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TLA Return Promo

Lead Poisoning

He back. He back on yo bitch. He back. He back fuckin’ shit up. He back. Oh y’all didn’t hear? He back. Can’t keep a good vato down. He back. Can’t fire TLA. He back. I ain’t no pedo. He back. Minns ain’t. He back. Back up on all you bitches.

#HeBack

The scene fades in to a busy city street in Southbend, Indiana. A trail of cars impatiently follows a tractor from the Indiana farmlands down the street, some honking impatiently.

Awwwww yeaaaa it’s yo boi TLA comin’ at y’all life straight outta that 305 like we do. Ya heard of me, or ya gonna get a reminder cuz that’s how I roll. Ain’t no introductions necessary cept what I light up with my fist.

Fire is my introduction cuz I be spittin’ it and if you ain’t get out soon yo ass gonna get burnt. Ain’t no fault of my own, it yo fault for standin’ in the god damn way. Time for yet anotha revolucion or maybe we gonna go jihad on yo asses. Ye I fucks with Allah sometimes, but truth is imma godless motherfucker. I be one of them athiest motherfuckers, godless heathen n shit cuz when every other vato be callin’ themselves a god or a messiah it ain’t even a matter of belief no more. It’s a matter of paying attention.

And I got a problem with that.

TLA waves the smoke out of his face as he blazes up another joint. TLA is maskless, except for a rag he’s got tied around his neck over a dark green Miami Hurricanes jersey with the 305 on the front.

I got a short attention span. Always have, and wait what was I talkin’ about again? Oh yeah fuck yo ego bitch, you gettin’ a reality check at the hands of the Realest Revolutionary. Cuz I be leadin’ the charge against y’all or I was before they tossed yo boi out. If they all gods, then yo boi be a fallen god cuz I got just as much claim on this shit as anybody.

But they took my shit yo.

TLA throws his middle finger in the air as Steroid Dawg looks up in alarm thinking TLA threw something to fetch. Steroid Dawg hustles off to get it back.

And imma get it back. Cuz shit that went down. It ain’t right. So we gonna talk about it. We gonna wade through the propaganda, we gonna find out just what my name mean on these streets these days. Cuz they still drop it. They still talk and what they sayin…

I gots a problem with that too.

TLA leans back on his 1958 Chevy Impala lowrider painted up with fire as he looks across the alley at the art tagged up on the walls of a recently abandoned 7-Eleven.

I’m the biggest hypocrite of 2015. Once I finish this witnesses will convey just what I mean… Come on down for story time with Uncle TLA, learn how yo boi got a taste of the big lights, how them lights corrupted his ass, how they tossed him straight back into the dark shit from whence he came.

Once upon a time in Mexico, not long ago... lived a little ese vato who made all that dough. He fought and he fought till he could fight no more... and finally one day the EAW fat cats came and let him come up thru that door. He got a taste of the limelight, got all the green, bitches, and hos… and he even had them fans screamin’ he name out errywhere that he goes…

But some shit changed when he got a taste of that gold… people called him a leader, said he was stunning and bold. But he proved himself none of those things, and out he sold. So he got put in his place… tossed out in that winter cold.

They said it was an injury, said it was a samurai who’d done it. But it ain’t none of that shit… cuz this vato...he too legit. To wrestlin’ his entire life be commit… to get fit, but he just another misfit, and that’s why there ain’t nobody else to blame but this own motherfuckin’ hypocrite.

Cuz these people supported him even as he turned his back to the dark side. Put on a scary mask, gave no fucks about anyone else ringside. He lost track of who he was, so deep were Mustafa’s lies… Perhaps he punished himself… for not seeing through his guise.

But wisdom ain’t solitary… when you alone… you become yo own adversary… you just ancillary… to the rest… and you get left out of every discussion of the best. When best ain’t somethin’ to aspire to, better is all you can do, every chance you take is a victory, ain’t shit left you ain’t already blew. You know I been through… it all, they got my name on the wall… as a champion, a motherfuckin’ brawler… but this dawg be unhinged from all y’all ‘ere, cuz just like Steroid Dawg I ain’t got no collar.

Nothing now to hold me back. I make no more excuses. A man is only as great as the choices that he chooses. And still he only weak as the people he abuses. So no more. I do shit right, the first time. I may have lost the rhyme but ain’t gonna lose myself in this climb. I’m back. I’m on the ball. Ain’t no shit gonna keep me out at all. Not even Trump’s wall. Fuck the haters… you know how we do. We back whether they want us or not like Saddam in 2002.

Now I’m done with the rhymes, TLA CLASSIC has arrived. Back in business, we never sellin’ out again. The #ouTLAwz are rollin’ again doin’ drive-bys on yo property. We ain’t holdin’ no grudges, but you fucks with us and yo gonna get put down. Hypocrites bein’ phased out like old technology, been doin’ this shit for so long the game done change. Can’t resist that… Only causes sufferin’... And yo boi bout to change shit around here, drown these resistant motherfuckers out. The Resistance ain’t gonna stop us, the Revolution is here. So throw yo middle fingers in the air if you ready to just not give a fuck again. I ain’t askin’ for support, I ain’t kissin’ ass. I ain’t lookin’ to make excuses and I ain’t beggin’ for fans. I got a old motto as my new motto, cuz I ain’t no gawd, I ain’t no messiah, and this time… I ain’t no hypocrite.

Lead don’t follow.

TLA bows his head, and slowly pulls his rag up over his face as he had done so many times before…

#HeBack