LS7 Battlers Story
The LS7 Battlers Story
Chapter 1
It was a grey autumn afternoon when my dad walked in with a surprise that would change everything a new recorder. This wasn’t just any tape deck; it could play music and had a microphone input. I could record over beats and spit lyrics, creating something that felt like magic. Back then, 2-step garage was just gaining traction, grime hadn’t yet taken over, and my older brother was always rapping along to whatever beat he could find. Watching him, I felt the itch to try, knowing I could keep up, maybe even outshine him if I found the right flow.
One day, that moment finally came. My first-ever lyric spilled out like I’d been waiting my whole life to say it: “Don’t watch me, watch TV BBC or MTV.” It was simple but powerful, like a stamp on the world saying, “I’m here.” That was the birth of “MC Bugsy.” Gone was the name “Tets,” known on the streets for selling weed mixed with teabag flavourings, yeah, I’ll admit, not my proudest moment. From that point forward, I was going to be something different, someone new. But to understand how I went from Tets to Bugsy, you’d have to go back a bit, back to where it all started.
Growing up in Chapeltown was its own kind of schooling, full of people who felt like family. My mom was from Manchester, and my dad, an immigrant from Jamaica, brought a toughness mixed with warmth that kept us rooted. I had my brother, of course, but there was also a whole crew of characters in my orbit. Evi, Mac 5, Cheese Man, White Boy Daniel, Hannah (who everyone called “Hannah Finger Me” for reasons best left unspoken), Micha Hannahs sister and Tennika, Slimszee who eventually rebranded as Darkside, Edward Popo,00J and his brother Sean and Tommy and Luke his brother that was gang and Smiler G, who somehow always seemed to have every girl’s attention.
Then there was Mac 5. One day, while exploring the back alleys our beloved ginnels I wandered up to Chapel Allerton and stumbled into a group of girls who were hanging out with guys from my primary school. It felt like crossing into another universe, one filled with girls who seemed bolder, more stylish, from a different world. They were from Allerton Grange High School, while I was still at Allerton High, and they quickly became a fascination. When they’d ask my name, I wouldn’t give it up, playing coy. Instead, I was just this mysterious figure, rocking a silver chain with a Bugs Bunny pendant, a prized gift from my parents’ trip to the States. That chain felt like my badge of honour, and soon enough, they started calling me “Bugsy” because of it.
Chapter 2
The name stuck, and with it came an alter ego. They’d ask, “Do you know Mac 5?” I’d smirk, pretending like I didn’t live right next door to him. “Nah, never heard of him,” I’d say. “F*** Mac 5!” They’d laugh, threatening to tell him, and I’d egg them on, loving every second. A few days later, I ran into Mac 5. “Some guy named Bugsy’s been talking smack about me,” he said. I laughed it off, telling him, “When we find him, let’s jump him!” But as the months went on, the joke took on a life of its own.
Finally, the worlds collided. I was chilling with my crew when those same Allerton Grange girls walked by, throwing out casual hellos “Hey, Mac 5! Hey, Bugsy!” Mac 5’s head whipped around, his eyes narrowing as he realized I was Bugsy all along. He started chasing me around the block, and I was laughing so hard I nearly tripped. He didn’t find it funny at first, but eventually, he came around. And just like that, I’d earned my name: Bugsy.
Life in Chapeltown was like that full of laughter, close calls, and the constant dance of figuring out who you were. You learned early on who had your back, who was family, and who to keep your eye on. And as for me, I had Bugsy a name and a new identity that would carry me forward into the wild journey that lay ahead.
In those days, I was all about finding a way in with the older crowd. My brother was part of that world chilling on the backstreets with the big names, the ones everyone respected. Whenever I tried to join, they’d laugh me off like I was just some kid, sending me on my way. But one afternoon, I spotted Daniel by himself, no crew in sight, and thought, Here’s my chance. So, I slipped over, acting casual, like I just happened to be there. “Hey bro, what’re you doing out here?” I asked, hoping to sound cool.
He looked up at me with this cold, almost smug expression, like he was looking right through me. “Here,” he said, handing me a small pack. “Take these ‘sweets’ to the guy at the end of the ginnel.” He nodded towards this scruffy-looking guy in the distance. “But listen, don’t give him anything until he hands you the cash, got it?” I wasn’t about to question it; this was my moment to prove myself.
So, I hopped on my bike, glancing back at Daniel for a sign of approval, and rode up to the guy. Up close, this bloke looked like he’d rolled straight out of a dumpster. He smelled like a mix of feet, stale beer, and bad decisions, his clothes hanging off him like they’d
Chapter 3
given up. The guy handed me £60 with no questions asked, and I tossed him the “sweets,” saying, “Keep your weird sweets, mate.” As I rode back, I was buzzing, half from the excitement, half from the mystery of what I’d just done.
When I handed Daniel the cash, I couldn’t resist asking, “What kind of sweets cost £60?” He just laughed, slipping me £50 from the wad and saying, “Do this for me for a couple of hours, and that’s yours.” That’s when I realized: I’d just landed my first gig. I felt like I was finally stepping up, part of something bigger. But then he added, “Don’t tell Mum and Dad,” sealing the deal.
From that day on, I was Daniel’s “Saturday Joey,” running his errands through the ginnels, trading “sweets” for cash, and raking in my share. My world had expanded by day, I was just another high school kid. But on Saturdays, I was hustling in the backstreets, learning the ropes of a game I barely understood.
At school, I took my hustle to new levels, bringing in extra cash by selling cigs and sweets, running a whole “mini market” in the lunchroom. I’d stash my stock in my bag, and at lunch, the “mandem” would come over to buy what they couldn’t get at the corner shop. Sometimes I’d even throw in a bit of extra business flair, like pretending we were out of stock to drive up the demand. It worked. My pockets were never empty, and my reputation started to grow. People didn’t just know me as Bugsy they saw me as someone who looked out for the crew, someone who had their back.
But the best part was writing lyrics on the side, crafting bars in between my school deals and ginnel runs. Every lyric felt like it was building towards something bigger, like I was weaving together a story. In my mind, I wasn’t just another kid with a notebook; I was preparing for a career, putting my world into words. And every Saturday deal was another chapter in that story, adding to the legend I wanted to create.
Of course, it wasn’t always smooth sailing. Some of those “customers” were questionable characters at best. One guy smelled so bad that just standing near him made my eyes water. Another one tried to pay with a handful of coins sticky with who-knows-what. I’d hold my breath, grit my teeth, and complete the job, knowing that each weird encounter was getting me closer to the dream.
Eventually, the ginnel runs, and school trades started to blend together, each one feeling like a step up the ladder. I was no longer just Daniel’s little brother; I was Bugsy, the kid with the beats, the bars, and a way of getting things done. And while I might have started as the “Saturday Joey,” I could feel something bigger coming. I was creating a name, a presence something no one could ignore.
Chapter 4: Between Two Worlds
What had become of me? The thrill of hustling, of hanging with my crew on the streets, of handling my brother’s “business” at school it all made me want more. But there was another side of me that craved something different. Between the street hustle, football, and balancing my rap dreams, I was becoming a known name at school, even scoring a spot on the football team. I wanted to fit in, to be popular, though I stayed clear of the smokers at the top trees. Life felt busy but full.
The only reason we could live like this, to even make it to this point, was down to my parents. My mum worked two jobs, and my dad hustled three, both trying their hardest to pull us out of Chapeltown. Chapeltown itself was a mix a once-Jewish neighbourhood that, over the years, had become home to the Afro-Caribbean community, with families from the Windrush generation settling here after World War II. They’d arrived with dreams of opportunity, of building a better future, and my parents wanted that, too. They dreamed of something more for us, but my brother had other ideas.
Daniel was racking up enemies by the week, stealing from shops, and causing chaos wherever he went. He seemed determined to test every limit, while I was focused on making a name for myself, aiming to become something more. At school, I was part of a rap group called BCUK (Black Connection United Kingdom) with my mates Bugsy (me), Critical, KP, and Pozer. We were always up for a good rap battle, and it didn’t take long before we’d made our rivalries, especially with the Jewish kids at school, like Ed Conlee, Moonshine, MC D to the M, and Brad Wine, who was rich and proud of it.
One day, after a fierce battle at the David Lloyd Leisure Centre, someone threw out a crazy idea: “Why don’t we join forces and call ourselves the Vice Versa Crew?” The idea was to bring together two worlds ours and theirs playing off the name of that old candy with white chocolate on the inside and milk chocolate on the outside. I wasn’t sure at first. The last thing I wanted was for some posh kids to ruin my image, but then they sent Brad Wine’s dad to pick us up from my house in this massive Mercedes. That’s when I started thinking, maybe these guys have something to offer after all.
We piled into the car, still half in shock, and were driven to “Millionaires’ Row” in Alwoodley, a part of Leeds I’d only ever heard about. When we pulled up, Brad’s house looked like something out of a movie huge, with a swimming pool and more rooms than I could count. Inside, we met Brad’s parents, who looked more like celebrities than regular people. His mum came out and asked us if we wanted sandwiches, and honestly, she was stunning a total fox. The lads and I tried not to stare, but we couldn’t help it. She had these, well... let’s just say she had some “enhancements” that were hard to ignore.
Then Brad led us downstairs to his “young man cave,” and we were speechless. DJ decks, a pool table, an actual swimming pool it was a paradise we’d only dreamed of. We’d known Ed Conlee and Moonshine from school, but meeting Brad and MD D to the M in their own element felt surreal. These guys were posh, hilarious, and nothing like what we expected.
Finally, we got down to what we’d come for: the music. It was like two worlds colliding—the streets of Chapeltown and the luxury of Alwoodley, mixing together over beats and bars. We were a strange blend of backgrounds, but somehow, it worked.
Chapter 5: The Vice Versa Debut and the Call to Join LS7
The Vice Versa Crew’s first set was an unforgettable mix of sounds and styles. They brought the slick "Pied Piper" garage flow, and we hit them with the raw "Leeds boy" vibe. It was electric. We recorded the whole thing, a freestyle session full of energy and unexpected moments. When we wrapped up, Brad’s mum brought out pizzas, and we all just chilled, hyped on the success of our first official set. Later, she drove us home in the big Mercedes, making us feel like we were going somewhere important.
By Monday, word had spread across the school. Copies of our set were circulating on CD, our Vice Versa debut was out there, and people were talking. Slowly but surely, the requests started rolling in. We were being asked to perform at parties, even small venues, and suddenly I was rubbing shoulders with a whole new crowd. These posh, well-spoken people from parts of town I’d only heard about they were surprisingly supportive, totally open to our flow and style. It was a world apart from what I knew, and I was intrigued.
One day, I was over at Slimszee’s place, and he was rapping away when I decided to jump in. I caught his flow right in the middle, and he looked at me like he’d just seen a ghost. He’d known me as Bugsy, the jokester, the friend but he didn’t know I could really MC. When I unleashed my own lyrics, his face lit up with surprise. Slimszee was already part of the LS7 Click, and after hearing me, he just nodded, saying, “Something big’s coming, bro. Be ready.”
The next day, I was at Mac 5’s house, chilling over a PlayStation session. Out of nowhere, I dropped some of my freshest bars, and he looked at me, wide-eyed. Mac 5 was part of the Battlers crew , too, and he let me in on a little secret: a big set was coming up, and they wanted me there. But I was torn.I was the top MC in Vice Versa, and we were building something strong. I wasn’t ready to leave them behind, especially since I wrote lyrics daily and had found my place there.
When the big day finally arrived, I found myself at Slimszee’s place, surrounded by some of the best in the game: Mac 5, Dee, Nasteeboi, Marvin, DJ DW, and, of course, Slimszee himself. These guys weren’t just MCs they were on a different level. Their flows were insane, tight, and polished, and I felt both challenged and at home. There was no fear, just pure respect for the craft. The air was thick with anticipation, and I knew I’d have to bring my best.
When it was my turn, I dropped my newest lyrics, and the room went wild. The DJ pulled the track back twice a reload, twice in a row! The top MCs in the crew were hyping me up, and I felt a surge of confidence, like I’d unlocked a new level of skill. Right there, in that room, surrounded by the LS7 Click and the Battlers crew, I knew I was in the presence of something bigger. And when they offered me a spot, I didn’t hesitate. This was the crew I was meant to be with, and from that moment on, we became the LS7 Battlers.
That day changed everything. I found a new level of confidence, a crew that respected my talent, and a place where my voice felt like it truly belonged.
The group chat was popping off that morning. Slimszee, naturally the early bird of the crew, sent a voice note that shook Bugsy awake.
“Yo, big news, man. Leeds Carnival wants us on the main stage. It’s time to shine, bro. Call me!”
Bugsy groggily wiped his eyes, still half-asleep, but those words “main stage” yanked him upright. He jumped out of bed, nearly tripping over his trainers.
The first call he made wasn’t to Slimszee, though. It was to his mum.
“Mum, you’re never going to believe this! Leeds Carnival… main stage… LS7 Battlers!”
She yawned on the other end. “Joshua, it’s barely 7 a.m. Let me guess, you’re ‘world famous’ now?”
“Not yet,” Bugsy grinned, “but give it time.”
The crew gathered that afternoon at Slimszee’s nan’s house, their unofficial HQ. Slimszee had cleared the living room, replacing the sofas with turntables and speakers. Mac 5, Jetson, Dee, and the rest filed in, hyped but half-distracted.
Bugsy took the floor. “Listen up, this isn’t just another set. This is Leeds Carnival. The whole city’s gonna see us, and we’ve gotta bring it. Slimszee’s already cooking up the beats. But I need everyone to be sharp, no slip-ups, no slacking.”
Dee snorted. “Relax, bruv. We’ve done bigger crowds.”
“Bigger crowds?” Bugsy shot back. “Last week we performed in a car park behind Chicken Cottage.”
Laughter erupted, but Bugsy held his ground. “This is serious. We nail this, and the next step’s getting signed. Trust me.”
The crew broke into rehearsals, but Bugsy couldn’t shake a feeling. Mac 5 seemed distracted, Dee kept glancing at his phone, and Slimszee whispered something to Jetson, shooting Bugsy a side-eye. Something was off, but he couldn’t pinpoint it.
Later that night, Slimszee pulled Bugsy aside. “Bruv, you need to know something. Ghost Crew’s gonna be at Carnival, and word is they’re plotting something.”
Bugsy’s jaw tightened. “Plotting what? A battle? Drama?”
“Who knows? Just keep your head up.”
The tension simmered as the days ticked down. By the time Carnival weekend arrived, the crew was hyped but on edge. Bugsy, ever the perfectionist, ran through lyrics in his head as they arrived at the venue.
The Carnival crowd stretched as far as Bugsy could see, a swirling mass of colour, sound, and energy. The stage was set, the mics tested, and the beats queued. As the crew stepped into the spotlight, Bugsy took a deep breath.
This was it. No turning back now.
Chapter 6: Carnival Chaos
The sun blazed down on Potter newton Park as the Leeds Carnival hit full swing. Steel drums echoed through the sir expensive jerk chicken sizzled on makeshift grills, and kids darted between stalls, clutching candyfloss and oversized balloons. It was the kind of day that felt electric, buzzing with possibility for LS7 Battlers, it was their moment to shine.
Bugsy stood at the side of the stage, watching the crowd swell. His heart pounded in sync with the bass reverberating from the speakers. Slimszee was checking the decks, Dee was hyping himself up in the mirror of a parked car, and Mac 5? Well, Mac 5 was leaning against a speaker, chatting up a girl in a neon tracksuit.
“Oi, Mac,” Bugsy hissed, “you think this is Love Island or something? Get your head in the game, bruv.”
Mac 5 grinned, completely unfazed. “Relax, yeah? This girl says she knows the Ghost Crew. Recon work, inn it?”
“Yeah, recon your way to the stage before I lose it,” Bugsy snapped, shoving him towards the lineup.
The host grabbed the mic. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for the highlight of the day! Make some noise for LS7 Battlers!”
The crowd roared, a sea of hands in the air as the crew took the stage. Slimszee hit play, and the beat dropped hard. Bugsy stepped forward, mic in hand, and unleashed the first verse.
“Yo, LS7 in the building, we’re here to take the crown,
From the streets to the skies, Leeds holds it down.”
The crowd exploded, feeding Bugsy’s energy. He passed the mic to Dee, who rolled into his verse smooth as butter, and then to Mac 5, who added his signature humour with punchlines that had people doubling over in laughter.
For a moment, it felt like nothing could go wrong. But then Slimszee gave Bugsy a nudge, nodding toward the edge of the crowd. There they were Ghost Crew, arms crossed, wearing matching hoodies, looking like they’d stepped out of a low-budget music video.
Marvin, their frontman, smirked as he leaned in to whisper something to his crew. A second later, they were pushing their way toward the stage. Bugsy clocked them but kept his composure.
“Yo, Chapeltown,” Bugsy called into the mic. “Let’s show these man why we run this city!”
The crowd roared in agreement, but Marvin was already grabbing a spare mic from the side. “Run this city?” he shouted back. “You lot can barely run a soundcheck.”
The audience gasped, then erupted into laughter. Bugsy felt his blood boil, but he knew better than to let Marvin see it. Instead, he turned to Slimszee.
“Drop the next beat,” he said through gritted teeth. “Let’s show this joker what real bars sound like.”
The beat dropped, heavy and aggressive, and Bugsy launched into a freestyle so sharp it could cut glass. The crowd went wild as he tore into Marvin’s ego, his flow seamless, his punchlines deadly.
Marvin shot back with his own verse, and for a few minutes, it was pure chaos bars flying, the crowd screaming, and even the kids perched on their parents’ shoulder throwing imaginary punches.
When it was all over, LS7 Battlers stood victorious. Marvin’s mic dropped to the ground, and Ghost Crew slunk away, muttering excuses. Bugsy looked at his crew, sweat pouring but smiles wide.
“LS7!” he shouted, holding his mic high. “This is our time!”
And for that moment, it truly was.
Chapter 7: Fame’s Double-Edged Sword
After their show-stealing performance at Leeds Carnival, LS7 Battlers were the talk of Chapeltown. People stopped Bugsy in the street, kids rapped his lyrics at bus stops, and even the corner shop auntie gave him a sly nod when he bought his Lucozade. For a brief moment, it felt like the crew could do no wrong.
Radio DJs began spinning Battle Begins during their evening sets, and a local promoter offered the crew a slot at a popular underground rave. Bugsy should have been thrilled, but the cracks were already starting to show.
At rehearsals, Slimszee was the only one who showed up on time. Dee rolled in late, claiming his “phone died,” and Mac 5? He arrived with a half-eaten kebab and no excuse whatsoever.
“Yo, am I the only one taking this seriously?” Bugsy snapped, pacing the room. “We’re getting bookings, respect, airtime. Do you think that just happens?”
“Relax, Bugsy,” Mac 5 drawled, dropping onto the couch like he owned it. “We’re smashing it. A few minutes late won’t kill us.”
“That attitude might,” Bugsy shot back.
The tension lingered through the session, and when Bugsy left, he couldn’t shake the frustration. He walked home, headphones in, his mind racing. This wasn’t what he dreamed of when he joined LS7. Where was the fire? The hunger?
When he got home, his mum was waiting, tea in hand.
“Joshua, you look like the weight of the worlds on your shoulders,” she said, patting the seat next to her.
Bugsy sighed, sinking into the chair. “It’s just… the crew. Some of them don’t take it seriously. They don’t see what we could be.”
His mum smiled knowingly. “The thing about big dreams, son, is not everyone will share them. But if it’s worth it, you’ll find a way to carry the load.”
Her words stayed with him, but so did the frustration.
The next night, at the underground rave, the energy was electric. The venue was packed, the air thick with anticipation. LS7 Battlers stepped onto the stage, and for a moment, all the tension melted away.
The crew delivered a performance that had the crowd screaming for more. Bugsy’s flow was razor-sharp, Slimszee’s beats were on point, and even Mac 5 brought his A-game. But as the night wore on, Bugsy noticed something. Dee was spending more time chatting up girls at the bar than hyping the crowd. Mac 5 disappeared halfway through their set, only to reappear looking dazed and out of it.
When the night ended, Bugsy pulled Slimszee aside.
“Man, I don’t know if I can keep this up,” he admitted. “I’m giving everything, and half the crew acts like it’s a hobby.”
Slimszee nodded, his face serious. “I hear you, bruv. But this is the game. Not everyone’s built for the grind.”
Bugsy walked home that night with a heavy heart. Fame was everything he thought he wanted, but the reality was proving to be far more complicated.
Chapter 8: Enter “Chesca”
One night, while scribbling furiously in his notebook, Francesca called.
“Hey, you okay? You’ve been quiet,” she said.
Bugsy hesitated, then sighed. “Just... crew stuff. It’s a lot.”
“Well,” she said in that teasing tone of hers, “maybe you need to let some things go. Focus on what makes you happy.”
Bugsy chuckled bitterly. “If I did that, there’d be nothing left.”
Francesca’s silence spoke volumes, and Bugsy realized how heavy everything had become.
The crew was falling apart. His personal life was a mess. But quitting? That wasn’t in his DNA.
So now we reset the levels we become a next kind of beast, you have bad days and you have monumental bad days, got to find that edge again.
Francesca had been with Bugsy from Kids she was the white girl from the hood who was a “whooty” a white girl with a booty. She would ride with Bugsy in his car the Nova GTE.
This was the love machine car this was the car Bugsy would park up the back of his mum’s house.
Joshua whose car is that at the back of the house. I been seeing it on the morning. Do you know who’s it his? Bugsy replied in a satirical voice what a mystery who this could be , Maybe someone of importance, someone crazy lets just leave it …. Why you do ask by the way.
That person cant park at all , Bugsy side eyed and went about his day , Saying to himself he has to move better, those nights of moving around had to stop its madness but we move we get on ,
And stop driving to school its getting to hot there is there any need to just suck up and blast the GTE round the ends. Going clubbing going evolution and even nightclubs in town , just being OTT
`
Chapter 10: Francesca's World
Francesca had been with Bugsy since they were kids. She was the white girl from the hood who didn’t live in the hood, a whooty a white girl with a booty. She rode with him in his Nova GTE, the love machine he parked behind his mum’s house.
Francesca offered more than a release. She was his escape from the chaos of LS7. Her world was nothing like his her posh house, quiet street, and carefree attitude were a stark contrast to the hood. Her bedroom became his sanctuary, a place where he could forget the weight of betrayal and expectations, even if only for a while.
“Ever think about leaving it all behind?” she asked one night as they lay in her bed.
“All what?” he replied, knowing full well what she meant.
“The hood. The crew. The drama.”
Bugsy stared at the ceiling, his jaw tightening. “That’s not how it works, Cesca. You don’t just leave. LS7 it’s who I am.”
Her blue eyes searched his face. “No, it’s who you were. You don’t owe anyone loyalty if they’re dragging you down.”
Chapter 11:Breaking Point
Bugsy knew Francesca’s words held truth, but the hood had its own rules. As much as he craved the quiet of her world, he couldn’t escape the noise of his own. The crew was noticing his absence. Slimszee, Mac 5, even some of the younger heads they were all questioning his commitment.
“Bugsy,” Slimszee said one evening, nodding toward the GTE, “you’ve been dipping out a lot lately. What’s that about?”
“Man’s just sorting some things,” Bugsy replied coolly.
Mac 5 wasn’t as subtle. “Sorting things, or chilling in that mansion with your snow bunny? Don’t think we don’t know, bruv.”
Bugsy bristled, but he kept his tone even. “What I do in my time is my business. Focus
But the tension was building. Bugsy was caught between two worlds that didn’t mix.
One night, as he drove Francesca home, she leaned her head against his shoulder. “You’re different when you’re with me,” she murmured.
“How d’you mean?”
“You’re lighter. Happier. Like you’re not carrying the weight of the world.”
Bugsy didn’t reply. He couldn’t. Because as much as he wanted to believe he could live in her world, he knew LS7 would always call him back.
“Cesca,” he said, pulling up to her driveway and killing the engine. “I need to tell you something.”
She turned to him, her blue eyes filled with curiosity. “What is it?”
Bugsy hesitated. He wasn’t ready. Not yet. But he knew the time would come when he’d have to choose her paradise or his reality.
Chapter 12: One Thing after Another
I can’t find my lyric books! Chesca, where did you put them?" Bugsy barked, his voice cracking under the strain of a chaotic morning.
The toll of his up-and-down life was wearing thin. Bugsy’s mind, once sharp, was slipping into a spiral of madness. Days felt heavier, nights longer. His thoughts had started to feel like overplayed records scratched, distorted, and stuck on the same misery.
Chesca didn’t even look up from her phone. Her response was as cold as the winter air biting through the walls. “I don’t have your damn lyric book.”
And that was it. The dam broke. Bugsy flipped, smashing the corner of the table with his fist. The echo rang out louder than either of them expected.
Another day. Another monumental disaster. But today? Today wasn’t just bad it was a not today, Satan level of calamity.
Rehearsals: Running late.
The GTE: Flat tyre.
“FFS, man!” Bugsy yelled as he kicked the wheel for emphasis. “Had a full tank as well.”
Now his pride, his plans, and his patience were flatlining along with the tyre. He stood there, staring at the car, debating whether to light it on fire and walk away from it all.
“Gonna have to leave this whip up here. I’ll deal with it later,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head. But every decision felt like the wrong one. The boss’s scales were still sitting in his bag. The graft was still on. Time? Wasted.
He trudged back into Chesca’s place, shoulders sagging like someone had drained his soul out through the soles of his shoes. “Oi, Chesca,” he muttered, leaning against the doorframe. “Know anyone who can sort a tyre?”, maybe I can holler at them dodgy mechanics from Harehills there quick I need help on this , I eventually get through but my god its gonna be peak when I get to the endz .
Her reply came laced with sarcasm, but she made a call. Soon, one of Bugsy’s dodgy “lala” mechanics was en route to sort the GTE. For three hours, Bugsy loitered around, trying not to think about how much of a screw-up this day was turning into.
When he finally got the car fixed, he turned his phone back on. Notifications flooded in like a tsunami. Missed calls. Messages. From him.
The boss.
“Oh, I’m done for,” Bugsy whispered to himself, his throat tightening as he scrolled through the calls. He barely had time to breathe before the phone lit up again. It was the boss live and direct.
Bugsy swiped to answer, holding the phone to his ear like it might explode. He barely got out a "Hello" before the shouting began.
“You think this is a joke? THREE HOURS, BUGSY! Three fuckin’ hours, and you leave me hanging like this?” The voice on the other end was shrill, a stark contrast to the towering figure it belonged to. But the rage was real, every syllable hitting like a hammer. “You know how much we lost today? DO YOU?”
Bugsy didn’t respond. He couldn’t.
“Get. Back. Here. Now,” the boss growled, the squeaky pitch of his voice doing nothing to soften the threat.
The drive back to the ends was pure dread. Bugsy’s stomach churned with anxiety, his thoughts spiralling into worst-case scenarios. He imagined the boss’s shiny bald head glistening with sweat as he shouted, fists clenched like wrecking balls.
The man was massive, built like a tank a bald-headed Mandingo silverback with arms thicker than Bugsy’s legs. But it wasn’t just his size that made him terrifying. It was the squeaky voice. Somehow, the higher the pitch, the more unhinged he seemed.
As Bugsy pulled up, he sat in the car for a moment, gripping the wheel tightly. “Should’ve just gone back to bed,” he muttered. But it was too late for regrets.
He stepped out of the car, heart pounding so hard it echoed in his ears. The boss stood waiting, his hulking figure casting a shadow over the dimly lit pavement.
“Bugsy,” he said, voice unnervingly calm.
Bugsy froze.
“Inside. Now.”
The next few moments blurred into chaos. Shouting, shoving, the boss’s voice cutting through the air like a blade. Bugsy took the blows verbal and physical gritting his teeth through the pain. Every word was a reminder of how deep he’d fallen.
But somewhere, buried beneath the fury, Bugsy felt a flicker of resolve. He couldn’t keep living like this. Something had to change. But for now, he had to survive the day.
And as the boss’s voice rang out, Bugsy’s thoughts drifted. Tomorrow would be different. It had to be. Because if it wasn’t, he wasn’t sure he’d make it through another monumental day like this one.
Chapter 13: Decadence and Life
Pain. Disparity. The echoes of what just happened replay in my mind, over and over, like a broken tape. My life flashed before my eyes, and now I know I’ll never be the same again. Thoughts? No, incoherent fragments swirl as I reel, asking myself: Why me? /ut then, somewhere in the haze, a spark lights up: I got this. I will have this.
Football trials. LS7 Battlers rehearsals. A radio performance on the horizon. Enemies on the road. Enemies in the game. It’s been one of those bad weeks. And now, hobbling around because of my own mess-ups, I feel the weight of accountability pressing on my chest. Funny thing is, the streets are teaching me lessons the schools never did, and I’m not even 18 yet. Life, man. One moment, you’re in your brother’s room spitting lyrics, the world feeling simple and raw. The next? It’s drama. Beef. Hustling selling this, that, and the third just to keep your head above water.
Somewhere between milestones and becoming MC Bugsy, I’ve started feeling the pressure. It’s not just the grind; it’s everything. My girl, with her fiery temper and insatiable appetite for… well, everything. The streets, always watching, always testing. My own thoughts, suffocating me in this vortex of expectation and chaos. I need a counterbalance. I need a vent. I need… an escape.
My chest heaves as I think of it all. This situation feels like a ticking bomb, each second tighter than the last. I’m caught between explosions of rage and moments of stillness where I can barely exhale. Woosah, I tell myself, trying to ground my emotions. But this pressure point it’s combustible. My life’s a storm, and I’m in the eye of it, praying to find the courage to believe in myself again. To purge the inequities out of my life.
I look around and wonder if anyone else can see it. This decadence, this life of duality of chasing dreams while running from nightmares. Will the hustle pay off? Will the LS7 Battlers rise above the noise, or will we become just another name that faded into the shadows? These are the questions that haunt me in the quietest moments.
But then, deep down, I know one thing: I’m not done yet. Not by a long shot. This is just the beginning of the story, not the end. If there’s one thing the streets have taught me, it’s how to fight. And fight I will, for my team, my dreams, and most of all… myself.
Could I do more could I be the person who tries and becomes the best version of himself it hurts how far I came to let myself down, to what end to what point has this happened to me, I had the record deal got screwed over and now here I am 37 with
A family a longtime girlfriend a few relationships some women, some girlfriends
Now I don’t care about what who and where and what. About me and my family the losses the pain and building bridges is a something I am striving to. Success is something I am chasing, success is something I am on , I will not be defaulted I will not stop I refuse to even stop at all I am what I. family first and foremost.
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