Rap Beef Pt. 1/3: The Ludacris Story

Rap Beef is a serious thing. Don’t believe me? Take a look at the cremated ashes of the greatest street poet ever, a Mr. Tupac Amaru Shakur, or the double-wide casket of Notorious Christopher Wallace. What? I’m not allowed to say he was an obese mf’er? Whatever.




Point of the story is, when it comes to rap and the modern day minstrels we call rappers, Beef kills… like Mad cow disease in England. LOL.




On a side note, one of my first recorded rap songs was a Biggie diss track. It was recorded before he died, I have the only copy, and even after 14 years it’s probably better than half of the records on the radio now (despite me sounding like a bi*ch due to pre-puberty issues.) Nevertheless, I digress….




Needless to say, there were a number of highly publicized rap beefs (Biggie Vs. Pac, Jay-Z Vs. Nas), a number of rap beefs no one gave a shit about (Dr. Dre Vs. Jermaine Dupree, Benzino Vs. Anybody) and a few rap beefs you’ve never heard about but which are only relevant because they concern myself and the Hogwash Tomfoolery crew. Enjoy.


Rocka Vs. Ludacris

The scorching heat of a Mexican sun was beating down as if it was intentionally trying to dehydrate unsuspecting tourists in an effort to sell more Coronas. Beads of sweat poured down brows as a collective of frat boys gazed at scantily clad college co-eds from behind the tints of hundred dollar Ray ban shades, wishing they had time for one last fondle...one hook-up...one drunken romp. Tis the bittersweet ending of a spring break gone too soon, as the sex, drugs and rock and roll were almost a distant memory. It wasn't , however, over yet... muthfuc*as.


We still had time for one last Taco.

(A real taco, not the pink kind that bleeds once a month and makes you pay child support when it doesn't. )

As myself, Boozay, Slim Jones , M-Casa & A.C "Slay-her" sat down for their last mexican meal, an eerie silence filled the quaint taco shack, as alas, we were the only muthafu**as there. After receiving our BBQ chicken quesidillas (soooo hood) and a few pre-opened coronas which were obviously re-used bottles filled with semi-flat Tecate (the mexican bud Lite), I decide to hit the head (pause...), I mean hit the john (no homo)...damn, aight nigga, I was going to the bathroom!

Then it happened.

The Dim Mexican lighting seemed to cause a shimmery iridescent glow, almost similar to a halo, around two unmistakable interwoven french braids. Athena herself must've twisted this new growth, as these braids, (which for the record, "didn't go straight back...they went zig-zag, zig-zag, zig-zag back"-DEZO voice), seemed as though they were especially tailored as a crown of thorns for the GOD MC. That's right people. Ludacris was in the building, right in front of me, standing at the urinal.

I wanted to ask him about the groupies taking pics of him outside. Did he ever ask them "what's their fantasy" before deciding "how low they could go?" Would he even acknowledge me, his humblest yet biggest fan? Or would he simply "throw dem bo's" and tell me to "move bitch, get out the way." He couldn't be as heartless and cruel as he was in Hustle in Flow....that was just an acting role.

Would he give me dap (a handshake) (after washing his hands of course), or would all my dreams "crash" and burn right there in that instant? He wouldn't do that...he's my hero.

I can't go out like a sucker tho. I got it. He can't throw my demo in the urinal and piss on it if I don't give him one.

Then I did it. Luda was mid stream when I started reciting my best Showrock raps right behind him at the urinal. Record deal here I come. I was spitting my heart out. He would have to turn around...and he did...then he punched me in the face.


Yeah fuckin right.

If you ask any of my hating ass friends, however, they will embellish the story to the point where it sounds something like this. Funny thing is, half of those proclaiming I got K.O'd by Luda weren't even there.

Here's what really happened.

After a week of running into and meeting B-list celebs (i.e Biz Markee, Cypha Sounds, Joe Budden and Nicole from Nina Sky...who I watched type my number into her cell phone), I guess I can say I was feelin myself a little bit.

The night before we left to go back to the States, we jumped an entire line of people waiting to get into a danceclub that holds 10,000 people, had a spinning dancefloor and where 50 cent was scheduled to perform. Upon arriving a number of things happened, none of which included us getting our asses whopped for cutting a line of about 1,000 people.

Seeing as how I was wearing a Biggie T-shirt to a 50 Concert (Ironic), I was immediately identified as a "Hip Hop Head" (Pause) and signaled for a break dancing battle with some Canadian dude. I'm no punk...so I called for C4 Reinforcement. Once we were nearly out of moves, (and outa breath) we pulled the old "Kid and Play, hold one leg and jump over it" move (which his Canadian ass probably never saw before). He tries to Mimic it and falls flat on his face. C4 and I win the battle and everyone laughs.

We then look to the left and notice that one of the people smirking at the display was Ludacris's DTP artist Lil Fate. As "Fate" would have it, he was so happy someone recognized him that he gave us props and we kicked it with him for like half the night. We didn't tell him that we only recognized him due to the quarter million dollar Platinum and Diamond DTP chain he was wearing.

1 dancefloor handjob from a troll looking girl from Baltimore later, we can fast forward to the Mexican restaurant. That was all just context.

As I round the corner of this seemingly empty restaurant I see a table with about 8 guys way off to the back, about 100 yards away. I notice Lil Fate who gives me the head nod and obligatory hood nigga "I see you" hand gesture. As I continue walking to the bathroom I notice a skinny guy in a wife beater with quite the pot belly...Luda is at the table. He was the out of shape guy, in case you missed that.

Excited at seeing an A (minus) list celebrity, I put my fist in the air and say "Oh shit, its Luda. What up Luda?"

His response: "Fu*k you nig*a, don' t come over here. I'm Eating B*tch"

Sidenote: Skipping a meal would not have hurt his portly ass. (Pause).

Mind you, I was still 100 yards away, and before I could say "fu*k you back", some green mile lookin dude is screaming all types of "I'll f**k you ups" and callin me a "bitch ass ni**a" as Luda smiles and laughs, spilling taco cheese on his snookie gut.

I continue towards the bathroom mad as shit and return to the table. I tell my boys what happened, they laugh, and then proceed to di*k ride saying shit like "Damn, is he still there"..."Dude, we just saw Ludacris."

Fu*k yall and F**k him.

The beef shall stand until I get a fair one with Luda (a fight, mano -a -mano) without a big ass Ving Rames looking nigga protecting him.

True story.

P.S. F**k Ludacris.

--Anonymous (sike, it's me bi*ches.)