Gucci Mane - The Autobiography of Gucci Mane

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Copyright 2017 by Radric Davis

Certain names and identifying characteristics have been changed.

Lyrics reprinted courtesy of Alfred Music/Radric Davis.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Simon & Schuster Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

First Simon & Schuster hardcover edition September 2017

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Interior design by Carly Loman

Jacket Design by Anna Laytham

Front Jacket Photograph by Geordie Wood 2017

Back Jacket Photograph by Zach Wolfe 2017

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Gucci Mane, 1980 author. | Martinez-Belkin, Neil.

Title: The autobiography of Gucci Mane / with Neil Martinez-Belkin.

Description: First Simon & Schuster hardcover edition. | New York : Simon &

Schuster, 2017. | Includes index. | Description based on print version

record and CIP data provided by publisher; resource not viewed.

Identifiers: LCCN 2017019427 (print) | LCCN 2017020490 (ebook) | ISBN

9781501165337 (ebook) | ISBN 9781501165320 (hardcover : alk. paper) | ISBN 9781501165344 (trade pbk. : alk. paper)

Subjects: LCSH: Gucci Mane, 1980- | Rap musiciansUnited StatesBiography.

Classification: LCC ML420.G9165 (ebook) | LCC ML420.G9165 A3 2017 (print) |

DDC 782.421649092 [B] dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017019427

ISBN 978-1-5011-6532-0

ISBN 978-1-5011-6533-7 (ebook)

For Walter Davis Sr., my maternal grandfather

&

Olivia Dudley, my paternal grandmother

September 13, 2013

The police had taken my pistol the day before but I wasnt without heavy arms. Id been stockpiling weapons at the studio. Glocks, MAC-10s, ARs fitted with scopes and hundred-round monkey nuts. All out in the open for easy access. I was in Tony Montana mode, bracing for a final standoff. I didnt know when it would happen, who it would be, or what would force its occurrence, but one thing I did know: something bad was going to happen and it was going to happen soon.

I looked around my studio. The Brick Factory. It seemed like just yesterday this had been the spot. Everybody would be over here. At all hours of the day for days on end. But now the Brick Factory looked more like an armory than a place where music was made. Id seen the looks on peoples faces when they came through. My studio was no longer a fun place to be. Onetime regulars started dropping like flies until I was the only one left. Alone.

Everyone was scared again. Not just scared of what was going on with me but scared of me. Scared to call me. Scared to see me. Keyshia had tried to be a voice of reason. She tried telling me the things I was stressing over werent as bad as I was making them out to be. That my problems were manageable. That we could figure them out together. But I was too far gone and even Keyshia had her limits. A few days earlier Id snapped on her and shed hung up the phone. Shed had enough.

A paranoid mess, I went and checked the CCTV monitor for any activity outside. None. The parking lot was empty. The gate was secure. If that brought me any peace of mind, it disappeared as soon as I looked away from the screen, down at my feet.

The ankle monitor. I was a sitting duck. Everyone knew I was here. And they knew I couldnt leave.

That wasnt entirely true. I wasnt supposed to leave. But I had, the day before, when Id gone to my lawyer Drews office and the police got called. They found a loaded .45 next to my belongings. They let me go but took the strap with them to get fingerprinted and turned in to evidence. I knew my days were numbered. Id violated my house arrest and had a run-in with the law while doing so.

Fuck it.

If I was going back to jail anyway, I might as well go find these niggas Id been having problems with. These were my old partners, but things had soured and theyd been sending threats my way. I didnt want to wait until I got out of jail to see if these niggas were about all the shit theyd been talking. We could handle this now. I grabbed a Glock .40, some smoke, and was on my way.

During my walk to their spot Id fallen into something of a trance, mumbling incoherent thoughts to myself as I wandered down Moreland Avenue. But my zombie-like state was interrupted by the red and blue flash of police lights. It immediately put me on high alert.

Hi, Gucci, I heard. Im Officer Ivy with the Atlanta Police Department. Whats going on?

That was a red flag. No police had ever said Hi, Gucci to me like that before.

Is everything okay? Your friends called us. Theyre worried about you.

Red flag number two. My friends were certified Zone 6 street niggas. They aint the type to call the law.

None of this was adding up. Even with codeine and promethazine syrup slowing me down, my heart jumped as I realized what was happening. Or what I thought was happening. This man was no cop.

I knew niggas who did this. Theyd dress up in police uniforms, get a kit put on their Dodge Chargers, and pull someone over, impersonating police. Theyd tell them it was a routine traffic stop and before they knew it they were tied up in the trunk of their own car.

Gucci, do you have any sort of weapon on you right now?

I do got a weapon, I barked back, pointing to the Glock bulging out of my jean pocket. Dont unholster yours. I aint surrendering nothing until you prove youre for real. Call for backup.

More officers arrived on scene but that didnt calm me. The standoff continued. When I told them Id shoot em up if they touched me, they moved in and took me down, arresting me for disorderly conduct. After they found the gun and weed, more charges would follow.

Cuffed or not, I wasnt done fighting. I yelled, spat, and kicked as officers did their best to restrain me. Paramedics arrived and scrambled to inject me with a syringe. Were they poisoning me? When one wasnt enough they shot me up with another. Only then did I start to let up. I sank into the stretcher, a chemically induced calm putting an end to my nightmare.