by Mack Mama
“Oh shit! What’s going on, Matoka?” We exchanged greetings and broke the ice. I peeped Charlie Baltimore checking me out, but I didn’t skip a beat. I wanted to see Un, and I was on a mission. “Where’s Un at? I asked. There was a slight pause, and everyone just looked at me funny. So, me being me, I repeated myself a little louder. “WHERE ‘DAT ‘NICCA AT!? TELL HIM I’M OUT HERE!” I had no idea that it was a protocol that I had to go through to see the big boss, because he was still “Understanding from Fulton and Washington, who worked for Uncle Bennie at the Coke spot” to me. “He’s sleeping Ma,” Justice responded. “Oh, well, wake that ‘nicca up! Shit, I just came home. I need to see him,” I demanded. I knew he wouldn’t have a problem waking up for “me”. I hadn’t seen him for about six years, but I didn’t change, and I didn’t think he did either. Justice took me into the other room and, there he was, looking colossal. It seemed like he took up the entire room, while laid out sleeping. He was a big dude, and very intimidating, but not to me. I walked right over and tapped him on the shoulder. “Eh, boo, wake up. Wake up. UN! It’s me, MATOKAAA,” I sung excitedly, because I had been dreaming about that moment. I knew It was ‘fittin to be on and ‘poppin. He seemed to grumble like a huge bear. Then he cracked one eye open with a grimace on his face. He stared at me for a moment. It seemed like time had stopped, and everybody was waiting to see what his reaction was going to be; since apparently no one dared to wake his majesty up. “Oh! what up, Matoka?” he greeted. With that simple greeting, the air seemed to clear, and the tension disappeared.
I knew that it was going to be straight once he realized who I was. He gave me a slow smile that looked more like apprehension than happiness to see me. As I think about it now, he probably was thinking, ‘What the hell this wild bitch want?’ he knew how crazy I was, and didn’t want no parts of that foolishness around him. He was a big time record executive, and I was still a hood rat from Brooklyn in his eyes.
“I rap now, boo! I go by the name Mack Mama. I want you to hear my music” I gushed excitedly. Back then, I was so naive when it came to the music industry. I didn’t know that you had to be a certain way when you’re dealing with the business. I only knew one way to be, and that was “real”. So, I didn’t bother to act nonchalant or humble. I said what was on my mind. I Wanted In! He took me into the studio, played my music, and everybody listened silently. There was no head-bopping or enthusiasm whatsoever. I was slowly feeling my dream slip away. He didn’t like my music.
I was crushed but I didn’t show it. He told me that he had Charlie Baltimore, and wasn’t looking for another female artist, but he’ll pass my demo along to other Labels. I looked at him in disbelief. He was actually dismissing me! I wanted to bust him in his big head, but I smiled, told him that I understood, and bowed out gracefully. My pride wouldn’t let him see my tears. I swear that when I was leaving, I saw Charlie Baltimore smirk at me. At that moment, I hated her, and wanted to beat her ass. I needed to take my disappointment and sadness out on someone, but I wouldn’t have given them the satisfaction of saying “See, that’s why I’m not dealing with that street b***h” It always gave me a slight satisfaction that Charlie Baltimore’s album never came out. I would say, “See, that ‘nicca Un should have signed me,” but everything happens for a reason. First of all, I wasn’t as nice lyrically as I am now, so, in all fairness, he wasn’t impressed with the music. I felt that on the strength of the connection we had, and the fact that I had been recently released from prison, trying to do something positive, he should have gave me a job.
Secondly, I would have been involved with the drama that surrounded Un and his rise and fall in the industry. His whole camp fell off. His situation really went downhill after he allegedly leaked Jay-Z’s album. Then he sued Jay-Z for allegedly stabbing him. You better believe that Undeas and, whoever was associated with him, was blackballed in the industry. I was a little discouraged but still determined to make it. I wanted to show Un and all the nonbelievers, that I was going to become a star. The only problem was my addiction to money. I didn’t want to be a starving artist. I wanted to hustle, and drive the fancy cars, and wear the diamonds and furs that the stars wore. That’s what I was used to, and I didn’t want to give up my lifestyle to concentrate on music. I felt that I lived like a star, so I deserved to be one. Society felt like I was a crook, and I deserved to be behind bars. I wouldn’t succeed until I realized that. By then, I stopped boosting and stepped my game up to credit card fraud. I loved it! It was my new addiction. It was so easy. No more sneaking around the store and stealing. Without the hassle of a bulging girdle or suspicious security guard, I shopped and walked out of any store with my bags. I really thought that I was spending “my” money, and would become indignant if the cashier gave me any grief. I had the credit card holder’s personal information and matching identification. I had convinced myself that I was that person. What a sickness. I lived in this fantasy world for years destroying credit, and living the lifestyle of a rich person. There was nothing I wanted that I couldn’t get. That is why when the law finally caught up to me, they gave me plenty of time, to think about my actions. I learned the meaning of remorse in prison. Especially as I write my memoir. I am reliving the insanity that I called my life and it seems so unreal to me. As if I am sitting here creating a fictional story. I am in shock and filled with remorse and regret. That is how I know I have changed.
I had gotten arrested too many times in my BMW. It was leased and, by then, the corporate office had enough of my irresponsible behavior. I was living wild and reckless and didn’t care. Six months later, I bought a brand new ML320 Benz truck. You couldn’t tell me nothing. All I did was recruit workers. I loved Caucasian men because they got away with murder. Society thinks if its white it’s right, and that philosophy causes corporate America to get swindled most of the time. Some white folks are the biggest crooks. My favorite employee and partner in crime was a middle-aged Jewish guy named Paul. He looked like Willie Nelson- the country crooner- when I first met him. He had a long, salt-and-pepper pony tail, and a beard that hung down to his chest. By the time I transformed his appearance, he could have passed for a judge or a doctor. I gave him a five-star makeover that was complete with a haircut and brand new, fancy wardrobe. I had him looking and feeling like new money. Then we would tear the malls up. He couldn’t believe how easy it was for him use credit cards without producing additional identification, and then leave the stores with thousands of dollars in merchandise. I, on the other hand, would get the fish-eye treatment on occasions just because I was black. He was boggled by it because he didn’t have a prejudice bone in his body, and had hung out with black and latino people for years. I loved him for that. I used to say he was black in a white man’s body.
For years, we were like zombies. We did nothing but hustle from the time the stores opened to the moment they closed. We lived on the road. We got arrested one time for our greed. My car was so loaded with shopping bags and merchandise that we couldn’t see out of the back window. That should have made us leave the mall, but it didn’t, so we ended up getting busted. I had my people bail Paul out first; that way, he could go hustling to get the money to bail me out. That’s how close we were, and how loyal we were to each other. That was my partner in crime, and I love him. He has passed away and it breaks my heart. He succumbed to cancer Nov 13 2011. In the first edition of this memoir I wrote ‘He has lung cancer now…I’m praying that he beat it and lives to see my career take off. He invested so much into my dreams and I want to be able to take care of him. He is 66 years old and the strongest man I know’. Unfortunately, he did not make it. He was able to read the first edition of my book and he was very proud of me. I am so relieved that he died knowing that I am still following my dreams, and I am making them come true. We spent years on the road discussing how I wanted to break into the music industry. He would forgo his cut of the money we made, on many occasions, just so I could use it for studio time or pay my exuberant bills. I love Paul
Harnik. He will be missed.
I had put my music on hold, using the excuses that I wanted to do it big like Master P and Brian “Birdman” Williams, from Cash Money. I kept telling myself I needed to grind to get more money so that I could be the first female to come out independently with my own label: O.B.G. Records. I was inspired by all the drug dealers that were in the music business, financing there companies by hustling. That was my goal and I was on a mission. Everybody knew that I was Mack Mama because I would go in the studio and churn out mix tapes on my off time. I loved making music just as much as I loved making money. I was extremely cocky and felt that all the female rappers that were in the rap game, and came from Brooklyn, were rapping about me. My real life experiences, was the blueprint for their rhymes. That’s why I started reppin’ O.B.G. I made that name up in prison when I heard Lil Kim call herself a bad girl. Of course she was affiliated with Puffy’s Label, Bad Boy Records so it was natural for her to reference herself as a Bad Girl. However, I was really in the streets busting my gun and being bad so I threw the “original” in front of it and took it from there.
When I was nine months pregnant with my daughter, I lived in a swank condo in Jamaica Estates, which was located in Jamaica, New York. You couldn’t tell me nothing. At that time, a few celebrities lived in that neighborhood, so it felt like I truly accomplished something worthwhile. I had a nice crib, beautiful furniture, and a luxury vehicle. Plus I had all the designer gear a girl could want, but there was one thing missing-I wanted a career. When you bring a child into the world, you start thinking about the future, and how you can provide for their life. I knew that I couldn’t live off of the land forever. I didn’t receive any type of public assistance. I relied solely on hustling. It was unbelievable because my sister has her Master degree, along with a career as a social worker, but she was still struggling with her bills. I felt that I had it so good because I didn’t finish college and had acquired more material possessions than she had. I conveniently forgot the occupational hazards of what I was doing. Going to prison wasn’t worth the lifestyle I lived at all.
My passion for my music was not fulfilled. I needed to go hard in order to make it, and I needed someone who had connections to put me on. It’s not how much talent you have it’s who you know in the game. My friend Tracy, was Lil Kim’s assistant, and she always wanted me to hang out with them on different occasions, because she knew I wanted to get into the game. I never had the time to chill with them. I was always so busy hustling to pay my bills. I was living way beyond my means and needed to sell something to pay my rent. I went through a drought. I was getting work (credit cards) that didn’t have any money on them, so I had to sell one of my mink coats to keep me afloat. I had around twenty personal furs in my collection, so I decided that I had to start liquidating.
I called Tracy and requested that she ask Kim if she was interested in buying one of my coats. Lil’ Kim was interested in purchasing one, so Tracy brought me to her mini mansion in New Jersey. At that, she was still down with Junior Mafia, and a few members lived with her. It was a nice, gated community on “Rapper’s Row”. That was the nickname for the area she resided in, because of all the rappers that lived in that section of New Jersey, which was right over the George Washington Bridge.
Kim had a fabulous place. I did a quick scan as I entered the door and eyed the Italian marbled walls and white piano that was elegantly sitting on a raised platform in her living room. Then I noticed the Gucci designer sofa, and the cardboard, life-size cutout of her, which was classic Lil Kim. Her dining room table sat twelve and looked like a prop from the set of The God Father. She was serious about that Junior Mafia stuff. I loved it.
We went up stairs to the third floor where her master bedroom was located, and I showed her the mink. It was a beautiful white-sheared swing, skin-on-skin, three-quarter length mink. Of course, she loved it, and wanted to buy it. Everything was going smooth until I told her that I wanted twenty-five hundred dollars for the Fur. She wanted to give me two-thousand dollars, but I wasn’t budging. I felt like she was already getting a good deal. I was selling it for a third of the retail price because I had worn it a few times and, besides that, I really needed the bread. She was a celebrity figure. Twenty-five- hundred dollars should have been nothing for a star, right?
Tracy had to pull me to the side and plead with me to give her the deal. She pointed out that if I looked out for kim, she would probably help me with my rap career. That piqued my interest. I thought about it and decided that five hundred short wasn’t going to kill me, but I still wanted my balance owed to me at another time. We agreed that she would give me the two grand and I would wait on the five. The business was concluded, and then we started to discuss my music. She was interested in hearing me, so I gave her a few bars:
Chicks talk about hustling, I did that shit/ Talk about being fly, I am that B***h/Talk about pushing whips, I had my shit/Before I had a flow/Before I did a show /Copped my Beamer and my Benz just to let ya’ know/Original Bad Girl Like I Said Befo’…
When I got to that last part I knew I had messed up with that “Original Bad Girl” line. Kim’s face told it all. It said: “Bitch you won’t take my crown”. Her lips gave me a phony smile. “Awww, that was good hon,” she said with the smallest hint of sarcasm “Keep up the good work. You’re ‘gonna make it”. She actually said that, in her phony white girl voice. I was nine month pregnant aggravated, and two seconds away from taking my coat and the money from her little ass. That’s when Tracy gave me a pleading look. I didn’t want to mess things up for Tracy, because she had to work for Lil’ Kim, so I gave her a pass. I should have known that she wasn’t going to help another female emcee. She was a hater and wanted all the shine for herself. She looked at me and seen the threat. Even at nine months pregnant I was fly. I had on a butter-soft suede shirt, along with a pair of hot, burgundy leather pants I had got from A Pea in the pod my favorite maternity store for divas. My full-length, light brown, two-toned hooded mink was the icing on the cake. Also, she saw my Benz truck parked in her driveway and knew that I was the real deal. She was not messing with me. It’s funny because God don’t like ugly. She was a pretty girl even without the benefit of makeup and, earlier in the conversation, she mentioned that she wanted to get her nose done. Tracy and I tried to talk her out of it, but she was hell-bent on plastic surgery done on her face. Now, she looks nuts, and her career is over. Had she put me on her team, I would have convinced her not to do all that foolishness to her face. The body work was okay. But when God gives you natural beauty and you mess with his gift, you will be cursed and the results are irreversible. Poor thing!
That encounter with Lil Kim made me less of a fan. Then a year later, she really pissed me off. I made a mixtape called “The Realest Bitch: Volume 1”. On that Cd I was interviewed by my friend. Her character was Cindy Simmons. We were spoofing my favorite radio personality at that time, Wendy Williams. In the interview, I explained that I was representing for the average chicks from the hood that couldn’t afford Chanel and other high-end designer labels so I said recited a piece from a verse I had:
“I can rock an Old Navy tee and still be me.
When you know who you are, You’re always a star!”
That simple statement caused a lot of drama. I was selling my Cd’s all over the hood and happened to run into a dude name World that Kim was messing with at the time. He is well known in Brooklyn and currently locked up for numerous murders. I hit him with my Cd, and I know that he let Kim hear it. What happened next caused me to lose it.
Christmas came around and I received a phone call from my ex-girlfriend, Andrell. She was all worked up over something “YO, DID YOU SEE LIL KIM’S OLD NAVY COMMERCIAL?” She yelled excitedly.
“Huh? What are you talking about? Why would Lil Kim be in an Old Navy Commercial?” I asked, and then it struck me like lightening.
“She was saying the exact same thing you said on your Cd she stole your line” Andrell muttere
d annoyed at the audacity of Lil Kim. I was so heated. I knew that she had heard my interview. She took the concept of wearing Old Navy and still being a star to the company and they jumped on it. It was a great idea that I wanted to present to Old Navy when I came out with my album, but, yet again, my dream was shattered. I was in a rage and vowed that I would destroy the Lil’ Thief. After that, I was intent on dissing her in every song I wrote. My second mixtape ‘The Realest Bitch: Volume 2” was dedicated to going in on her, on damn near every track. I was obsessed with killing her street cred’-at least in Brooklyn. This was before the internet was popular, so I had to literally circulate my cd’s in the streets from out of my trunk. I wanted to make sure that she heard me. She never responded by saying my name, but she would say subliminal disses in a few of her verses on her underground mixtapes. She was smart. She knew if she mentioned my name-Mack Mama-I would have blown up instantly. I have since let that anger go and chalked it up as how the game goes.