When I was in the streets I did a lot of dirt. A lot of slimy, shameful shit. But I take pride in that I never gypped someone in the music business. Somehow I was able to draw a line there. When someone trusted me with their career, I valued that trust and always did my best to deliver on what I told them I was going to do for them.
Even when shit got sticky I was rooting for those guys. The rap game is a business I take seriously, but I take a liking to these artists personally too. We were all basically living together at the Brick Factory. We got a lot of work done, but there was a lot of gambling and watching ball games and enjoying each other’s company too. So it’s never just business. Sometimes situations need to get figured out, but I was always rooting for Thug. I was always rooting for Migos. For Scooter, for Dolph, for Peewee. No matter what happened I was always rooting for Waka and OJ to win. I still am. That’s the truth.
Even if my lane was just to get these guys hot, make a little money together, and then let them go do their own thing elsewhere, that’s not a bad lane to be in. Because I want the next generation—the young niggas after Thug and Migos—to see the role I played in those artists’ successes and want to come rock with me too.
And they did. As I bided my time in the feds, waiting on developments on my cases, I started hearing about the next generation of kids coming up. Fetty Wap, iLoveMakonnen, 21 Savage, Kodak Black, Lil Yachty, Dreezy. I hadn’t had a hand in any of their careers nor had I ever met them, but they were out here screaming “Free Guwop,” putting out music in my honor and calling me their biggest influence in interviews.
?
Young people are searching for the truth. It’s why little kids say some of the rudest shit sometimes. Like they’ll tell somebody they’re fat or ugly. Most of the time those people are ugly as hell. The youngins just don’t know yet that they’re not supposed to say those kinds of things. As they get older they learn to put on the mask and pretend.
Those kids gravitated toward me because I was the closest thing to an established artist who said what he meant and meant what he said. That’s called authenticity. I don’t walk around acting hard but I do go anywhere that I want. Any club, any mall, any block, any hood. They see that I’m not hiding behind my music and they respect that. They like it that I’ll show up to T.I.’s party looking like a walking lick. They like that I’ll go to Macon and perform “The Truth.” They like that they can catch me riding around Zone 6 in a Phantom with no security. Part of being young is being brave. And part of being brave is being a little brazen, being a little reckless. It’s safe to say I’ve always been that.
When they meet other established artists and it’s not the same, that can be hard for them. If they’re smart, they can figure out how to work industry relationships to their benefit. If they’re not, they’ll get used as pawns. For niggas like Thug and Peewee, coming from the world they came from, it’s not easy to flip a switch and all of a sudden be able to play the fake political games of the music business. Those boys were really in the streets. As much as Thug may have wanted to make it in music, he could never have been an errand boy for some big-name rapper waiting for his boss to put him on. He’s not a yes man. That shit is not in him.
I’m honored by the credit I’ve gotten for introducing these boys to the world, but having them around helped me too. I may be considered the godfather of this trap shit but I was never the elder statesman at the Brick Factory, walking around with my chest out, acting like I could teach the youngsters a thing or two. If anything, it was the other way around.
Keeping Thug and Peewee and Dolph and Migos around kept me connected to what was going on in the streets and what was resonating with the youth. I was getting older and richer and as much as I hate to admit it, the shit I was rapping—my reference points, my slang, my whole swag—could have easily become outdated. But these boys were still there. They were rapping about what they didn’t even have yet, what they were aspiring to. I fed off their hunger. It made me hungry. Their excitement excited me. It brought me back to when I was in their shoes and that made my music better. I’ve been blessed to work with a lot of great artists in my career, but I never had more fun making music than when I was at the Brick Factory with those boys.
The other reason nobody broke artists in Atlanta the way I did was because my method didn’t make much sense on paper. An established recording artist, a multimillionaire, hanging out with twenty-year-old street niggas in a studio off Moreland in East Atlanta every day, that shit doesn’t add up. But for me it did. Because I always made myself accessible. No matter how much money I made or how famous I became, I was never able to withdraw myself from that world. That’s something that’s given me the reputation I have, but it’s something that’s had its drawbacks. Big ones.
I didn’t get into music to make enough money so I could go sit in some mansion alone, isolated from the people and places I enjoyed being around. I got into it to make a good living doing something I enjoyed doing. And to me, going to the studio every now and then so I can put out an album a year and tour, that’s not living. That’s not me. That’s not how I operate.
I knew when I got out I needed to make big changes. Still, I don’t think I could ever live like that.
XXIII
* * *
CON AIR
On May 13, 2014, I pleaded guilty to one count of possession of a firearm by a convicted felon. The government agreed to drop the second count so long as I waived my rights to that loaded .45 the police found in my lawyer’s office that day.
I was happy to let the feds keep the guns. They could keep the bullets too. No problem. The rest of the plea deal was a harder pill to swallow.
After months of negotiations between my lawyers and the US Attorney’s office, we settled on a sentence of thirty-nine months. Three years, three months. That was a whole lot of time to spend in federal prison. But what could I do? When the feds got you, they pretty much got you. I sure as hell wasn’t about to try my luck at trial. They’d give me the whole twenty if I did that. Thirty-nine months was not going to be easy, but it wasn’t twenty years. I could survive thirty-nine months, and it wouldn’t be too late for me to salvage my career when I got out.
“Mr. Davis, you heard the summary coming from the assistant US attorney and you heard what the court has said,” said US District Judge Steve Jones. “Do you agree with what the assistant US attorney is saying the evidence would show if this case went to trial?”
“Yes.”
“Do you agree with that?”
“Yes, sir, I agree.”
“Are you in fact guilty as alleged in count one of the indictment?”
“Yes.”
“Now, Mr. Davis, a lot has been said this morning. A lot of questions have been asked of you this morning. Is there anything that the court has asked you or said to you that you wish for me to clarify?”
“I totally understand everything.”
“Is there anything your attorneys have said that you disagree with during the course of this hearing?”