Dear Family 10



Family Letter: Protected By Love

1/9/13

Buenos Tardies!

            Well, this will be my first letter of 2013. I hope everybody made it through the holidays in one piece. If you did lose a piece, you can keep it alive by watering it everyday. (And that was my first corny joke of the year! Yay!)

            Incandesio sent me the transcribed version of my “SPM Responds 10.a.” There were some colorful exchanges between you and a few haters, and let me say that your love has always protected me, like a thousand angels. All I ask is that you don’t hate those people. Instead be thankful for the haters, and utilize them to build yourself. Their job is to strengthen the Player Race, so don’t wish them away. If I bought you a ten-million-dollar fitness gym, you would be overwhelmed with joy. Haters are fitness gyms for our inner strength, which is even more important than the outer. They build the most important areas of our lives. Patience, humbleness, forgiveness, compassion which are all fruits of love. Nothing on earth is stronger than love, and nothing is weaker than hate. The fact is that haters don’t know me, and don’t know the truth about my case. No, I wasn’t a good person, and I won’t try to say I was. I know God will judge me for all my sins, and some are terrible. But I know the blood of Jesus will save me. But as far as what the State of Texas wants you to believe, I’ve never been attracted to somebody’s kid. And I’ve never intentionally had sex with an underaged girl. Those are lies, but there’s no doubt I  had a problem. Who else would hurt their beautiful wife by constantly fucking with other women? I broke Gina’s heart a thousand and one times, and I deserve a thousand and one years in prison. I barely knew my own kids because I basically lived in hotel rooms. It was a pathetic smoke, syrup, sex and drama filled life. Of course, that’s acceptable for a gangster rap star. But haters want to believe I’m on some sick shit because it gives them the opportunity to do what they do. They enjoy hurting you and me because inside they hurt. But one of the beauties of our God is that he shows us how to win with the very things that were meant to hurt us. Let them throw their bricks and we’ll build brick houses. Nothing or no one can stop us. All they can do is motivate us to work harder. So don’t deter haters, they have a job to do. I’m not saying you should be their friend, but just don’t hate them. They’re only doing what comes natural. I couldn’t imagine myself hating on another man. It’s far from who I am, and I thank God for that. Hating is a shitty job, but I guess someone has to do it.

            In the past, I’ve set some bad examples for you, like when I defended myself on what Filero said on that Houston Press interview. He knows he didn’t make the beats for Hustle Town. His original crew knows that’s a lie. But I could’ve explained all this without calling him names. The fact is that I love Filero, he was like a brother, and it hurts me that he said what he said. That I didn’t give him proper credits on the album, and that Dope House fucked him over, and that he punched me cause I owed him money. No man (or beast) has ever layed a hand on me without immediate consequences, less the times I was jumped.

            Filero’s actions are a big reason the guys that hang around him all hate me. He has them thinking the worst about a man who did everything he could to help those around him.

            Soon, I’ll write my entire history with Filero, and all the homeboys who were there during my rise. That’s going to be one helluva write-up. It’s been nothing but drama, and what trips me out is some of those dudes are still hating. Gotdamn, I been in prison over a decade, what the fuck else ya’ll want? But I know the answer. They want Norma in a black dress.

            I’ll never forget what Sambo told, back when we were able to write each other. He said, “Los, haters have been here since the beginning. Even Jesus said, ‘They hate me, and they will also hate you’.”

            I love Sambo, and I’m sad that he’s been pulled the wrong direction. As soon as I can get out of High Security I’ll be able to use the phones. I’ll get all this shit straight. What’s funny is that Sambo also told me exactly what I’m going through now. He said, “Los, don’t fuck with these people. They do what they want, when they want, how they want. They’ll have your ass locked in a cell 23 hours a day, with a camera facing your door. Your neighbor won’t even be able to give you a mint stick.”

            And that’s my life, today. As soon as I looked out my door and saw that camera, I remembered what he said. I was, like, “Fuck, why didn’t I listen?” For the last three years I been in this shithole.

            As far as Filero, and his new rap crew, I don’t deserve their hostility; but all my life it’s been the same. Don’t get me wrong, I was kind of an asshole in the world. I didn’t like being bothered by people I didn’t know. And I did fuck every other bitch in the club, so I can understand picking up a foe or two.

“but he da one let his bitch dance on a strip pole,

Now da nigga mad cause she lickin on my dick hole!”

           

            (Sorry, I just had to say that.)

            Still, the fact remains, real niggaz don’t waste their time talking about another man. What the fuck you worried about me for? Go make some gotdamn money, broke-ass bitch! Oops! Let me fix that last line: Earn sufficient income, you financially strained male with female canine tendencies! Ahh, much better.

            Well, I just heard the bell ring so it’s time for the battle between me and Rob D. You guys remember him, right? I already tore the roof off his house once, and now the damn fool is back. Incandesio sent me his newest challenge and it was okay, I guess. But steppin to me is like a butt-naked man, smothered in BBQ sauce, running up to a hungry-ass lion. Still, Rob D has a lot of love, and I certainly love him, which makes me feel even worse about what I did to him. Anyway, I’ll pass it to the announcer:

            And in this corner, fighting out of Screw Town Texas, John Rhymbo, AKA 3-Pac, AKA Snoop Losy Los, AKA “S” to the “I” gotta “P”, AKA The Mothafuckin South Park Jes-We-Caaaaaaaaaan! (And the crowd goes crazy.)

            And in this corner, fighting out of Small Town Texas, Rob D, AKA Justin Other Statistic! (Booooooooooo!) Stop that! Stop that, right now! This man comes in here, knowing his hope and dreams are about to get ripped to shreds, and all you can do is boo him?! You should be ashamed!

            (Gotta love the announcer. I’ll start with Rob D’s letter.)

***

Los,
First off i just want to make it clear bro my flow was for promotion purpous only. It didnt even cross my mind that you would even read it. I was just tryna put myself out there with the real niggas cuz if they on this page showin support to you they gotta have some kinda sense. I've been a dopehouse and spm loyal customer since the age of 13………………. My brothers and closest homeboys all grew up pretty much livin by your lyrics. I'm 26 now and doin the family thing so I've calmed down a lot but I am still doin music and tryna perfect the art. With all of this said tho Los, I feel like I can't back down when the Master himself is calling me to the table bro. Its not every day you get a chance and the privilege to go against the Don himself. So with that said I gotta comeback with my own shit bro ya feel me so here it iz...

***

            Fam,

            I cut out the middle of his letter because it was kind of long. To read the complete version, just ask Incandesio where you can find it. Before I get to his verse, let me answer his kind words.

            Dear Rob,

            Make no mistake of it, bro, your love means the world to me. I write you these few words with all my love and best wishes.

            I’m happy to hear you doing the family thing. There’s no better life. So many people mistake what the definition of rich is. No amount of money or material is more valuable than beautiful relationships. We need money for bills, but don’t think an excessive amount will make you rich.

            You’ll meet people who say different. Money and material means everything to them. That’s because it puts them in shiny things, and that gives them the attention they love. But having a warm heart builds relationships that surround you with real love. Money can’t buy real love, but it buys something fake that many people will settle for. It’s a waste of valuable time, and when you’re on your death bed, you’ll be surrounded by people you should’ve spent that time with. When a person like that dies, the Bible says, “Everything they labored for will fall into the hands of strangers.” Keep investing in your true treasures, bro.

            Now, we shall go to the verse you dared to write. My verse will follow, and let me apologize in advance. I kept hearing people say, “Stop, Carlos! He’s had enough!” But as you know, Cold 40s have to be forty lines long.

Your Beloved Destroyer,

Carlos

***

Rob D’s Verse

"Testimonial 3.0"

"G'd Up From the Feet Up"

My flow wasn't meant to diss or even get your attention
Now I'm sittin here in shock that you showed recognition,
I ain't tryna start plex wit the SP Mex
Im a dopehouse fan I'ma represent,
But I gotta vent, Im'a always write raps,
This is not pretend, watch Rob strike back,
You could be my step dad, hit me wit a left jab,
I'ma wipe up the blood, step back n just laugh,
Pay attention everybody while I clean this up,
Win this round, knock em down wit that uppercut,
I'ma bust a nut, I'm not exaggeratin,
I'm gettin pussy Los while you steady masterbatin,
"Robbie's" graduated, from the school of hard knocks,
Got infatuated that money formed from a rock,
Spittin rhymes like ox, watch, box and cops,
Is this really SP or a fuckin bot?
Its like you've fallen off, you used to go beast mode,
Guess you spendin too much time fuckin wit them weaso's,
I'ma keep it street tho, blowin on a sweet bro,
When I'm done wit this beat change your name to John Doe,
Cuz I murder instrumentals, I hurt em when I spit venom,
I'm learnin so I'ma gettem, no turnin cuz I'ma win em,
Man don't make me fuck around and switch this whole thing up,
I puts it down fo my town and I'm holstered up,
I'm so corrupt, on my dick like nose to butts,
You muh fuckers know wus up when I'm posted up,
You swollen up, don't get hurt bowin up, I'm colder than an eskimo wit some frozen nuts,
You jokin bruh, Rob D you best admire,
I'll crush ya name in this game, make yo ass retire,
I ain't no liar, nigga straight up spittin fire,
Carlos Coy just a toy on my Oscar Myre!
Haha
My apologies Los, I've gotten carried away,
I feel your hand trembling you've got some words to say
Now I'm done today wit yo embarrassment,
Rob D S*T*R there's no comparison...

And that's what you call murder my nigga. (Laughing)
-Rob D-

***

Please, my nigga.

Another Cold 40

“The Goat Talks”

I agree, Rob D, you got carried away,

By six sad men, you gettin buried today

even though I be the murdera, I still show up

they, like, "Look, you killed mijo!" I say, "And, so what."

every relative is cryin but ya chick keep winkin

I'mma fuck while you in the dirt, six feet stinkin

Los deep in the stuffin, got her screamin and cussin

she, like, "Damn, motherfucker, get a penis reduction!"

I appreciate ya love, let me get that straight

but I'll eat the fuckin beans off'a dead fan's plate

testin me is more stupid than a left handshake

I'm the last one to play with, like an ex-bandmate

I got rappers blowin candles tryna wish me away

but the goat talks, what-ch'all wanna nigga to say?

"Just tell'im the truth, Los! The man has nothin!

Rob couldn't get signed by your half-Black cousin!"

Awwright, first of all, give ya frozen nuts

to the crows for lunch, they love Coco Puffs

then you said I'm masturbatin while you gettin the pussy?

when you dress'em in Gucci, you be smellin like sushi

silly rabbit how you cappin on the legend of legends

gotta baby that's seven and been in seg. for eleven

nigga haunted by "ghosts", who keep the plan undercover

even pulled an older bitch, I'mma grandmothafucka

had the joke of it twisted and got twisted for jokin

cause I'm chokin the chicken but you the chicken I'm chokin

Can you guess what I'm slashin, while you gettin this lashin?

it's odd cause the answer to the question's your ass skin

and even though my flow will cost another man's dreams

let it be an ode to those who cross the motherland's streams

On that torturous trail where swolen corpses dispel

the most horrible smell, these are the horrors they tell

They can't afford me to fail, so I record from a cell

I hit my door for a bell, send my award in the mail

see, the Lord let'em nail, a body mortal and frail

But he was born to prevail, the One who bore our betrayal

scourges tore at his shell, his core was poured in The Grail

the story's gory but, well, before the glory is hell

"You forgot about Rob, Los! You wrecked'im so bad,

you got me over here tryna find my Mexican flag!" (lol!)

Los

PS. You got unbelievably

wrecked! Lord have

Mercy!