Yo, this is Young Tyrell, and I want to be a baller when I grow up.

The Intro.

You know, I can just see your faces right now, ANOTHER nigga in wrestling trying to get rich off the shit? You damn right. You want desire for the industry? You want people willing to crack their skulls in order to be the best? Look elsewhere. Cause I ain't that nigga. Pass me my pay cheque, and you won't see me. I understand that millions don't just appear. I know that. I'm going to be earning an average wage for while. Yo, it's better than nothing man. But don't think I'll be on this money forever. Hell nah man, I just gotta make a name, sell a few t-shirts. How hard could it be? Don't you know it's cool to be an angry black man these says? Yeah, shit will be like Kyle Broadway's momma... Easy.

That is my aim. You know what I have? Nothing. I got this apartment in Queens, it was known as the number one brick house in the area for three years before I had to clean my act up, and pass the drug test to get this contract. Now I can just about cover the rent. I eat KFC every night, cause my cousin Chancey be working in there on weekends to feed his drugs habit. I couldn't expect you to understand. Fuck, I'm talking to suburbia right now! How many ghetto boys you know, that watch grown men rolling around naked, all greased up and shit?

Zero man. Zero.

The shit is fucking gay. But if it means I'm going to get paid? I'll do it. I'll do anything to make paper. Anything. As long as it don't mean fucking no males, or sucking dicks? I'm there man, just call the cell and leave the money where you want to. I'm ready to get up out the struggle. My wrists is hurting from cutting up bricks. My eyes is fucking hurting, cause I get to sleep three hours a night. Shit is rough. And I'm tired of it. So this wrestling shit is my way out.

Let me lay a couple rules on you though.

Rule number one, don't be greasing up your body, and then sliding around on my fucking back, making loud noises. No. No fucking way. Fuck that. You want to see greasy bodies? Go and buy "Out" magazine. You won't see me out there on T.V wearing no clothes, a pair of briefs, and some long leather boots...fuck that. I'm making this money. And I'm making it the Straight way. Another rule, don't fuck around with my possessions. I'm going to have to work hard for every thing I get, so don't fuck with it. See my new whip? Keep your hands off it. You see my new crib? Don't darken my doorstep unless I invite you. Understand? This ain't no muthafuckin' game. Fresh out the struggle with twenty something years worth of street fighting experience. 100% Authentic.

Oh yeah, fuck Memphis Grey.

Scene opens up in front of a small little mirror hanging on the wall of Young Tyrell's apartment in Queens. Cousin Chancey just got home from his weekend job at Kentucky friend chicken and, Tyrell is just checking out his new outfit. White and pink all the time. He poses, scratches his little goatee and cousin Chancey just shakes his head in disgust.

Chauncey: Yo man, you look like a fag, with all that pink on and shit.

Young Tyrell: Man, shut up. All these muthafuckers out there, dressing up in all black, dark red fitted hats with big black hoodies and all that, trying to be gangstas. The REALEST gangsta walk up in the club dressed in pink. A wise man once told me that.

Chauncey: Nigga, that was Fat Joe.

Young Tyrell: Who asked you? Go take a shower man, you smell like chicken grease.

Chauncey: I work in KFC, what the fuck am I supposed to smell like?

Young Tyrell: I think I can smell pussy...

Chauncey: Fuck you man. Speaking of pussy, when you gonna call that girl? She said she was gonna hook me up with her cousin.

Young Tyrell: What girl?

Chauncey: The bitch from the club last week man, the little caramel skinned bitch, you know...the..

Young Tyrell: The one that looked like the girl from Next Friday?

Chauncey: Yeah...

Young Tyrell: Fuck that bitch. I been hearing mad stories about her around the hood. Word is, the bitch got spit roasted four times in one night back in 99. Shit sounded nasty.

Chauncey: The fuck is a spit roast?

Young Tyrell takes off his white with pink NYC icon, hat off and puts it on the table. Keith follows him over still wanting to be answered.

Young Tyrell: What the fuck are you following me for?

Chauncey: You didn't answer the question. The hell is a spit roast?

Young Tyrell: ...When a bitch get fucked from the front and the back, at the same time...then swallow both nuts..

Chauncey: ......Oh shit. Gimme the cell number man!

Young Tyrell: You want your fucking dick to fall off man? Nigga, what's up with you?

Chauncey: Man, you are too damn picky with pussy...pussy is pussy man...

Young Tyrell: Yeah...and A.I.D.S is A.I.D.S too. I ain't going out like that man...NOT ME.

Young Tyrell puts his fitted hat back on and goes back to look in the mirror and Chauncey once again follows him over there.

Young Tyrell: Tell the truth though...This pink and white shit is hot right?

Chauncey: I guess it looks a little hot...

Young Tyrell: Yeah man...I'm the only nigga that can put an outfit together...A gangsta with style...

Chauncey: But it ain't that hot...