Deep within the rough streets of Harlem, New York, you find 125th Street. We go in and locate a small apartment front, almost as if it came right out of Sesame Street or Everybody Hates Chris. You see four young African-american men standing, drinking, and smoking on the steps of the housing, all full of laughter and conversation. It becomes obvious that they all knew each other and grew up together in the streets. One of the gentlemen is holding a white iPhone 5c with an extremely damage screen up towards the other three boys.
We see from the perspective of the now recording camera on the phone.
Two men seemingly in their early twenties stand about 5’10 and 5’9 in height, are on the other ends of The Pope D’Angelo Dinero. They both wear white wife beaters and baggy low blue jeans, with dirtied up white sneakers like you’d find hanging on a power line. Between them, The Pope stands prominently tall in a solid red hoodie, black baggy jeans, and some red and black basketball shoes with a pick coming out of his afro, smirking.
Homeboy 1(Recording): Yeuh bruh!
The two men surrounding The Pope pull out shiny black 9mm pistols from their backs, flashing them and pointing them at the camera. As their mouths part for quick brief smiles, you can see their gold plated teeth. The Pope begins to speak.
The gentlemen nod and proceed to put their guns back in their britches as The Pope continues.
Homeboy 1(Recording): Ay gurl! Oooooweeee! Lemme holla fo’ a dolla!
The camera swings off all the man and towards a young woman walking on the sidewalk staring back at The Pope with a disgusted expression.
The Pope and his boys start laughing and making noises at the obvious burn. Behind the camera, the homie is obviously both embarrassed and infuriated.
The Pope: AY BRUH! We recording something ova’ hea!
Reluctantly and slowly, the homeboy behind the camera pans it back to the group.
They all hold back their laughs before breaking into a brief group laughter. It only lasts a few seconds before The Pope regains composure and starts speaking again.
Horns of cars are heard in the background and brief shouting is heard from a voice that sounds like the girl that walked by earlier.
In the corner of the camera, you can see the girl walking back towards the group with another man.
The homeboy on the left on the left clasps his hands over his mouth, making a heavy distorted beat with his mouth.
Bmmph, btsp btsp, bmmph, bmmph, ts
Bmmph, btsp btsp, bmmph, bmmph, ts
Bmmph, btsp btsp, bmmph, bmmph, ts
Bmmph bmmph, bmmph, bmmph, bmmph
The Pope:
My name is the pope and i'm the best
Any busta tryna fight me will get, slept
I'll hitchu wit' a right, then i'll hitchu wit' a left
Homie you ain't comin' back, if i hitchu in da chest
Hit you in the chest, now you on the ground
I pin you down to that three count
That 1-2-3, yeah the match is done
I'm more blessed than a pastor's a son
Don't need a gun, cuz i'm all about hand game
My punches in sync, like that one group's band name
They say that I am lame, but they just haters
Blows more sharp than the teeth of a gator!
The group of men all erupt in a howl and laughter. All seems to be going well, until the girl returns with the man.
Homeboy 1(Recording): Oh really?! Where you at foo’?!
The camera is blatantly in the man’s face, and he knocks it forcefully away causing a distorted clap in the audio and a quick swerve of the camera.
Homeboy 2[Jermell](Standing on the Left of The Pope): Fuck you!
The homie pushes the man and he falls backwards down the stairs behind him and rolls onto the sidewalk. A shrilling scream is heard from the girl. The man quickly bounces back up showing no pain.
The man rips off his shirt to reveal his muscular and tatted body. The Homeboy starts to approach him, but The Pope pulls him back by the shoulder.
The Pope is now moving down the stairs, throwing off his hoodie to a plain white t-shirt and approaching the man.
The camera would pan to the empty street. The Pope and the man step into facing eachother. You can see young boys peaking out from their apartment windows to watch. They both post up in fighting stances. Looking like a blur, you see what must be the right arm of The Pope fly through the air and connect with the man’s jaw.
The man quickly flops down onto his side connecting with the pavement. The girl shrieks again as all of Pope’s homeboys chant and bark. They all quickly run to The Pope’s new ride, a Cadillac Escalade and hop in before speeding off. You only see black as the cameraman has placed the camera face down against a seat, but you hear the screeching the tires and loud music and laughing and hollering of the men in the car. Suddenly the camera lifts up and is facing The Pope.
The camera cuts, and you see the men riding off through the streets of Harlem.