The Hate(r) Theory
—verb (used with object), hat·ed, hat·ing.
1\tto dislike intensely or passionately; feel extreme aversion for or extreme hostility toward; detest: to hate the enemy; to hate bigotry.
2\tto be unwilling; dislike: I hate to do it.
1 any motherfucker who adopts the aforementioned verb as a mentality and/or lifestyle simply because of another’s success: My baby mama is a punk ass hater.
I’m almost certain the origin of of the hood usage of hater comes from the Bad Boy camp at its height of dominance in the mid-90s. But then it was used exclusively attached to and following the word player. Player...hater...(sing it BIG fella) PhD (player hater’s degree), just cuz I hate you don’t make you a player (tell em Bumpy Knuckles)...it goes on and on. And rightfully so. There’s a hater born every 15 seconds.
The world is full of hating ass MF who will stop at no end to undermine or train wreck your progress/movement. And the saddest part is that you’re not even taking a single morsel off their plate. No type rough hustling. You’re just out striving for your piece of the American Patti LaBelle sweet potato pie. Nevertheless, here comes Johnny Hater. Undermining your achievements. Tryna divert the shine somewhere else or shift the discussion into his or her own light and subsequent praise. Flat out lie. They’ll do what they gotta. No holds barred. No type of shame.
One of life’s biggest misconceptions is that love and hate are opposites. WRONG. Hate and love are both emotions, essentially one in the same. Hence the thin line theory. For the record, the opposite of both is indifference. For the learning impaired, that means you just don’t give a 757 jumbo jet flying fuck one way or the other. Get to the point, Monday. Basically, all I’m saying is that hate is actually repressed love. Haters really love you. They love your style (ask Nasir about Hov). They love your success so much that they hate you for it. But mostly, deep down they hate the fact that they can’t do what you do. Either that or they’re unwilling to grind the way you had to grind just to begin your travel on the road to the riches. They’d rather sit back, blow aromatics and talk about the shit they could do, all of which is better than what you actually do. I hear you hater. And I love you back. With yo ole evil, hating ass. Catch me on top of the globe, slightly above Greenland.
If you have 2 kids, 3 baby daddies, a shaky work history, live in public housing with your mamma and two siblings, suck dick in the B-Stairs for light ups, no class, and 14,653 IG followers cuz your ass is thicker than the SAT study guide and you dance weekends at Slore’s Playground, STFU about how you have X amount of bitches hating on you. No. No. No. They’re mad cuz they’re tired of their tax money supporting your trifling ass. Get off social media and get a life.
All and all, I’ve always been candid and grounded enough to freely admit that I don’t really have any haters. At least none within vision or ear shot. Hell, I’m pretty damn nice with the pen. And seeing as how I get paid for my craft, I am by definition a professional. We all know I’m NASA certified fly and the chocolate fat boy is easy with the ladies. All types and flavors. Ask your Auntie. Yet, I don’t get hate from folk out and about. I get love in these streets. My folk love to see me eat. I could draft an army if need be. Simple and plain it’s cuz I’m a man of my word and well respected, ufrom the gambling spot to the chuuch house. Or perhaps I’m just an anonymous nobody. Ha.
Check my team out on theunbearablescrew.com. Don’t just browse. Scoop some fly apparel. Spend some of that tax money you lied to Uncle Sam about and just found where you hid it two months ago. Big ups to my lil bro D. Peebles on his support of the squad and his engagement to baby girl. I’ll be at the wedding. One love.