Yo, this is Young Tyrell, and I want to be a baller when I grow up.
The
Intro.
You
know, I can just see your faces right now, ANOTHER nigga in wrestling trying
to get rich off the shit? You damn right. You want desire for the industry?
You want people willing to crack their skulls in order to be the best? Look
elsewhere. Cause I ain't that nigga. Pass me my pay cheque, and you won't see
me. I understand that millions don't just appear. I know that. I'm going to be
earning an average wage for while. Yo, it's better than nothing man. But don't
think I'll be on this money forever. Hell nah man, I just gotta make a name,
sell a few t-shirts. How hard could it be? Don't you know it's cool to be
an angry black man these says? Yeah, shit will be like Kyle Broadway's
momma... Easy.
That is my aim.
You know what I have? Nothing. I got this apartment in Queens, it was known as
the number one brick house in the area for three years before I had to clean
my act up, and pass the drug test to get this contract. Now I can just about
cover the rent. I eat KFC every night, cause my cousin Chancey be working in
there on weekends to feed his drugs habit. I couldn't expect you to
understand. Fuck, I'm talking to suburbia right now! How many ghetto boys you
know, that watch grown men rolling around naked, all greased up and shit?
Zero
man. Zero.
The
shit is fucking gay. But if it means I'm going to get paid? I'll do it. I'll
do anything to make paper. Anything. As long as it don't mean fucking no
males, or sucking dicks? I'm there man, just call the cell and leave the money
where you want to. I'm ready to get up out the struggle. My wrists is hurting
from cutting up bricks. My eyes is fucking hurting, cause I get to sleep three
hours a night. Shit is rough. And I'm tired of it. So this wrestling shit is
my way out.
Let
me lay a couple rules on you though.
Rule
number one, don't be greasing up your body, and then sliding around on my
fucking back, making loud noises. No. No fucking way. Fuck that. You want to
see greasy bodies? Go and buy "Out" magazine. You won't see me out
there on T.V wearing no clothes, a pair of briefs, and some long leather
boots...fuck that. I'm making this money. And I'm making it the Straight
way. Another rule, don't fuck around with my possessions. I'm going to
have to work hard for every thing I get, so don't fuck with it. See my new
whip? Keep your hands off it. You see my new crib? Don't darken my doorstep
unless I invite you. Understand? This ain't no muthafuckin' game. Fresh out
the struggle with twenty something years worth of street fighting experience. 100%
Authentic.
Oh
yeah, fuck Memphis Grey.
Scene
opens up in front of a small little mirror hanging on the wall of Young
Tyrell's apartment in Queens. Cousin Chancey just got home from his weekend
job at Kentucky friend chicken and, Tyrell is just checking out his new
outfit. White and pink all the time. He poses, scratches his little goatee and
cousin Chancey just shakes his head in disgust.
Chauncey:
Yo man, you look
like a fag, with all that pink on and shit.
Young
Tyrell: Man,
shut up. All these muthafuckers out there, dressing up in all black, dark red
fitted hats with big black hoodies and all that, trying to be gangstas. The
REALEST gangsta walk up in the club dressed in pink. A wise man once told me
that.
Chauncey:
Nigga, that was
Fat Joe.
Young
Tyrell: Who
asked you? Go take a shower man, you smell like chicken grease.
Chauncey:
I work in KFC,
what the fuck am I supposed to smell like?
Young
Tyrell: I think
I can smell pussy...
Chauncey:
Fuck you man. Speaking of pussy, when you gonna call that girl? She said she was gonna hook
me up with her cousin.
Young
Tyrell: What
girl?
Chauncey:
The bitch from
the club last week man, the little caramel skinned bitch, you know...the..
Young
Tyrell: The one
that looked like the girl from Next Friday?
Chauncey:
Yeah...
Young
Tyrell: Fuck
that bitch. I been hearing mad stories about her around the hood. Word is, the
bitch got spit roasted four times in one night back in 99. Shit sounded nasty.
Chauncey:
The fuck is a
spit roast?
Young
Tyrell takes off his white with pink NYC icon, hat off and puts it on the
table. Keith follows him over still wanting to be answered.
Young
Tyrell: What the
fuck are you following me for?
Chauncey:
You didn't
answer the question. The hell is a spit roast?
Young
Tyrell: ...When
a bitch get fucked from the front and the back, at the same time...then
swallow both nuts..
Chauncey:
......Oh shit.
Gimme the cell number man!
Young
Tyrell: You want
your fucking dick to fall off man? Nigga, what's up with you?
Chauncey:
Man, you are too damn picky with pussy...pussy is pussy man...
Young
Tyrell: Yeah...and A.I.D.S is A.I.D.S too. I ain't going out like that
man...NOT ME.
Young
Tyrell puts his fitted hat back on and goes back to look in the mirror and
Chauncey once again follows him over there.
Young
Tyrell: Tell the truth though...This pink and white shit is hot right?
Chauncey:
I guess it looks a little hot...
Young
Tyrell: Yeah man...I'm
the only nigga that can put an outfit
together...A gangsta with style...
Chauncey:
But it ain't that hot...