Original subtitles

Yo, you gotta tell

Momma Sa, that oxtail

with the red beans,

son... truth.

The kilos have come to the Island.

That's 18K, thereabouts.

We new members or what?

‐ Get these niggas some dessert.

I don't think we should be leaving

all of our supply in one place.

‐ What the fuck you waiting for?

‐ Yo, anybody grab the stash?

The money? Nothing?

My music.

B. O. B.

Where's my gun?

‐ That shit ain't here.

Nigga, Dennis got that shit.

‐ What?

You supposed to be my ace.

Oh, shit, here come Jah Son.

‐ Bobby D, what's up? Yo, what up, Jah?

Yo, that nigga Haze.

There go Cressy too.

Hey, how much you think them chains cost?

‐ Don't worry about it.

‐ Ah! ‐ Run your jewels, nigga!

Now, you gon' run your jewels,

unless you wanna lose your family jewels, motherfucker.

Hurry up.

‐ Ooh, those shits is ill, son!

‐ These joints is one of a kind.

‐ Ras clot...

‐

I'm feelin' like motherfuckin'

Scarface in this bitch, nigga.

Visit your mom, nigga.

I know she fucking misses you.

She told me that shit last night.

Keep the gun. Take the cannoli.

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Game over.

Try again.

Wu‐Tang again? Aw, yeah.

Again and again.

‐ You Jah Son? Hey, yo!

Freeze! Chill, chill, chill!

‐ Shit! ‐ Shit, nigga.

‐ I'm sending assistance!

What the fuck?

Yo, Jah, you're lucky.

Shit, we both been lucky.

Game might get you too,

especially the way me and you been playin' it.

Hey, yo, what else we supposed to do?

We born into this shit.

I mean, we ain't really got much of a choice,

know what I mean?

Yo, this your old rhyme book?

Nigga, why you stop?

I always thought you was dope.

‐ Man, whatever. Nah, yo, for real!

Whoo‐hoo! I'ma need me a copy of that shit.

Yo, DJ Nasty Nick, I got this tape, you heard?

Want you to play this shit on your show, tonight.

‐ I don't think so. Doesn't work that way.

Oh, nah?

Ah, tell me how it does work,

Mr. DJ.

Yo, I told you I'd get you on the radio, son!

Radio, son!

‐ So are we gonna make a record or what, D‐Lover?

‐ I don't know.

Depends on what my manager says.

What the fuck you think I'm gonna say, nigga?

‐ Yo, look at this shit, son.

Hard work pays off.

‐ Yo, this is that real Iron Man,

Tony Stark shit, son, know what I mean?

Yo, n‐niggas ain't‐‐

niggas ain't even up with 'em yet, son.

We made it.

But nah, you gotta come out to LA, though.

Yeah, you too.

Yo, looking good, Billy Ray.

‐ Feeling good, Louis.

You see, D‐Lover?

This what happens when you play the game right.

You win!

You lose.

Now, we will hear a few words

from the mother.

Then I will share a few words from the good book.

Then we will head to the dining hall

for some food, amen.

Miss.

And get you all on your way.

Amen.

Amen.

No! Please, no!

No, no, don't take my baby.

Don't take my baby!

No, please!

Oh, please, God, no!

Since the mother is not able to speak,

and the father is not present...

Oh, I can't.

I will go on with my sermon,

unless there is anyone who would love to share.

‐ I have a few words.

Okay, sister.

Here we all are again,

sitting amongst each other...

...'cause another mother's son has been taken from us,

over material items that can be replaced.

Well, Jah Son's life can't be replaced.

No. Nope.

‐

That boy made everyone smile.

He was so funny and full of life.

Maybe he could've been the next Eddie Murphy.

Lord knows his outfits could light up a room.

The pain of labor

and giving birth,

it's an indescribable pain.

But imagine the pain a mother feels

when her child is killed in cold blood.

We mothers don't imagine our babies

as thugs,

gangsters,

murderers.

We see them as our children.

And I know your so‐called street cred

may want you to get vengeance.

But vengeance is mine, so sayeth the Lord.

Amen.

And the soul that pulls the trigger,

I reckon, will suffer in his own hell.

Amen. That's right.

So mothers, daughters,

sons, friends, neighbors...

For God's sake,

you've got to stop all the shooting

in our communities.

That's right.

‐ This is our home.

Amen!

‐ These are our babies.

Amen.

‐ I miss you, son.

Sorry I couldn't say good‐bye.

Peace, Sha Rader.

What it be like, my dude?

Long time, no see.

Capital G. Mm.

You came all the way from Brooklyn?

Come on, son.

For Jah, I would've came from across the world.

Know what I mean?

Shit crazy.

‐ Nah, you know what's crazy?

Is how .5 grams of lead can decimate

a 160‐pound body, dawg.

Yo, Aunt Linda was speaking the truth up there.

They didn't have to do Jah Son like that.

True indeed.

Shit ain't right. Word up.

‐ Hey, yo, Bobby, cuz, come here.

That last joint y'all did,

"Schooling Brothers,"

was making noise all last summer.

Even in Brooklyn.

Tapes was gettin' worn out.

I had mad copies, niggas just stole 'em all.

Know what I mean?

Word.

‐ Hey, I can make you another dub.

‐ It's not about another dub, Bobby.

I'm talkin' about another tape.

When are y'all gonna start making more music together?

‐ I don't even know. ‐ We been busy.

You and my cousin right here are the next EPMD.

‐ Yeah, whatever's clever.

I got some B.I. to attend to.

Peace.

‐ Peace.

‐ Can everyone please make their way to the dining hall?

We have another service to prepare for.

Yo, D.

Hey, son.

Why don't you just go on and get yourself something to eat?

Momma Sa Restaurant

generously donated a feast for us.

Momma Sa?

Son, please.

‐ What's up, man? What you want?

Red beans, rice? What's up?

‐ What up, nigga?

‐ Hey, hey, hey, hey! ‐ Help us out with that!

‐ Hey, yo, fuck this‐‐ yo, nah, fuck this shit!

Yo, tell Cressy to take this fuckin' fish and ackee

and shove it up his fuckin' ass, nigga.

‐ Yo, yo, yo. ‐ Fuck!

Fuck is wrong with you?

‐ Why you comin' at me like that?

You know Jah was my man too!

‐ Yo, it ain't have to go down like that, son!

‐ Dennis!

Hey, yo, tell that knotty‐head nigga

that his business in Stapleton is dead, son!

We'd rather starve than to fuck with y'all niggas.

Fuck!

Shit!

Fuck!

‐ Bobby. Shurrie.

Help me clean up this mess.

Baby, go on home,

and you clean yourself up.

‐ Thanks, Ms. Diggs.

Whoever didn't get a plate,

just give us a moment.

We'll get you fed.

‐ There was nothing I could've done.

Jah robbed the nigga.

The fuck you think was gonna happen?

Yo, my Gs, we'll get past this.

We got a lot of biz to handle out here,

you know what I'm saying?

‐ Nah.

I don't think I know what you're saying.

‐ E'rybody loved Jah Son.

Everybody.

‐ Yo, come on.

‐ Hey, Ms. Diggs.

I‐I wanted to apologize to you

and Ms. Moore for what happened back there.

I was completely out of line.

‐ It's a painful day, Dennis.

We understand.

But you make sure you go and apologize

to Ms. Moore yourself, though.

‐ Yes, ma'am.

‐ How're your brothers?

‐ They a'ight.

And your mother?

‐ Same old, same old.

‐ Mm. Bet your boys are hungry.

Shurrie will make them a plate.

Nah, we‐‐ we good.

Nah, wait, no, you‐‐

you already got one quarrel today.

You don't get another.

I'ma fix you one too.

So busy blowing off steam,

you didn't get a chance to eat.

‐ Thank you.

Yo!

Yo, you pouring the whole bottle!

Yo, Jah wouldn't want you wasting all this on him.

He'd want this to go where it belong, son.

You foul.

'Sup, cuz?

'Sup with that 'Vine situation?

‐ Shit, you know,

still stuck in Brooklyn House.

All that money's going towards that lawyer, so...

‐ You and D just burnt that bridge with Haze, right?

‐ We couldn't put out for another key anyway.

Lost all our shit in the fire.

Them niggas would never front us.

So fuck it.

Hey, I did start applying for jobs, though.

A nigga hasn't heard nothin' yet, but what else can I do?

‐ Well, keep making that music.

You heard about Tribe, right?

Tribe Called Quest? Nah, what?

‐ I heard they got, like, a hundred‐K advance

for their next joint.

‐ A hundred thousand dollars?

Damn.

Yo, we could for sure bail out Divine with that shit.

‐ Yo, I used to battle Tip in school.

Yo, you know how much gold I can get for a hundred large?

Chains, rings‐‐

hey, yo, I'll make all my teeth gold.

Yo, get some fangs and shit.

Give you some love bites for real,

you know what I'm saying?

You stupid.

Hey, yo, where you goin'?

‐ Going home to write some jewels, what you think?

Okay, nigga.

‐ Tribe Called Quest gettin' a hundred,

I'm gettin' a half a mil, son.

Know what I mean?

‐ Hell, yeah, nigga. ‐ Peace out, man.

‐ Yo, he's right. ‐ Hell, yeah.

‐ When the last time you wrote some raps?

What?

I'll write a rap right now.

Check it.

‐ Okay.

Hey.

‐

‐ You stupid.

Ain't nobody paying you shit for that verse.

So what, then? I'll come up with another.

‐ If you do some real shit, though,

you can get that real money.

‐ ‐ Yeah, there more, man.

‐ All right.

‐ Yo, I thought we was on some crowd control shit, son.

Too many niggas in here.

‐ Yo, we the only spot on the block now.

Fiends gonna riot if we don't let 'em in,

know what I'm sayin'?

You move all that, I'll finally have enough money

to get that meeting with Cressy.

‐ Yo, why you gotta re‐up with this nigga, son?

‐ Yo, what's that?

That nigga foul for what he did to Jah Son, son.

‐ Foul?

Nigga, how the fuck you know who did what?

Huh?

Save all that street gossip

for the bitches in the street, my nigga.

You know, Jah Son might've been your boy,

but if he did that shit to me,

I woulda hung that nigga from a street lamp,

for the whole island to see.

Yeah.

I don't know if it's the new apartment,

that nice new bed I got you, or them fluffy fuckin' pillows,

but you startin' to feel a little soft around the edges,

my nigga.

Maybe I should send you back to that rooftop.

Get your game face back.

Mm, mm, mm...

I give it to her.

Yeah, ma.

Much luck.

Yeah, man.

‐ I went to the funeral.

‐ Mm.

‐ They're talking about not doing business with us anymore.

‐ No business?

With me?

That mean they ain't gwan eat.

They'll go back uptown. ‐ Let them.

Stapleton small potatoes.

The rest of the Island all mine.

What if this starts a trend?

Peoples get upset for this, that, or the other,

they go back uptown too.

Then you ain't got the Island locked up anymore.

Shit look like Brooklyn.

Divided up like a jigsaw puzzle.

‐ ‐ You lose money.

‐ Fix it, then. ‐ Fix it?

‐ You say you have a problem, man,

but you don't have no solution.

Make the people them have love for Cressy.

Hmm?

Yeah, man.

"Why did we start so late?"

Is that p‐p‐pork?

I don't eat that shit.

‐ ‐ You what?

A'ight, son.

You don't gotta eat.

My brother is not dead!

‐ Thank you. Mm‐hmm.

You take good care of them.

‐ Yeah, I don't know how I'ma do that now.

‐ You could get a job.

‐ Yo, I'm a high school dropout with felonies.

What kind of job you think I can get?

I applied to Arby's once, though.

They fucking laughed, yo.

Arby's.

And I don't even fuck with roast beef.

I don't know, those Beef 'n Cheddars

are kind of good, though.

Sorry.

‐ It's okay.

There wasn't a sign of life left.

Except...

By now, there were no more screams.

Yo, is this your rhyme book?

Why don't you make music with my brother anymore?

‐ Hey, yo, I'm out here putting in work.

It look like I got time to be messin' with all that?

‐ I don't know.

You're not putting in work now, so don't you have time?

‐

‐ I'ma take them outside.

‐ Okay.

Staring at me.

Y'all don't get in no trouble.

Mm, thank you.

...scattered through the air like bugs.

We came to put a wreath on my father's grave.

‐ Does B‐B‐Bobby

know you're f‐f‐fucking

his s‐s‐sister?

And we didn't have any.

‐ H‐hey, yo, you talk too much, son.

You talk too much.

‐

‐ Whoo!

Yo, Shotgun, who you supposed to be?

Ronnie, Bobby, Ricky, or Mikey?

‐ Shit, none of them niggas got nothin' on what I can do.

‐ Do your thang. What's the word, fam?

‐ You know shit's still been touchy since Jah's funeral.

Everybody know you my man.

‐ Mm‐hmm. ‐ Cradle to the grave, my G.

‐ Womb to the tomb.

But on the real,

shit's just been poppin' off over here

since Stapleton dried up, feel me?

‐ Well, I'll get at you.

‐ A'ight. Peace.

Peace.

‐ Yo!

Park Hill is sayin' it's dead out here.

What song y'all playin'?

That new Eric B. & Rakim, all day, man.

‐ Hmm.

I heard they're doing a show in Union Square on Friday.

They need to come here,

but no one ever does shows out this way.

‐ Mm.

Mm‐kay.

‐ Yeah. Yo.

You still got Eric B. number?

‐ Eric... yeah, man, why?

‐ We gonna put on a concert.

Where? ‐ Here. Staten Island.

It's better to use rock cocaine

than to sell it, according to the law.

You'll get a lighter sentence.

‐ I never used rock cocaine.

Why'd you hire this clown?

‐ Larry recommended him.

And this is my idea.

Not his.

‐ I ain't no goddamn crackhead. ‐ Watch your mouth.

You're looking at mandatory 20 years,

capital two.

If I can argue that it's for personal use,

for you and your fiend friends‐‐

and that's a big if, considering the amount‐‐

you might not do any time and just go straight to rehab,

if we get the right judge.

Divine.

You listen to me.

You are going to admit to being the biggest crackhead

Staten Island has ever seen,

if it means you get to come home.

‐ Yo.

Yo. Yo.

Yo, battle on the Island, son.

And Eric B. & Rakim gonna be there.

Rap battle, son.

‐ Yo, Eric B. & Ra‐‐ and Rakim?

‐ That's what I'm sayin'. ‐ Nigga...

Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo.

Yo, it says right here

the winner of the battle gets $5,000?

‐ Yo, we could‐‐ yo, we could pass 'em a demo!

Yo, we could get a working deal, son!

Yo.

‐ Yo, Cressy doing this shit?

It ain't about him, son, it's about the battle!

I'ma win this shit.

And I'm gettin' Divine out.

‐ Everything good with the lawyer?

‐ Yo, who I really need is this nigga Matlock.

Shit, he never lost a case in five seasons.

‐ He did once, in, like, a flashback or somethin'.

‐ I know there's gotta be something better on than this.

‐ You're Tarzan?

Two hundred and forty hours, niggas.

That's how long I'm in this bitch for.

A'ight?

Is Brooklyn in the house?

All day! Yeah.

Bronx, Queens,

get the fuck out of here.

Oh, I can't forget about Staten Island niggas.

Park Hill. Stapleton.

Bums.

So while I'm here,

this ain't just Brooklyn House of Detentions no more.

This my house.

My TV.

My phone.

No one touches it while I'm here.

A'ight?

‐ You mean this phone?

My bad.

Wrong day.

But I'ma call my girl one day this week.

See y'all then.

‐ That's what your mom said, baby boy.

‐ Whatever.

Books are better for your health, huh?

Bobby!

Bobby! Bobby!

Bobby, turn that down!

Yo.

Yo, I got at Haze.

Meeting with Cressy is on.

At this show right here.

A'ight?

‐ Rakim.

In Staten Island?

‐ Wow.

I'm surprised to see you here, nigga.

‐ What up, son? ‐ Yo.

‐ You know, I'm just tryin' to snatch

that cake, know what I mean?

‐ Yo, we all tryin' to get paid, know what I'm sayin'?

But if any of us win, it'll be for the same cause.

That's to get your brother out.

Hey, yo.

What's "Allah Justice," son?

It's my name now, know what I mean?

Not my slave name, Gary.

See, I got knowledge of self.

I ain't with all that eighty‐five movement.

Are you all ready... Yo, eighty‐five what?

‐ Hey, yo, yo. For Eric B. & Rakim?

‐ The god about to rip this one.

‐ Think it's time for me to call my cherry head.

‐ You want slot time,

you gotta pay for it.

‐ Pay you no mind, nigga.

Check, one, two!

We got a gang of MCs in here

tonight from all over the Island competing

for $5,000.

Courtesy of my man Cressy.

‐ Fuck that! Hold up, hold up.

Did Eric B. & Rakim just rip this stage up?

Also, for the rest of the night,

the bar is open.

All of this made possible by my man Cressy.

‐ Word, bless up. You know?

Cressy! Cressy!

‐ This nigga 7:30.

Cressy! Cressy! Cressy!

So I guess it's really over now, huh?

Everybody got love for Cressy again.

‐ Nah, it ain't over.

I'll push it to the side for now.

‐ Let the battle begin.

First up‐‐ One Man Army!

‐

Let's hear it for my boy Shotgun!

Comin' out from Brooklyn,

it's Allah Justice.

Coming up next to the stage is D‐Lover!

Yo.

Nigga, you fuckin' cut through that beat

like a hot knife through butter, nigga.

‐ You know what I'm sayin'?

Just a little somethin', somethin'.

‐ Yo, that shit was fuckin' fire, yo.

You need to be doing this shit.

Gettin' thick in here.

Niggas are droppin' hot shit for sure.

Coming up to the stage next is...

Bobby Dynamite.

‐ Nigga said my name wrong.

Yo, what the fuck?

My bad, my bad.

Coming all the way from Flatbush,

it's Triple Crown!

‐ Hell, no! Make some noise!

‐ Hey, these niggas' names wasn't even on the list!

Start the beat!

‐ Yeah. We in the house right now.

You know what I'm sayin'?

‐ Yo, fuck this fuckin' shit, yo.

Peace.

‐ Buh, buh, buh, buh! Yeah, man!

Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!

It's over, man!

Whoo!

‐ One, two, one, two.

It's not over yet.

We still have one more MC to go.

Introducing MC Dynamite.

‐ Yo, yo, it's your boy.

MC Dynamite.

About to have some fun.

Hey, DJ. Drop that beat.

Yeah.

All right, B!

‐ Yeah. Uh.

Yeah.

Yo.

Hey, what the fuck?

What?

Yo, fam.

Get 'em next time, all right?

You good. ‐ What?

‐ Get 'em next time. You good. ‐ I'm good?

‐ Yeah, get 'em next time. Come on.

‐ Hey, everybody.

Hey.

Everybody, uh...

yo, follow me, all right?

All right.

Clap your hands, everybody.

Everybody, clap your hands, yeah.

Clap your hands, everybody.

Everybody, clap your hands, yeah.

Uh.

Boo!

Next!

No!

‐ Man, fuck you, bitch‐ass CO.

I don't want this slop.

Think I am, a fucking animal?

If you don't eat,

you won't have the strength to last in here.

‐ How long they gonna keep us in this bitch, man?

‐ Probably two weeks.

It gon' feel like two months, though.

‐ Hey, how‐‐ how come you helpin' me out?

I ain't from Stapleton.

We from Staten.

We may be from separate hoods when we on the rock,

but when we off the rock, we gotta stick together.

Yo, we the smallest borough.

So how I see it,

it's Staten Island against the world.

‐ They robbed us.

One of us shoulda won that shit, son.

‐ Yeah, me.

‐ Your shit was hot, but my shit was lava.

An assistant to this manager gave me his number.

‐ Hey, yo, "assistant to this manager"?

Whatever, my shit had all the birds chirping.

‐ No matter what, none of our verses won.

‐ Definitely not that a cappella sperm shit.

You thought this was science class?

Man, look, whatever.

No matter what we would have done,

none of our verses would have won.

‐ Yeah, that's 'cause the nigga Cressy

had that shit set up for them Brooklyn bumbaclots

to win anyway.

‐ Nah, yo.

It's 'cause all them niggas went up there as a unit.

We all went up there as individuals.

Reppin' ourselves and not our borough.

You feel me?

‐ Well, I'm from Brooklyn, fam, get what I mean?

‐ You know what the fuck I mean, nigga.

‐ Yo, let's get up out of here, son.

Get back to this, know what I'm sayin'?

‐ Peace, peace. ‐ A'ight, peace.

‐ Word.

Yeah, I know that's right.

Excuse me, ladies.

Yo, puttin' this shit together

for the Island was smart.

I was ridin' with y'all regardless, my nigga.

Know that.

Cressy appreciates that.

He said you and him deal directly,

from now on.

‐ Word up.

That's what I'm talkin' about.

‐ You're welcome. ‐

‐ Yo.

Yo. ‐ Yo, your shit was mad deep.

That's the type of shit that be on yo' mind?

‐ Hey, you shoulda signed up.

You got one of the illest flows in Staten Island.

‐ Yeah, that's what you think, son.

‐ All right.

Hey, yo, you remember that, uh...

That, uh...

Yeah, son.

A'ight, son.

‐ Whoo‐hoo‐hoo‐hoo!

Hoo‐hoo!

‐ ‐ Hell, yeah.

Get on the line.

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