Rapper's D-Lite by Sa'Id Salaam

Author:Sa'Id Salaam [Salaam, Sa'Id]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: United States, Urban, African American, Genre Fiction, Literature & Fiction
ISBN: 9781938442049
Amazon: B007Z9DDCQ
Publisher: G Street Chronicles
Published: 2012-04-29T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

The next few months were a flurry of activity. Me and Guy were in the studio every night, frantically trying to get the album finished. Would you believe Shelby actually complained about me not spending enough time with her?

I had also done more guest appearances on other people’s albums. As a result, I was on four top-twenty songs at the same time. Donnie had me doing free promo shows every weekend. I didn’t complain about not getting paid because the guest spots filled my account.

Likewise, just about everyone I wanted on my album, Donnie made it happen. Ketchup’s advice about having a manager with connections rang true.

Desean had finally gotten the news that his knee wasn’t strong enough to play, and he took it in stride. He dropped out the next semester to follow me with his camera fulltime.

Tanisha was as big as a house, ready to deliver any day. I usually crashed out at the apartment with her. Besides a little lollipop action here and there, the kid was in a pussy slump.

With radio stations around the country clambering for a clean version of “Whose Pussy?” the label made it a priority. Guy did the radio edit, talking shit the whole time. “It makes no sense to record a dirty song when you know you gotta come back and clean it up,” he moaned. “You know radio can’t play it like that, and some stores won’t even sell it.” He had to painstakingly go over the whole song and edit or remove all the curses. There were so many that the radio couldn’t keep up, and the song had taken off.

I went back into the booth to record another hook, saying “Whose coochie?” and changing a few of my verses.

“Don’t they know this was meant as a joke?” Guy griped when I came out of the booth.

“Looks like the joke’s on us. They are making this the lead single,” I replied.

While we may have hated the song, the people loved it. It was in heavy rotation nationwide. Veronica said they played it three times in one night when she was in a club.

Donnie scheduled a video shoot and several shows to promote the horrendous song. The first time I had to perform it, I had a major attitude.

I was scheduled to go on at 1 a.m., so we pulled up around 12:30. We sat in the parking lot with Desean filming me chain-smoking blunts.

The promoter called me frantically at ten till, wondering where I was. He claimed the place was packed and the crowd was screaming for me.

“Keep your shirt on. I’m outside,” I said curtly and hung up. “Let’s get in here so I can kick this bullshit and be out.”

“A-yo, B, you need to see this,” Desean said as he peeked into the club from backstage. His serious tone caused me to rush over to investigate.

“Fuck!” was all I could manage to say.

The club was packed, and all I saw were women. The street team definitely did their thing, ‘cause my posters and flyers were everywhere.

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