Dear Family 22

5/19/15

Jung Fanmilia,

            I’m not sure if “Fanmilia” will stick, let me know what you think. Damn, it’s been too long since I’ve written and I’m sorry about that. Let me start by reminding you that I love you, and I need you, and I thank God for you. Your love and support is like nothing I can explain, like nothing the music industry has ever seen. It’s unfailing, and long suffering, and it gives me the power to stay strong. I will continue to murder all competition, and drop them off at your front door step, like a thoughtful cat brings his owner a dead bird. Or, I can just leave them where they lay, whatever you want.

            So, I’m still on all these restrictions and I’ll give you an update on the disciplinary cases I’ve been getting.

            On September 31^st, 2014, the exact day the S.O.N. was released, I was given a case for operating an unauthorized business. They said I was promoting the album in return for financial gain, but I don’t own DHR, or any of the music. It was a fraud case, there was no evidence to justify the case, they were just mad because an album came out.

`           I’m allowed to help my family as long as I’m not profiting from my conviction. And how could someone profit from that bullshit? Thousands of inmates give advice, write songs, books, screenplays, do all kinds of stuff to help their family. I did not break any rules, but I was found guilty and made a Level Two, which means I have to be handcuffed everywhere I go, I can’t have contact visits, can only have two visits per month, can’t use the phone, can’t buy no food from the commissary, can’t watch TV, and all these restrictions last for ninety days. But if I catch another case, the ninety days starts all over.

            On December 11^th, 2014, after seventy-three days of being on Level Two, I was given a case for “causing a disturbance.” That’s when a lot of people called UTMB about my medical care. I was not being cared for, so I wrote Incandesio a letter, and wrote my sister a letter. They got mad because, basically, they want you to die without complaining. It was a fraud case because I have proof that I went to the hospital three times, and all three times my appointment was cancelled. But they were looking for  reason to give me a case since I was about to get my Level One and get off restrictions. I was found guilty and my ninety days on Level Two was renewed.

            On March 26^th, 2015, I had already been on Level Two for way over ninety days, but they didn’t give me my Level One. They broke their own policy and waited till we had our three-month shakedown. They waited because they planned on giving me another case during that shakedown, to keep me on Level Two. On March 26^th, I was given a case for a homemade stinger (it’s a thing that warms up water.) People make homemade stingers when they don’t have money for a hotpot. I have a hotpot. They found the stinger in my neighbor’s cell and planted the case on me. When the Sergeant came to my cell to read me the case, I told him, “That was not found in my cell.” My neighbor heard us talking and was man enough to tell the Sergeant that the stinger belonged to him. The Sergeant got mad and said, “Why you all in this man’s business!” My neighbor said, “Because that wasn’t his stinger.” But it didn’t matter, in the kangaroo court they run in prison, the charging officer said he found it in my cell. Whatever an officer says outweighs what an inmate says, whether the officer is lying or not. So, I was found guilty due to the officer’s testimony, even though the Sergeant admitted that my neighbor told him that the stinger belonged to him (my neighbor.) Now, I’ll be on restriction till the end of June. That’s if they don’t give me another case.

            All of this started at the end of September, in 2014, when the S.O.N. was released, and it will be nine months without being able to call my kids, to hug my family, to see them every weekend. I don’t care about TV or commissary, it’s the inability to stay close to my family, that's what hurts the most. And these people can hurt men in this way any time they feel like it. I didn’t run no unauthorized business, I didn’t cause no disturbance, I didn’t have no damn stinger in my cell. Like I said, I have a hotpot. My neighbor doesn’t have anything to warm water up for his coffee, so he made one out of an electric cord. I don’t even know how to use a homemade stinger. Everybody back here knows they planted that case on me, and it’s enough to drive a man insane, which I think that’s their goal. But I ask God to not let that happen, and all the love I get from you makes it impossible not to feel blessed.

            These people are doing this, for the same reason they’ve been doing it for years, because SPM albums are being released. The whole purpose in getting SPM locked up was to destroy my name and end my career. Now, these people are pissed because the movement is only getting stronger. And as far as the music, that’ll never die.

            I explained to the Warden, when I first got to this unit, that an album was coming out in September. I said, “Sir, I always get retaliated on when an album comes out, and these albums are going to be released whether I die today or not. And the company, that my brother owns, still has five or six more albums.

            He said, “Alright, we’re going to leave you alone, just let me know the exact day the album is coming out.”

            When I found out, I told him. I kept my side of the bargain, I didn’t break any rules or regulations. But I don’t think it’s the Warden who’s doing this, I think it’s someone in a higher position, someone in Huntsville is telling this unit to keep me Level Two. I’m the most compliant, most respectful inmate back here, yet I’m the only one catching cases. Dudes aren’t even getting minor cases back here. It’s clear I’m being targeted because they hate the fact that my music isn’t dead.

            I used to just accept all this unfair treatment but my neighbor is showing me how to file complaints called “grievances”, which lead to court hearings, in a real court. I used to think that, eventually, these people would leave me alone, but they don’t get tired of fucking with me. I have no choice but to fight, even though the laws are set up to protect the system. As soon as I learn more about the law, I’ll let you know how you can help. Something needs to be done, I’m just not sure what it is.

            Well, I hope you’ve been doing good. If God has blessed you with health, I want you to take a deep breath and exhale a big “Thank you.” Be grateful that you’re healthy because nobody realizes how great of a blessing it is to just feel okay, to not be in any serious physical pain. Not until something happens do people understand how blessed they were before. My wife’s cousin’s little girl has cancer, and they had to cut away some of the inside of her nose. One day she’s perfectly fine, then she gets these bruises that won’t go away. Then, the doctor is giving her parents the most heartbreaking news in the world. The day before you’re pissed off because the house is a mess, the dog needs a bath, the kids are making too much noise, and then you realize how blessed you were when you were pissed off about those small things. You would give anything for life to go back to those small problems, those wonderful problems. I just pray for that little girl, and even though I don’t know her, I love her and it breaks my heart to know that she’s going through all this stuff.

            By-the-way, I said my “wife’s cousin’s little girl” because I’m still married to Gina. I told her, several times, to send me the divorce papers but I guess I’ll have to do that myself. I’m not sure why Sancho doesn’t push the issue, but I sure would like my last name back, especially since it’s riding bareback on another man’s pony.

            Anyway, that’s the life of SPM. If you guys have any questions for me, just post them and the magnificent Incandesio will get them to me. And let me say that she is magnificent and an incredible blessing.

            As far as my health, I’ve been getting a lot of letters and questions about that. I still haven’t been given a diagnosis. They said my MRI was fine, that they couldn’t see anything wrong with my brain. But my jaw still has a slight tremble, and it’s been that way for the last nine months. You can’t see it with the naked eye, but I can feel it. I’m supposed to be seeing another doctor but everything takes forever in this place. I’ll keep you updated as things progress.

            So, on my next letter, I’ll talk about upcoming projects, and plans, and perhaps provide pictures profiling pregnant pigs partying. I shall leave you with a Cold Forty. As you know, I am King of Cold Forty, or Quick Sixteen, of Throwed Thirty, and any other rap related verse on this planet. All those in agreement say “yay”! All those in denial say “nay!” Because of new technology I’m immediately able to see that 92 percent of you said, “yay”, 2 percent said “nay”, and the other six percent were not paying attention and missed their chance to vote. Therefore, we got 2 percent dickheads, 6 percent estupidos, and 92 percent rational human beings. I’d say that makes me king, wouldn’t you? If not, let this make it clear:

Another Cold Forty

“The Cream Durango”

Welcome to a world where the queen’s on yayo

where rain, when it rains, neva leaves a rainbow

a place where they step on the leaf that makes snow

let’s take a lil trip in the cream Durango

where you meet the angel, under sheets she’s faithful

then her palm opens up to receive the peso

where cheese ain’t queso, the deceased are grateful

and the plans unravel, so the dreams get tangled

if it’s sweet it’s hateful if it’s peach it’s mango

if her voice is too low better leave the table

cause when jeans hit ankle, only three things dangle

and a two-headed woman only needs one Kangol

can we please just pray though, but in Jesus name so

we can understand the reason he was beat and slain fo

let my ink pen drain slow as it bleeds it’s painful

but I do it to release, just to sleep my eight yo

I eat my tray mo fuckin Beans Alfredo

And how you gon serve some cold steamed potatoes?

I’s cheese and bagels, fried green tomatoes

five seasoned brain pros, I scream for great blows

dime pieces, date those, Chinese and Anglos

nice cheeks like J-Lo’s, why read the labels

my freeworld day goes, fine freaks with nay clothes

slide grease on a-holes, dry skeet on they nose

lime green that stay rolled, now my suite’s on K-row

“Excuse me, guard, does this TV have cable?”

they just teased and made jokes, one weak-ass fake ho

yelled, “Sure, would you also like a weekly facial!”

but at least I’m stable, and my weed is pedro

and I guess it’s kinda funny how my penis stay swole

I don’t mean to play don’t mean to heat no halos

I don’t want ya momma hotta than a teed volcano

but my peace was strangled since I peed in cradles

cause the curse upon my family precedes prenatal

it’s an evil gameshow where I seize and slay foes

in tights yellin, “Mom, where my cleats and cape go!”

cause a demon’s able to make freeness fatal

to rob teacher’s payroll to buy seats for NATO

greed feeds betrayal, while they preach “Just say ‘No’”

and to think the same ol, lets it reach Laredo…

            For my rap aficionados, notice that I use the same four-syllable rhyme structure throughout the entire Cold Forty. The 1^st syllable has the strong “e” rhyme; the 2^nd syllable is a “connector”, which connectors don’t necessarily rhyme, but they keep the structure connected; the 3^rd syllable has the strong “a” rhyme; and the 4^th syllable has the strong “o” rhyme. I’m going to give you the first   

 Four syllable rhyme structures on this verse. (Note; I’m going to spell the syllables as they should be pronounced.)

There was one section where I added a rhyming syllable to the front of the structure, (the strong “i” rhyme), making the structure a five-syllable rhyme structure. I delivered thirteen of those structures which I’ll display now:

If you want to be a successful lyricist, you have to love to write. The more you write, the more treasure you’ll find. It’s like digging for artifacts, the more you dig, the more you’ll find. If you don’t dig, you don’t find. But you have to know what is treasure and what is trash.

            Rewriting is the difference between decent lyrics and dope lyrics. You have to search for weaknesses, for lines that can be better. I usually rewrite a verse six or seven times before I feel it’s good to go. The Cream Durango was an exception. I originally wrote it for a magazine ad, so I wanted it to be super duper dope. I ended up rewriting it seventeen times. In some instances, I would change one line half-a-dozen times. In other instances, I had to make tough sacrifices. For example, on lines 26, 27 and 28, I originally had:

            “Excuse me, guard, what about my weekly facial?”

            but they teased and made jokes, one screamed out, “hey bro,

            would you also like a burger with some secret mayo!”

            That’s fucking hilarious. This guard is joking about busting a nut in my hamburger. But during my rewrite, I noticed that I already used the word “scream” on one of my strong “e” rhymes, on line 20: “…I scream for great blows.”

            I don’t like to use the same words if I can help it. It takes a little dopeness out of the verse. I didn’t want to change line 20 because I couldn’t think of any way to change it. So, I decided to replace “scream” with “geek”:

            “Excuse me, guard, what about my weekly facial?”

but they teased and made jokes, one geek said “Hey bro,

would you also like a burger with some secret mayo!”

            But “geek” didn’t sit well with me. It felt like a reach. So, after some thought, I made a drastic change to this:

            “Excuse me, guard, but my burger needs some mayo.”

they just teased and made jokes, one weak-ass fake hoe

yelled, “Sure, would you also like a weekly facial!”

But on another rewrite, I noticed that I used the word “needs” on line 12: “…and a two-headed woman only needs one Kangol”  There was no way I was going to touch line 12, it was too good. So, I kept trying to figure out lines 26, 27 and 28. Finally, I came up with what I have now:

“Excuse me, guard, does this TV have cable?”

they just teased and made jokes, one weak-ass fake ho

yelled, “Sure, would you also like a weekly facial!”

That’s funny, too. It wasn’t as funny as the “secret mayo” line but I had to sacrifice that punch line in the name of skill. I was, also, happy with the move because the shock value of the “secret mayo” line would have weakened the shock value of the line that was only two lines away:

“and I guess it’s kinda funny how my penis stay swole”

That had a lot of shock value because nothing (closely before it) was comically dark. If I had kept the “secret mayo” line, the “penis punch” wouldn’t have packed the power it possesses. (What’s up with my “p” word obsession?)

That was just one example of dozens and dozens of changes I made, and the brain twisting it took to make everything work. It’s like a game where you have to find the best way to get to the Land of Crack. Deep in your heart you know where that land is, and you have to pave your way to it, one syllable at a time. (That was a corny analogy.)

Anyway, rewriting should never be an option, it’s what you have to do. Turning one of your weaker lines into one of your stronger lines is what turns Firebirds into Ferraris. Don’t compare your shit to all the weak shit that’s out there just because a lot of weak shit is making money. Maybe they were at the right place at the right time. Don’t depend on luck for success, rather work on being undeniable. Making money isn’t easy, it takes hard work, it takes a daily grind. But if you have the drive, maybe, just maybe, one day, you’ll build yourself up to the second best. What? You didn’t think you could wreck me, did you? Alright, now you’re just being ridiculous. I’m gone.

Naw, the hell with that! Just for thinking you can wreck me, I’mma smoke your ass with a Quick Sixteen. No rewrites!

Quick Sixteen

“Boos and applause”

I don’t drink and then drive, but I drive while I drink

plus I smoke but don’t worry when I’m high I can think

then I argue with my girl, while reclining my seat

Now da bitch is throwing punches as I fly down the street

why y’all quiet it’s me, the fuckin king of the mike

I be freestylin when I can’t read what I write

S.P. to “M”, to do “E” to da “X”

I ain’t tryna steal ya girl, we just meet up for sex

you can be with her next, let’s jus keep the respect

either stop with all the hickies or I’ll pee on her neck

Let’s agree I’m the best, I don’t care who’s in second

Y’all can argue that out, till ya barefoot and naked

there’s a werewolf in Texas, and I dare dude’s to step it’s

a damn shame that I gotta say my spare hoof’s a weapon

cause a wolf would have paws, and chunk duece with his claws

so no wonder I can hear a mix of boos and applause…

This one needed a few rewrites. I’ll get you next time, damn it!

Con Amor,

Los