The bass to his latest single “Sawed Off” drops and the crowd is on top of their seats. He dropped it right before BirchFest, and it was on the charts for weeks. He collapsed on stage before he could perform it, so technically this is his first time. And I really wish I wasn’t terrified to really enjoy it.
The song itself is aggressive, telling three different tales of the narrator shooting someone in the face with their sawed off shotgun. It’s woven beautifully, and really you only get that much from dissecting lyrics. But you don’t get any discernible facts about the victims or where these crimes happen, so it comes off as metaphors.
Now, I’m not so sure.
The guys file back in with Shad’s security and tell us to gather our stuff so we can leave before the crowd. It’s quiet in the sprinter as we pull away from The Atrium toward Paradise.
“Okay, I’ma say it,” Patience blurts. “That felt like he was threatening someone. Was Shad threatening someone?”
Autumn and Turk glance at each other before she pulls Pay closer to her. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to, bae.”
“Maaaan, let’s just shot up. Shad is back, the concert was live as hell, and we finna drop a bag on some big booty bitches.” Ty grabs two bottles of brown and one of white and starts passing them and some cups around.
“Who you got in our section?” Autumn asks Turk.
“They gone have Cinnamon and Leila to start. Me and Pay got you up in the office for a private show.” He pulls her by the chinfor a sloppy kiss, before Pay joins them in some sort of freaky three-way tongue down.
“Y’all some horny muthafuckas, boy. Lean back, Choc. We can’t let them outfreak us.”
I snicker as the Hennessy bottle makes its way to me and Reem. YT swoops in and sits on the aisle seat and folds her arms at us.
“This beef stops now,” she proclaims loudly. “Either you talk to me or Prince blows up the fucking sprinter. Your move, Deezy.” She points her stiletto nail at me as YP and YC stand from the back.
“Bro–”
“The fuck–”
“Is she serious–”
I stand and glare at my godsiblings. “You do know you don’t have to listen to her.”
YP shrugs and grins. YC just folds his arms, making those pecs bulge. “Talk it out or I’m ripping out your tongue and you won't be able to talk at all.”
“This nigga,” Set mumbles, bucking his eyes at Brina, who dry heaves.
I roll my eyes and glare at YT. “Fine. We’re back cool.”
“And apologize for calling me that fucking name,” she whines, frowning hard.
I grit my teeth. “I’m. Sorry.”
Her frown breaks into a smile as her brothers sit back down. “I accept your apology, Deezy. You know Ihatebeing mad at you. Don’t drink the Hennessy; I spit in it.” She glances at Reem, who spits his shot back into his cup. Seemingly satisfied, she stands and goes back to her seat, as Ty hands us a bottle she hasn’t touched.
“Ima kill her ass, on my brother I am,” Reem mumbles.
True to their word, Autumn, Pay, and Turk disappeared to his office as soon as we made it to our section. Whatever, more wings for me.
Strip club wings, man. They don’t ever have to be this good!
Barbecue, spicy Korean, lemon pepper wet.
I’m sequestered in the corner, watching my friends have fun and throw money on beautiful half naked girls with fire bodies. Even YP has his earplugs in, mesmerized by the waves and ripples of a homegrown ass bouncing in front of him.
It’s nice seeing him and YT have regular fun, that’s not torturing someone or lighting some shit on fire. Lord knows they deserve it, and the world needs a fucking break.
Shaddy and his entourage join us finally, which makes more girls flock, and more money is thrown.
Nigga got one hand holding his pants up like he ain’t got a Burberry belt on. His other arm is swung over Sahara, holding a champagne bottle. Shirt still off, chest glistening, showing off that diamond patch of hair in between his pecs.
