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Selected as a Best Book of the Year by Esquire
"Couldn't put it down." – Charlamagne Tha God
"Mesmerizing." – Raekwon da Chef
"Insightful, moving, necessary." – Shea Serrano
"Cathartic." –The New Yorker
"A classic." –The Washington Post
The explosive, never-before-told story behind the historic rise of the Wu-Tang Clan, as told by one of its founding members, Lamont "U-God" Hawkins.
“It’s time to write down not only my legacy, but the story of nine dirt-bomb street thugs who took our everyday life—scrappin’ and hustlin’ and tryin’ to survive in the urban jungle of New York City—and turned that into something bigger than we could possibly imagine, something that took us out of the projects for good, which was the only thing we all wanted in the first place.” —Lamont "U-God" Hawkins
The Wu-Tang Clan are considered hip-hop royalty. Remarkably, none of the founding members have told their story—until now. Here, for the first time, the quiet one speaks.
Lamont “U-God” Hawkins was born in Brownsville, New York, in 1970. Raised by a single mother and forced to reckon with the hostile conditions of project life, U-God learned from an early age how to survive. And surviving in New York City in the 1970s and 1980s was no easy task—especially as a young black boy living in some of the city’s most ignored and destitute districts. But, along the way, he met and befriended those who would eventually form the Clan’s core: RZA, GZA, Method Man, Raekwon, Ol’ Dirty Bastard, Inspectah Deck, Ghostface Killah, and Masta Killa. Brought up by the streets, and bonding over their love of hip-hop, they sought to pursue the impossible: music as their ticket out of the ghetto.
U-God’s unforgettable first-person account of his journey,from the streets of Brooklyn to some of the biggest stages around the world, is not only thoroughly affecting, unfiltered, and explosive but also captures, in vivid detail, the making of one of the greatest acts in American music history.
256 pages, Kindle Edition
Published March 6, 2018
My mother’s from Brownsville, Brooklyn. She was raised in the same project building as Raekwon’s mother, at 1543 East New York Avenue, in Howard Houses. The Brownsville projects were the wildest, period. Ask anybody from New York City what part of Brooklyn is the roughest, they’re gonna say Brownsville. Some projects you could walk through. Some you couldn’t. At its worst, you couldn’t walk through Brownsville. You couldn’t walk through Fort Greene or Pink Houses either. The tension and violence was always in the air in those places. Guaranteed there was gonna be fights topped off with a few people getting cut or stabbed, and even back then there might have been a shooting or two. Someone would probably end up dead by the end of the ruckus. That’s why I don’t like going back to my old projects nowadays; I feel like the spirits of my old comrades are calling to me. They’re still haunting the projects they hustled at and got killed in.
I don’t know who my father is or where he comes from; I wish I could find out more about him. A big part of why I don’t know much about him is because of how I was conceived. My mother probably wouldn’t want me to bring this up, because she hates me talking about it, but I was a product of rape. I was a rape baby. She told me my father had tricked her into believing he was a photographer and wanted her to model for him. He told her she was a natural beauty and all this other fly shit. He lured her to a spot and took advantage of her. She never pressed charges and never even reported it.
Fighting—the art of hand-to-hand combat—was a big thing growing up. You had to know how to use your hands. Guns weren’t the weapon of choice until later—you used your fists or a knife. That’s one thing about Island dudes; they know how to throw their joints. I didn’t have older brothers to hold me down, so I had to fight my own battles against kids my age and pretty much anybody else who tried me. To this day, fists aren’t my last resort, they’re my first. That’s why I sometimes have trouble relating to people who have never fought or who have never been punched in the face. How much can you know about yourself until you’re in a physical altercation? There are people today who have never been punched in the face. That’s why they’ll knock right into you as they walk by in the street and not even excuse themselves. They have no basic respect for anyone around them. Not enough people living in New York today have been punched in the face. They could use that lesson, though. I feel that confrontation brings respect. People who keep doing sneaky shit keep getting away with it, often because no one’s willing to call them on it. Whether in humility or self-confidence, they need that lesson. Getting tested lets you find out who you are deep down. And I found out that deep down I’m a scrapper. I’m also respectful, though. If I bump into someone, I excuse myself. I’m a humble warrior. You can’t go around looking for trouble, but you have to be ready when it comes. You can’t walk around trying to be the toughest, because there’s always someone tougher.
We were both writin’ at that time, kicking around ideas together when we weren’t mopping the floors and hauling garbage and doing all this crazy shit for Mr. Hill, our boss. We used to write rhymes on the back of coasters, just sitting in the back of the shit on garbage detail and writin’. We’d pick up these little paper coasters to write on, and one day Meth said, “Yeah, C.R.E.A.M.: Cash Rules Everything Around Me.” He started tagging everything with that acronym—the project walls, Dumpsters, train cars, whatever he could find. I remember when I said that should be a fucking hook; we made that fucking shit up way back then. True fact: The title of Wu-Tang’s first hit single started with Meth and me sitting at the Liberty Island garbage detail.
Let me tell you one thing about me; I love money more than I love anything in this goddamned world, except for my family and my babies. I love money more than I love drugs, women, all of that. I’m addicted to money. I like to have it. I like to spoil the people I love. I will never touch no cocaine or none of that shit ever again. I am straight weed, alcohol, and that is it. Money, weed, that’s it. I’ve stuck by that shit for the rest of my life.
There was some funny shit that would go down in the midst of all that carnage. Like this one time, this fiend approached me and Meth while we were selling. He didn’t have any cash, but he wanted two dimes of crillz (crack) in exchange for a sheet of acid with a picture of a skull and crossbones. Meth figured it was a good trade, so he did it. I said, “Man, you are fuckin’ crazy!” He took a few tabs and offered me one. I declined the offer, saying, “I ain’t trying nothing with a poison sign on it!” and continued serving fiends.
Pretty soon Meth starts feeling the acid, he starts tripping and crawls into some bushes. Meanwhile, the stash was getting low, so I decided to head uptown to get some more. I went all the way uptown to Harlem, which takes about three hours round trip. I saw the connect, got what I needed, and came all the way back to Staten Island. When I got back, Meth was still in the bushes. A three-hour mission, and upon my return he was still in the bushes. I was like, “What the fuck? This dude’s out of his goddamn mind.” I went over to him and asked, “You all right?” He looked up at me. “Nah … I ain’t all right …” Whatever effect that drug had on him, it had him stuck in the bushes. I grabbed him to pull him out of there, but then he took off like a shot down the block. I had to literally chase this motherfucker down, laughing the whole time. We got around the corner, got some water into him, tried to flush that shit out of his system. I told him, “Yo, man, don’t ever take that shit while you’re hustlin’!” Just another day in the projects.
"Time is a motherfucker. Time reveals shit. It wears things down. Breaks things. Crushes things. Kills things. Reveals truth. There’s nothing greater than Father Time.
If you have patience, time will be on your side. And if you recognize how valuable time is, and if you know the right time to make your move, you’ll be a bad motherfucker.
That’s how I feel right now writing this book. The time is now for me to write all this shit down. It’s time to write down not only my legacy, but the story of nine dirt-bomb street thugs who took our everyday life— scrappin’ and hustlin’ and tryin’ to survive in the urban jungle of New York City—and turned that into something bigger than we could possibly imagine, something that took us out of the projects for good, which was the only thing we all wanted in the first place..."
“C.R.E.A.M.” is a true song. Everything Inspectah Deck and Raekwon said is 100 percent true. Not one line in that entire song is a lie, or even a slight exaggeration. Deck did sell base, and he did go to jail at the age of fifteen. Rae was sticking up white boys on ball courts, rocking the same damn ’Lo sweater. And of course, Meth on the hook was like butter on the popcorn. Meth knew the hard times, too, being out there smoking woolies and pumping crack, etc. That raspy shit he was kicking just echoed in everyone’s head long after the song was done playing.
The realism on “C.R.E.A.M.” is what resonates with so many people all over the world. People everywhere know that sentiment of being slaves to the dollar. Cash is king, and we are its lowly subjects. That’s pretty much the case in every nation around the world, the desperation to put your life and your freedom on the line to make a couple dollars.
Whether you’re working, stripping, hustling, or slinging, whether you’re a business owner or homeless, cash rules everything around us..."
"...But I still kept getting kicked out of the booth. The only thing I knew was that I had to keep going. I had no other choice to get it right. No was not an option for me. That’s when I learned about the difference between being a warrior—a champion, really—and a regular person. It was the
difference between giving up and getting back up and trying again. Some people take a loss and it breaks them spiritually. A true champion is a motherfucker who can take a loss and rise back up with a full heart and keep going until he wins. I got kicked out of the booth over and over, but every time I picked myself back up and got back in there. I never, ever stopped trying."
"Our journey here was rough, no doubt. We lost our brother Dirty along the way, but the rest of us are still here, still alive, still bringing it. We’re not posted up in front of 160 anymore, ducking cops and bullets, scrambling for drug money while dreaming of stardom and getting out of the projects. We’ve done that. We’re not locked up or on parole pissing in cups. We left all that shit behind us years ago. We’ve achieved fame and success the likes of which most people can only dream about, and in the right circumstances, we’ll do it again.
Yeah, we don’t always get along, but what family does? But just give us time to come back together, and we’ll show everybody that the Wu- Tang Clan still ain’t nothin’ ta fuck wit’!"