PALZ: Ortiz and Me
Until it’s over,
I’m the eyes watching your back at all times.
I’m the vote of confidence you seek whenever you’re uncertain.
Doesn’t matter if you’re up a million or it’s 4th and impossible;
I’m right there at your side.
If it’s us against the world, come one, come all.
Even if they have us encircled with no way out,
I will stand tall.
We both go out like that.
Today’s a good day to die, anyway.
Regardless of the charges, no matter the circumstance, I’m rocking with you.
The answer to a skeptic’s “why” is simple.
He’d do the same for me.
I had the opportunity to kick it with the best friend, Jose Ortiz the Great this past Saturday. When I tell you we’ve been through it all in damn near 20 (wow), believe me...even down to a suicide pact (Snapple Facts). Times have changed, and for the better. My brother is dedicated to his job and is enjoying all the privileges good living has to offer. Nowadays, I’m calm and he’s even calmer. This is the same MF who at age sixteen walked around Soundview Projects with a Mossberg shotgun tucked down one of his pant legs (long shotgun down my pant leg limping...RIP Prodigy). The same MF who would catch a clean jux in Garvey Park to provide for the team’s Friday night NASA expedition when funds were low. One thing I learned about my bestie early on: ain’t much talking when it’s GO time. That’s drama or a job. When it comes to the fade, the bestie and me are one in the same—we get quiet when it’s approaching the time to shake. Both our last words are simply “aight.” We both agree that’s there’s nothing else to say after the talk gets a certain degree of spicy. Not realizing our demeanor shift will sho’ nuff result in your ass getting whooped sum’n awful. But like I said, my nigga Cuervo keeps that same energy when it’s time for a job. That nigga would leave out the crib, head to the west side, do his two step, and be back in the crib before other family realized he had been out. If I tell you anything about my best friend it’s that he’s as thorough as they come. Many things erode, but thorough lasts forever. In the fifteen or so years we’ve been doggies we’ve seen our share of ups and downs. All palz go through it time to time. I’m the mercurial one. When I’m mad I hate the entire world: enemies, strangers, family, friends, best friends. That’s a fault of mine. I’m man enough to admit it. But my nigga never spoke down on my name or returned verbal fire. He just waited for a nigga to regain his bearings. Did I mention the Mossberg? I’m gon always appreciate my nigga for that. I’ve severed my share of friendships/relationships because of my temper/slick ass tongue. My bro always held me down. No matter what. We ride together, we die together.
I never had a brother. I have a step brother. But we don’t share any blood. My mama dead. Ion fuck with his pops anymore. So, basically, I never had a brother. For a time I considered my first cousin DJ Green to be my brother. We started out close. We were close for a time. But I came to realize that he don’t got my back the way I got his. He’s selfish. Always has been. I love him. He’s my blood. There was a time (recently) that I’d die for him. Not today. Like I said...he’s my blood. I love that nigga. Always will. But he can catch these hands. Any day. And I’ll work him like a part time job. But he knows that. I’m the apex predator. Anyway...big ups to the Eaddy brothers, my CEO and his younger (not little) bro Darnell (Mo). Those two guys got my back no matter what. The CEO brought me down off the ledge befo’. Straight jacket. Him and Lady UnB thought highly enough of me to name me god pops to the prince. And my brother Mo, that’s my twin grimey right there. We’re both retired (whew) trap legends in traps that would swallow you lame hustlers whole. And y’all ain’t even fucking with hoe money. Mister don’t play. We too share that in common, along with sports and flowers. So you already know...all the CEO gotta do is let a YERR loose. That’s your ass, Mr. Postman. Big ups to my other official bruvas from another: my nigga Rahgie from the Hali, Mr. Ten (my PNC), Rich Murda Dem Hemmings, and my VUU rat pack bros Rock & St. Louis. Can’t forget my lil bros Sean and Lo. To all my lil Englewood youngn’s who I helped see through. Big ups to the CEO’s bestie Curt McGirt. Big ups to my teams: 4 Cornaz, Rat Pack, Huntley Fam, NFL Clique, Jeff Mob, The Super Vvillains, all my baby girls, and...McDonalds (y’all asses wasn’t mad when Q-Tip shouted them out on the track). That was in honor of my first team, A Tribe Called Quest, my favorite squad all-time. RIP Phife Diggy. P.S. I haven’t eaten at McDonalds in months. But God...
Last but not least, big shouts to the entire Crew UnB. Love, infinite.