Original subtitles

(hip-hop bass thudding)

(sirens wailing faintly)

(hip-hop music over speakers)

Damn, man. It's hot as hell in there.

Don't be breaks, man.

You know, we could, um...

We could do some instrumental shit,

you know, like a Kendrick album.

I know the recorder a little bit, so, like,

we could do a song like "Pussy Relevance."

You can come in like... ♪ Pussy relevance ♪

- Both: ♪ So intelligent ♪ - And then I can come in like...

♪ Do, do-do-do, do, do ♪

♪ Do-do-do-do-do, do, do, do ♪

♪ Do-do-do, do, do ♪

And you can be like, "Bye, everybody,"

- Like, "I'm gonna take a break." - (coughing)

(laughter)

(laughing)

(sighs)

'Sup, guys? I'm Zan.

Hey! Paper Boi.

Good shit, homey.

You blowing up right now, my nigga.

Yeah, I don't know you.

But I'm still your nigga, believe me.

Shit, are you even black?

Of course I am.

You want a hat, Paper Boi?

Nah, we're... We're good, man.

All right.

Peep this. (phone clicks)

Is that a meme depicting what happens to you

or to bae when they scroll through the DMs?

(tsks) Man, whatever.

I got those likes.

Guess who saw someone throw up on the booth?

Hey!

Back the fuck off Paper Boi, man!

- The fuck, man? - Whoa.

Oh. My bad.

Is this your boy?

'Sup, man? I'm Zan.

You want a hat?

Nigga.

- Yeah. - Right on.

Let me get one for the 'gram.

(hoverboard whirring)

Oh, yeah. (camera shutter clicking)

And one more for Snapchat.

All right, man. That's enough.

What? Are you sure?

I'm a photographer, man.

I took this.

Oh, it's your face next to a butt.

Wait, I forget. What's your email?

I never gave it to you.

It's cool, just... just take my phone number, man.

Yeah, yeah, I'll text you mine.

Maybe we can collab on a song or shirt.

Or sneakies. Yo!

Me and my mans make baby sneakers for adults.

We good, bro. Take that over there.

Yeah, a'ight. I see you, then.

(hoverboard whirring)

(Xavier Wulf's "Philosopher's Throne")

- ♪ I pull off with my (...) finna throw a fit ♪

- ♪ Who? Who? ♪ - ♪ I pull up on a bitch ♪

♪ I don't say shit, she getting in ♪

♪ But I had to kick her out ♪

♪ 'Cause I ain't tell her ass to get in ♪

(electronic music slowly builds over headphones)

♪ ♪

Paper mail.

♪ Paper mail, all about my paper mail ♪

(chewing) Mm. Mm.

Breakfast cup.

You made that up.

Everything's made up, nigga, stay woke.

Hey, man.

That dude from last night talking shit.

What?

"Paper Boi, who getting

"a lot of hype in the streets for a possible

"involvement with a murder, is, how you say,

not as talented as people think."

That's a weird... sentence.

(keys clacking rapidly)

Right, uh, you ready to go?

- Yeah. - Oh, also,

is it okay if I spend the night over here again?

Wayne. (hisses)

(cell phones ding)

Damn, bro, you going off, ain't you?

- (keys clacking) - Yep.

Yeah, man. Don't bait this dude.

You'll just make it worse.

(keys clacking)

Hey! (light thud)

You're gonna make it worse!

(keys clacking)

AIDS was invented to keep

Wilt Chamberlain from beating Steve McQueen's sex record.

You know, by '69, he was already

number three on the all-time list.

By '71, he would have beat that boy for sure.

I thought AIDS was made by the government to kill homosexuals.

Oh, yeah, that too, I mean, but...

Two for one.

Mm-hmm.

Who's Steve McQueen?

(scoffs)

The actor, man. You know.

The King of Cool.

You know, guy from The Sand Pebbles.

I don't know.

Man, most black people don't know who Steve McQueen is.

Really?

Yeah, but I thought, you know, that you'd be

into that kind of stuff, but guess not.

But you know who Steve McQueen is, though.

Yeah, well, I'm Nigerian.

Okay.

- (hip-hop music) - Yo, man, the club,

it's so lit, it's so lit up in here.

Yo, how you feeling? Lit!

Ooh! Yeah!

(Twitter app whistles)

(jazzy music)

Ah, recording all night really paid off.

Oh, look, I found all my mixtapes.

Let's put 'em back where they belong.

(gas pump clicks)

(store entrance bell chimes)

(relaxed music over radio)

MAN: How much can I get for this gun?

MAN: I need to get a copy of your driver's license first.

MAN: That makes sense.

- All right, I'll see you. - Good luck.

♪ ♪

Yeah, what's up?

EARN: Yeah, um, I got this phone, it's new.

I want to see how much I could get for it.

MAN: I got to ask my boss. EARN: Cool.

Uh, is it cool if I have...

I have something of yours while you have something of mine

like, like a driver's license or something like that, just...

- (samurai sword resounds) MAN: No.

Earn.

Yeah?

Earn!

Yeah?

What?

Get this sword.

Why?

We could trade up on it.

We get you a lot more money.

♪ ♪

I really need this, man.

Well, if you need the money, take the money.

I'm just saying I can get you more.

♪ ♪

MAN: $190.

Actually, let me get this sword, man.

♪ ♪

MAN: You want to swap it out? - Yeah, I want to swap it out.

♪ ♪

Hey, you know who Steve McQueen is?

Yeah.

Would you know who Steve McQueen was

if you didn't work here?

Black people don't know who Steve McQueen is.

I keep that there for protection.

If some dude come in here asking about that poster,

I know he's trying to get me to turn around so he can rob me.

Sign this.

♪ ♪

Get you a receipt.

Thank you.

I wasn't trying to... rob you.

- (hip-hop music) - 'Sup, guys?

It's your boy, Zan, with another mixtape review.

If you like what you hear,

hit this Like button and re-blog the fuck out of my ass!

Yeah! (air horn blares)

Let's talk about the current king of stan rap,

Paper Boi.

MAN: ♪ Paper Boi, Paper Boi ♪

ZAN: The first L this dude took

is naming himself Paper Boi in the first place.

There's already a rapper Paperboy.

He had that song "Ditty."

Or how about this Paper Boi?

Also this Papuh Boi too.

I mean, how am I supposed to spell "failure"

when you're taking all the Ls?

♪ ♪

MAN: ♪ Paper Boi, Paper Boi ♪

♪ Always 'bout that paper, boy ♪

This Paper Boi is hot.

This is the problem with rap right now, man.

Every nigga can't sell drugs,

just like every nigga can't rap.

But when you're out here and you can't do both,

what the fuck are you doing, bro?

(somber rock music)

I mean, really?

♪ ♪

He is kind of funny. What's his Twitter handle?

Man, shut up.

You told me to watch it.

♪ ♪

Yo, is this nigga Indian?

♪ ♪

I don't like Indian dudes who say "nigga."

(pool balls clacking, ball thuds)

It's just the Internet. It doesn't matter.

Man, he out here saying I can't rap and I don't move.

Man, that's disrespect.

You don't want people to know you move.

- Trust me. - I don't, man,

but I can't have people out here talking shit.

He messin' with my actual business, my life.

He don't even know what he talkin' about, man.

Nobody checking his credentials.

Why he get to attack mine? Shit.

MAN: ♪ You walked into my life ♪

He's one of these misguided niggas who loves hip-hop.

No, he don't, man.

He out here selling T-shirts.

He exploiting it.

MAN: What he look like?

(inhales)

(scoffs) I mean,

is he Dominican, man? Like...

Somebody was in here looking for you today,

waiting when I opened.

Really?

This dude?

No, he wasn't Dominican, I don't think.

But he was different.

Shaved side of his head.

Pink jacket.

And he wasn't a friend.

Sitting in his car when I opened up.

Dodge Challenger, '70s, tan.

Cleaner than the board of health.

I'll tell you, smoking a Swisher

with no weed.

Guy gave me the creeps.

(Twitter app whistles)

♪ ♪

Yo. Zan going on now.

(scoffs)

♪ ♪

(chuckling)

The fuck?

MAN: ♪ Paper Boi, Paper Boi, Paper Boi... ♪

What you think?

Bruh.

MAN: ♪ Paper Boi, Paper Boi, Paper Boi... ♪

- What you think? - ♪ I got... ♪

- Bruh. - Zan?

Nigga, I know that guy.

He used to come down to the old place.

Word?

In fact, I think I know where he works.

♪ ♪

No.

(hip-hop bass thuds)

♪ ♪

Do you know if you can block someone on a flip phone?

Why?

'Cause that dude Zan keeps mass-texting me

every party in Atlanta

and he keeps calling them "movements"

and I fucking hate him.

Hmm.

Wasn't that dude, like, half Chinese or something?

I don't know.

Probably.

He was pretty short.

Ni-i-ice!

Chinese people are short

'cause of Genghis Khan.

- Look it up. - In what?

The Racism Book?

(Keith Ape's "It G MA Remix" playing over speaker)

Look, this dude killed enough people

to lower the temperature on Earth.

And if he conquered you

and you were bigger than this wheel he had,

crrk, he'd kill you.

♪ ♪

Is that true?

You don't think that had an effect genetically?

Plus, Chinese people don't like black people no way.

- Look it up. - Again, where?

♪ ♪

And he's not Chinese.

I'm not Chinese.

Wait right here, bro.

MAN: ♪ Rambo, rambo, rambo ♪ (machine gun fire)

♪ Rambo, rambo ♪

♪ Bitch, I'm a zombie ♪

(rapping in Korean)

(dice rattling)

(rapping in Korean)

♪ Camo down, you know we going ♪

♪ Harder than a mutha, mutha(bleep) ape ♪

- ♪ Whoo ♪ - (rapping in Korean)

♪ ♪

He said meet him around back.

No, he didn't.

♪ ♪

(man speaking foreign language)

(speaking foreign language, crying)

(goat bleating)

(yelling in foreign language)

Oh, yay.

My man.

Thank you very much.

Yeah?

Brother.

Is he going to get the money?

Uh...

Got to make a quick trade up.

It's the last stop.

Come on, Barfight.

(dog growls and barks lightly)

(goats bleating)

(sirens wailing)

Hey, man.

Oh, hey, what's up, man?

Nigga...

- We need to talk. - Yeah, sure, we can talk.

I just gotta deliver this, though, uh...

Ride with me. We'll talk.

You coming, bro?

(engine turns over)

(sighs)

So what's up, man?

- You working on a mixtape? - Look, man.

I don't know if you know what's happening out here,

but this ain't no game, a'ight?

I'm getting tired of niggas online harassing me.

Ah, fan engagement.

No, man, you messin' with my life, man.

This my job.

Helping us get money, though.

Nigga!

There's no money anywhere near rap.

Now, I know it look fun and games on The Shade Room,

but... niggas die.

People are forgotten.

Shit is real.

Yo, can I use that?

Use what, man?

What you just said.

Like, if I was recording this, could I use that?

Nigga, are you recording me right now?

I record everything, man.

Everything's valuable to someone.

Okay, so then you admit it.

You ain't no critic or a photographer.

You... you like a salesman or something.

What's the difference?

I mean, it's all the game.

We're all just hustling.

You too.

'Cause I have to.

I scare people at ATMs, boy.

So I have to rap.

I mean, that's what rap is... Making the best

out of a bad situation, brother.

Right. You're exploiting

your situation.

What?

You're exploiting your situation to make rap,

and I'm exploiting you exploiting that.

Money, bro.

(exhales)

Whatever, man.

I, like... I could say some shit right now,

but I ain't trying to go off on you with your son back there.

That's not my son.

That's my business partner.

We make Vine videos together.

Hos love this little nigga.

He just needs an edge.

We got a catch phrase, though. Say it!

Sure I know, bitch!

Hmm.

Try the alt.

I... (sustained bleep)

(bleep continues)

on everybody face.

(chuckling) Hmm?

Put your seat belt on, Quentin.

(engine running)

(hip-hop bass thudding)

♪ ♪

(brakes screech)

(gear clicks)

A'ight, let's do this, Quentin.

Wait.

You got this kid delivering your pizzas?

Word of mouth.

I'm watching him the whole time, it's cool.

♪ ♪

(knocks on door)

♪ ♪

Wait... hold up, man.

Did he just get robbed, man?

Shit is crazy, B.

(recording button dings)

♪ ♪

(sighs)

(knocking on door) QUENTIN: Give me the pizza.

Give me (bleep) pizza back.

(bleep) Give me...

Give me (bleep) pizza back!

Give me the (bleep) money! (bleep).

I know where you live!

- (insects chirping) - (humming)

(engine shuts off)

(birds cawing and chirping)

Oh, come on, come on, come on, buddy.

(sighs)

(dog panting)

How much we getting for him?

Uh, about 2 to 4K.

Hell yeah.

Hell. Yeah.

Hey, hey.

Hey, D.

Ah, here he blows.

Yeah.

So what you think?

Yeah. Yeah, this a good dog.

Uh-huh.

Cool?

All right.

- Here you are. - Good deal.

I'll catch you.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

(whispers) Let's go, buddy.

Yes.

(exhales)

Hey, you going to get the money?

Yeah. Yeah, in September.

What?

Yeah, he's gonna take that

Cane Corso and breed it with his other Cane Corso.

They're gonna have Cane Corso puppies.

They gonna sell them pups for 2K each.

And you get half.

Man, you 'bout to come up off that phone, brother.

Are you joking?

No.

You all right, brother?

No, no, I'm actually kind of fucked.

Van needed that money.

My daughter needed that money, okay?

Not in September, but today.

Okay? See, I'm poor, Darius.

Okay? And poor people

don't have time for investments

because poor people are too busy

trying not to be poor, okay?

I need to eat today,

not in September.

Right, I asked you at the pawn shop,

if you needed the money, to take the money.

And you said you wanted more money,

so I got you more money.

(birds chirping and twittering)

Look.

Here, trade this in.

- No, it's cool, man... - No, no, it's fine.

I'm just stressed. I got a lot going on.

No, it's fine. It's fine.

I get a new one every month.

Make sure they ain't tracking me.

Thank you.

We're friends now.

(car door thuds closed)

(birds chirping)

(Michael Kiwanuka's "Home Again" plays)

♪ ♪

KIWANUKA: ♪ Born again, born again ♪

♪ ♪

♪ One day I know ♪

♪ I'll feel strong again ♪

♪ I lift my head ♪

♪ ♪

♪ Lost again, lost again ♪

♪ ♪

♪ One day I know ♪

♪ Our paths will cross again ♪

♪ ♪

♪ Smile again, smile again ♪

♪ ♪

♪ One day I hope ♪

♪ To make you smile again ♪

♪ I won't hide ♪

♪ ♪

♪ Many times I've been told ♪

♪ ♪

♪ Speak your mind ♪

♪ Just be bold ♪

♪ So I close my eyes ♪

♪ Won't look behind ♪