Tupac: greatest rapper live

Eazy-E's POV

By the late '80s, I was stacking up serious cash. The drug game in Compton wasn't just a hustle for me; it was my way out, my way up. I'd built a reputation as someone who got things done, no matter what. But deep down, I knew this life didn't come with a retirement plan. The streets didn't let you grow old—they either locked you up or buried you.

The wake-up call came when my cousin got caught in the crossfire of a gang dispute. Seeing him laid out in a casket, so young, it hit me—this couldn't be it. There had to be more than this cycle of hustling, beefing, and dying too soon.

I started thinking bigger, broader. Hip-hop was blowing up, and L.A. didn't have its own crown yet. It was all New York this, New York that. I saw an opportunity—a gap in the game. If I could flip my hustle from the streets to the studio, I could build something real.

The first person who came to mind? Tupac Shakur. That kid had something special, a spark you didn't see every day. He wasn't just rapping; he was living it, breathing it. People felt him. I figured if I could find him, we could make magic happen.

I asked around, hitting up J-Rock, one of Tupac's close boys. But when I asked where Pac was, J-Rock just shook his head. "Man, Pac left. Said he's chasing his dream out there in L.A. city proper. Nobody's seen him since."

That news hit me. The kid had already taken his shot, and I respected it. But I couldn't sit back. If Pac wasn't here, I needed the next best thing—a producer to lay the foundation. And when it came to production, there was only one name in my mind: Dr. Dre.

I decided to pull up to Dre's spot. Dre had been holding it down with the World Class Wreckin' Cru, but word was he wasn't happy. Too much control from the label, not enough room to create the way he wanted. I figured if I could talk to him, we could build something serious.

Just as I was grabbing my keys to head out, my phone rang. I almost didn't pick it up, but something told me to answer. "Hello?" I said.

"Is this Eric Wright?" The voice on the other end sounded official, too official.

"Yeah, who's this?"

"This is the L.A. County Police Department. We're calling about a Tupac Shakur. He's been detained, and he gave us your name as someone who might be able to post bail."

For a second, I didn't say anything. Pac? Locked up? I didn't even know the kid personally, but something about the timing felt like fate.

"Yeah, I'm on my way," I said, hanging up and grabbing my keys.

And just like that, my night flipped. I thought I was heading to Dre's, but now I was about to meet the kid who was about to change the game.

Pac's POV

It was one of those nights where everything that could go wrong, did. I'd been out late after my shift at the bar, walking through a neighborhood I didn't know too well. I stopped at a corner store to grab something quick to eat. The cashier watched me like I was a thief from the moment I walked in.

I paid and left, but as soon as I stepped out, the store alarm went off. I turned to see the clerk yelling, pointing at me. Before I could say a word, a cop car rolled up, lights flashing.

"Empty your pockets," one of the officers ordered.

I did as they said, showing them I had nothing but my wallet, keys, and the snacks I'd just bought. Still, they weren't hearing it. They cuffed me on the spot, saying I matched the description of someone they were looking for.

Sitting in the back of that squad car, my mind raced. I'd left my mom's house with a dream, but now I was here, locked up, treated like a criminal for just existing. When they booked me at the station, they asked if I had someone to call.

I hesitated. Dre crossed my mind, but I couldn't bring myself to call him. I didn't want him seeing me like this. Then I thought of Eazy-E. I didn't know him personally, but his name carried weight in Compton. I remembered hearing from a friend, J-Rock, that Eazy had been asking about me recently.

The officer handed me a phone. "Who's your contact?"

"Eric Wright," I said, giving them Eazy's number.

---

When Eazy showed up, I didn't know what to expect. He walked into the station like he'd done it a hundred times before—calm, collected, and in control.

"You here for Tupac Shakur?" the officer at the desk asked.

"Yeah. He's my brother," Eazy said, sliding $500 in cash across the counter.

The officer counted the money and handed him a receipt. "Alright, he's free to go. But keep him out of trouble."

Eazy just nodded, not bothering with a response. He leaned against the counter, waiting as they processed my release. When they finally uncuffed me and brought me out, I felt a mix of relief and embarrassment.

Eazy didn't say much, just motioned for me to follow him. "Come on, let's go."

---

Outside, the air felt colder, heavier. I leaned against Eazy's car, still trying to shake off the night. He lit a cigarette and took a long drag before finally speaking.

"Rough night, huh?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Thanks for coming through. I didn't know who else to call."

He smirked. "Don't sweat it. But listen, Pac—you can't keep getting caught up in this bulls***. You're too talented for this."

I looked down, kicking at the pavement. "It wasn't even my fault. They just saw me and decided I was guilty."

Eazy nodded, like he'd heard it all before. "Yeah, that's how it is. But we can't keep playing their game. We gotta make our own moves."

I looked up at him, curious. "Like what?"

He flicked the ash from his cigarette and leaned against the car. "I've been thinking about starting something—something real. A record label. Ruthless Records."

"A record label?" I echoed, surprised.

"Yeah. L.A. doesn't have its own scene yet. We could change that. I've got the money, the connections, and the vision. And with talent like yours? We could take over."

I didn't know what to say. The idea was bold, ambitious, but Eazy seemed serious.

As we drove away from the station, Eazy kept laying out his plan. He told me about his cousin, about how losing him had made him realize that the streets weren't forever. He didn't want to end up another statistic, another name lost to violence. He wanted to build something that lasted, something that mattered.

That night, as the city lights blurred past us, I realized I wasn't alone. Eazy saw something in me, something worth believing in. And for the first time in a long time, I started to believe it too.

Eazy-E's POV

By the time I met Pac, I was already building a vision for Ruthless Records. But the truth is, dreams don't just come together overnight—they take hustle, connections, and a little bit of risk. One of the biggest moves I ever made was partnering with Jerry Heller.

It started with a friend of mine who was well-connected in the music industry. I slid him $500 and told him to set up a meeting with Jerry, one of the best managers in the business. At first, Jerry wasn't feelin' it. He wasn't exactly sold on hip-hop—it was still this underground thing, and most people didn't see the potential. But when I laid out the plan and told him I was putting up my own money, taking the risks, and investing everything I had into this, his tune started to change.

He might've been skeptical at first, but once Jerry saw the movement building in L.A., he got on board. And with him in my corner, I was ready to make big moves.

---

Back to the Story

After I bailed Pac out, I was dead set on getting him on Ruthless Records. The kid had fire, and I knew he'd be a cornerstone of what I wanted to build.

A few days later, I asked Pac if he knew Dr. Dre's address. He raised an eyebrow at me.

"Dre? Yeah, I know him," Pac said. "We're roommates."

That threw me off. "Wait, you and Dre live together?"

"Yeah," Pac said with a small grin. "You sure you want to start a label? Sounds like you don't know your roster."

I laughed. "Man, look. I'm building somethin' serious here. You and Dre? That's two pieces of the puzzle right there."

Pac shook his head, smiling. "Alright, let's go talk to him. But I gotta warn you—Dre's not exactly happy with the whole group thing he's in right now."

When we pulled up to their spot, I could hear music thumping from the second we stepped out of the car. Pac led me inside, where Dre was sitting behind a turntable, headphones on, lost in his own world.

"Yo, Dre," Pac said, tapping him on the shoulder. "Got someone you should meet."

Dre turned around, his expression neutral as he saw me. "Eazy-E," he said, pulling off his headphones. "What's this about?"

"I'm startin' a label," I said, getting straight to the point. "And I need you on the team."

Dre leaned back, crossing his arms. "A label, huh? You know how many people out here talkin' that game? What makes you different?"

"I'm puttin' my money where my mouth is," I said. "Partnered with Jerry Heller. This ain't just some street hustle—I'm buildin' somethin' real. And I want you to have the creative freedom you've been lookin' for."

Dre's eyes narrowed slightly. "Creative freedom? You know what that means?"

"Whatever you want to make, Dre. No limits. No suits tellin' you what you can and can't do."

That got his attention. "You know what I've been dealin' with?" he said, his tone sharp. "Low-budget videos, no promotion, and a label squeezin' every penny out of us like we're disposable. I'm done with that."

"Then leave it behind," I said. "Come build somethin' with me. With Pac. Let's take over L.A. for real."

Dre stared at me for a long moment, then glanced at Pac, who nodded. Finally, he exhaled, a small smirk forming on his lips. "Alright, Eazy. I'll hear you out."

With Dre on board, there was one more piece we needed—DJ Yella. Dre had been working with Yella for years in the World Class Wreckin' Cru, and I knew we couldn't let his talent go to waste.

We set up a meeting at Dre and Pac's place, and when Yella walked in, he looked cautious. He sat down, glancing around at all of us.

"What's this about?" Yella asked.

"I'm buildin' a label," I said, leaning forward. "Ruthless Records. Dre's already in, Pac's in, and I want you on the team too."

Yella frowned. "I don't know, man. I've been with Wreckin' Cru since the beginning. Feels like bouncin' now would be a betrayal."

Dre shook his head. "Yella, you know what's goin' on over there. They don't care about us—they're just wringin' out every last drop they can get. You really wanna stay with a group that's goin' nowhere?"

Yella hesitated. "It's not just about the group. It's about loyalty."

Eazy leaned in. "Loyalty's important, man. But so is takin' your shot. You've got talent, and talent deserves a platform. That's what we're buildin' here. A platform for people like you to shine."

Yella looked at Dre, then at me, his expression conflicted. Finally, he nodded slowly. "Alright. I'll give it a shot. But this better not be some half-baked hustle."

"It ain't," I said with a grin. "This is just the start."

With me, Pac, Dre, and Yella on board, the foundation of Ruthless Records was officially set. We spent hours in the studio, building beats, writing verses, and laying the groundwork for something that would shake up the music scene in L.A.

And for me, it wasn't just about the music—it was about proving that with the right vision and the right team, you could turn a dream into a reality.