to everybody, so it’s a sacrifice and a compromise.
But looking at “24s” and “Rubber Band Man,” those are still for people in the trap.
I understand that and I still have more evolving to do. But then you look at “Let’s Get Away,” “Let Me Tell You Something,” “I Still Love You,” “I Can’t Quit.” There’s some of them on there that people can really relate to, whether they’ve been to the ghetto or not. Some like “Just Doing My Job,” even if you ain’t never been there, I’m getting you in the head of a nigga who live that life every day. It’s education and information.
When you were a kid, what were you thinking about?
I was just trying to get it. I really didn’t really give a fuck about how, when, where, why. I just knew I needed it. I was with my uncles all the time. They were getting money, spending big money, riding new cars every day. Then my uncle got locked up and did 10 years. That just made me even hungrier because I knew wasn’t nobody else representing for the family like that, nobody else going to come through on Mother’s Day with side-by-side refrigerators and a brand new car for my grandmother, nobody that was going to take me shopping, to the arcade or give me hundreds of dollars to throw in my pocket when I was 7, 8 years old. So I knew I had to do it for myself at that point. That’s really when I really got buckwild, started doing whatever it takes.
When you look back, what do you feel about that part of your life?
It was a learning experience. Whatever good or bad, it made me what I am today so I can’t complain. I learned that everything that glitter ain’t gold and that everything that shine ain’t a diamond. Even though I’m still kind of hotheaded, I feel like I’ve got a much more mild mannered persona. I’m a little cooler, smarter. I think things through a little more. Even though I got a long way to go, me compared to how I was then, I’m a totally different person. I was without the ability to reason at that point. It was just whatever I thought, felt. If you disagreed, fuck you. I didn’t give a fuck about right or wrong. It was about what I felt was right or wrong. There was no real room for discussions or negotiations.
What changed that?
Watching your partner does it. Going to jail does it. I knew I didn’t want to be there, that there was a lot of other things I could have been doing with myself. I felt like I had failed myself, that I wasn’t living up to my full potential. Every time you check yourself. You hope to, anyway.
