4am In Compton

Chapter One

Load the clip in the chopper, flip the script and get oscars

All my niggas is mobsters, all my bitches is doctors

Cole World, this just the tip of the iceberg

So talk s**t and taste the tip of the Mossberg

Don't trip nigga, they just words

Though my words tend to sound like Proverbs

Niggas don't see the preachers 'til we dead in the hearse

Granny broke cause she always givin' bread to the Church

Now pastor Mason Betha in a Lambo

And little niggas holdin' desert eagles like they Rambo

Bumpin' my s**t, always wondered why they f**k with my s**t- J. Cole x Miss America

***************C H A P T E R 1 - Brooks.

After India and her ratchet ass luh' friend left, Raheem turned our way , with the blunt in his mouth and passed it to Cash who took a drag.

"Her fast ass tryna get beat like she two or sum' s**t," Raheem shook his head, sipping the purple lean in his cup.

Cash chuckled. "Man, She 18 years old tho'." I nodded in argeement wit' Cash cause Rah had a tendency to baby India a bit too much and I lowkey felt sorry for her but Rah ass too crazy so Ion speak on it.

"But she still livin' in my crib doe." Raheem proved a good point.

" That's wassup. So did Boss tell you when he wanted us to come in?" I asked Rah, getting down to business.

" When the product come in." Rah shrugged while I passed the blunt and sipped the henny in my cup.

"How long dat' gon' take?" Cash interjected. Cash wa' always da' eager muthafucka' about the business.

"A month tops. Boss was like if it don't come through Ina month, everyone gettin' popped." Raheem flicked the roach. " But he wants us to meet tonight, ya know. Get a feel of what kinda niggas we gon be dealing with,"

Me, Raheem & Cash worked for this nigga, Tank. He was a drug dealing monster and had warehouses across the margin. They called us " 300 block," because 300 warehouses is what Tank was started with when his father gave him the business.

We were gainin' more and more respect, money, and of course' bitches. But hoes nowadays sneaky and foul as f**k, So Ion f**k wit; many as much as Rah and Cash do. Except this chick, Aza. She was bad and we been kickin' it for a few months now.

But lately, a nigga not gon' lie. The s*x gettin' wack and I need some new ounce of punani. Ya' dig? Na' honestly, I've wanted to turn India out. Make ha' experience a real nigga's rod. But ha' ass is just a damn kid. She cant really do nothin' fa' me' dat' Aza cant do. So Ive been neutral wit' ha.

"We finna do pop goes the weasel in dat' b***h!" I heard Cash say, interrupting my thoughts.

I chuckled at his stupidness. This nigga be foreal having me dead as f**k ,

"Ya' already kno' da' memo. But how is yall, asses?" Raheem asked.

"Aza and I is.. eh. Buh' ha' p***y game gettin' weak, yo." I shrugged and leaned forward, rubbin' my face.

'3 words fa' ya', nigga. Drop. That. Bitch." Cash explained and rubbed his goatee like he wa' actually sayin sum' intelligent s**t.

"Nigga, dont even be considerin' Cash's high ass advice. Nigga been havin' problems wit' Tina's crazy ass. Still wit' ha till dis' day. Aye, yall annivesary in May right?." Raheem laughed, while Cash mugged him.

I chuckled. "I hear ya'. Honestly, like she ah' freak ah' few months bac'. buh' now everythan' borin'. Same s**t every nite. On top of dat', she trippin' and bitchin' about us being "foreva' and always." Like what the f**k?" I vented.

"Well den'. I'a take dat' s**t' bac'. Like Cash said, drop dat' bitch."

We all started laughing and smokin together. Havin' a great ass time.

*********

India

I changed from my lil' attire dat' wa' "inapporiate." Bullshit, if you ask me. But I aint for da' arguing today. I slipped on a black tanktop, some basketball shorts I stole from Rah & I slipped on a pair of black low socks. I wrapped my pink and orange hair into a messy bun.

Now me and Shayla were chillin' in the livin' room, watchingreruns of BGC and vibin' to J.Cole.

"I cannot stand Julies maniuplating ass. She been gassin' up da' Rima and Erika beef. BS RIGHT HERE." Shayla rolled her eyes.

"I know dat Shay. You told me ya' hate ha' like 50 times already." I laughed.

"Whatever. You know I cannot speak that NOLA slang. Speak compton." She complained.

"Girl, f**k I look like talkin' from a place I aint from?" I raised my eyebrow.

She rolled ha' damn eyes again.

"Anyway, ya' tryna stay hea' wit' da boys or sum'?" I asked.

"So you can chill & flirt wit' Brooks? No thanks." Shayla shood her purple manicured finger side to side, meaning no."

I tried to keep that red outta my face. I had a crush on Brooks fa' a long ass time."

Before I could reply, Her phone rang. I thanked God for the distraction and watched her roll her eyes as she slid answer on her white iPhone 5c.

The stereo was blasting "Miss America" at a low volume and Shayla was now on the phone arguing wit' her new boo, I assumed.

"Treyvon, If you with that dumb b***h, don't bother comin' home tonight. Cus' Imma skin you alive. Real shit." She hung up and huffed out.

"Trouble in paradise?" I raised my eyebrow in amusement.

"Shut the f**k up. " She said. I couldn't help but to laugh. She lucky we cool or I woulda smacked her.

"Mhm. So what we about to get into?" Shayla asked, playing with her hair and completing forgettin' what she asked me before.

"I don't know. A party, maybe?" I suggested. There was no way in hell we staying here in our house, bored.

"Yeah, a turn up tonight around 9. You the designated driver to and from, though." She smiled.

I groaned. "Fine. I guess."

Shayla clapped her hands. "Let's hope ya cousin don't catch us this time."

I laughed. "I highly doubt that. He got niggas watching me and s**t. I always be havin' a eerie feeling when I'm alone."

She nodded. "Girl, what time your cousin and his bum ass friends leaving?"

I shrugged. "Soon. but fa' now, lets go see wha' we gon' wear." I stood up and motioned for Shayla to follow me to my room. We was about to f**k s**t uppppp at Magic City strip club.

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