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 ATL & The Serious Records Crew unleashed this bomb on me and then took out for god-knows where. I knew I had to find the boys for the obligatory interview, beers, and some other goodies along tha way. Trouble was, after ATL hollered at me on the line and sent in this heavy duty killa, I couldn't find 'im. So being of the white race, I knew better than to carry my ass down into the 'hood trying to cop shit. So I called my dog RD. 6 ft 7, 305 pounds, x-special forces, and blacker n hell, you don't fuck with this man unless you got a death wish! With RD coverin' my back I felt the invasion might be successful. He showed up in his '84 turbo-charged tercel, and we made way t'wards Lemon street. I figured it was a good place to start since ATL and Crew rapped it up pretty heavily on tha' cuts. There and 'abouts, somewhere the folks down in the big city of Marietta had to know these cats, 'cause they seemed too notorious to be no shows on the local circuit.RD, splendid in his Ranger's beret, camos and packin' gov't issue 45, looked more like Red Dog than homie (in his case, RD stands for Raw Dog). Shooting down Sandtown @ 65 miles per hour, 30 above the post, RD didn't flinch as he passed Cobb Cunty sittin' like satan in the Mason lodge parkin' lot. By the time we got to Powder Springs, Johnny had caught up to us with the gum balls poppin and siren wailin'. "I'll handle this chump", RD specified. He jumps out like it's on and I look back to see Johnny wide eyed reaching for the mic. "Get back in the car!" RD: "Yo, BT. Whassup Nigga!" Johnny, a look of recognition flashing on his face, lights up like hoss that went for the mexican and got the skunk. He swings the door fast and wide and gets out laughing. "Damn boy what are you doing? Got a fire to go to or sumptin?" Johnny seems a bit more relaxed now shakin' RD's massive paw. "Naw. Gotta find some cats that owe some jack. I didn't know it was anything but 55 boss man." RD was all smiles, lying out his teeth. "55? I clocked you at 67! You gotta slow down before someone gets hurt!" I looked in Johnny's window and didn't see the standard picture taker, so I thought maybe this scene would be settled without serious incident or death. RD and Johnny made some more small talk and then he gets back in and Johnny stomps on by wavin' and grinnin' like a fool. " Ol Billy!" RD laughs as he guns the 'yoder. " He and I played ball together back at Mare 'etter back in tha day. Dat boy could chuck tha damn ball a mile!" That seemed to explain the unusual sight of a white cop shakin' a big black man's hand and not trying to play L.A.P.D. on the take. "Damn," I coughed. "He and you musta been tight." "Shit. Got white boy more pussy than he could handle! Damn shame he's hangin' with the flats. Hell, times are tough, I guess every dog's gotta make some green. Speakin of....." RD opens a clip on his belt and whips out a monster hydro. "Whoa, Whoa!" I said, "What the hell are you doin'? We can't hit that motherfucker in the car! Are you fuckin' crazy? This is downtown Mariettta dude, pig mother fuckin' city!" As if on cue, a big gas hoggin' tax-payer swindled Crown Vic passes us left side. Drug Task Force K-9 Unit on the window kick back.  "Fuck po-po and 'is mutt! I'll strangle da bitch!" RD bellered, pulling up beside Johnny weedkiller at the red light. RD starts barking like a big rottweiler, and JW's shepard starts answering from the crown vic's back seat. "Yo! Man hold that shit down! I'd like to get through the day without being arrested!" I protested. "Fuck that motherfucker!" RD yelled, definitely loud enough for po-po to be in on the no-no. "I'm a motherfuckin' veteran of this country and if I want to roast a motherfuckin' hog leg, I sure the fuck will and I'd like to see them fuckin' stop this black-ass run away train!" RD kicked it as the light turned green. Johnny held back at the light, then cut to the left quick, turning down a side street. I breathed a sigh of relief, no so much for us, but contrary to popular belief, trying to stop someone who's not hurtin' anyone from kickin' a bell-beefer and gettin' your ass shot for it, just ain't worth it, regardless of what your god-in-public-office law might say about it. Obviously Johnny wasn't fresh on the force trying to prove he was sumptin' special. For whatever reasons, RD held off on firing up the green, and we sailed past the cunty death camp - er, I mean court house, and hit the left onto ghetto alley a couple of blocks down, headin' into tha 'hood.
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| A & R | | | JOINT PAGE 3 | | | WEBZINES | | | NEW STUFF | | | MUSIC REVIEWS |
 Contact:
John Harrison Executive Producer |  Artist: Rave Un2 The Year 2000 Prince, Rosie Gaines, George Clinton, The Artist, The Time, Lenny Kravitz, Morris Day, Maceo Parker The Artist celebrates the joy of life, performing a selection of his smash hits and pop classics featuring special guests Lenny Kravitz, Rosie Gaines, Maceo Parker, Larry Graham, and Morris Day and the Time. - Includes interviews, bonus footage.
Luke is at it again!
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