I was trapped in my apartment. My human parents moved the furniture so that I couldn't jump onto it. Several times a day, they'd put me through strenuous rehab exercises. It was a brutal summer. Unable to leave the crib, I poured my feelings out, writing and rhyming about what I knew best.
Betrayed by da boss,
my tail came uncurled,
Galvez, watch your back,
can't hide nowhere in this world.
I vowed to make something of my life, and my rapping skills would be my ticket to the big time. Rapper-producer Dr. Dre came across a mix tape of my rhymes, and he took me under his wing. Then things started happening quickly. My bark propelled N.W.A.'s "Straight Outta Compton" to platinum status. After I got a couple of paychecks under my collar, I knew that I had to get my folks out of the Dallas ghetto. I couldn't bear to see them live in that one-bedroom apartment anymore. So I bought them a house in the well-to-do northern suburbs. After the doctor cleared me -- my knee as good as new -- I went on tour with N.W.A. We were rolling in the dough -- buying gold chew toys, diamond-studded collars. But I knew that I could do more. It was a difficult decision, but I felt that my homies in N.W.A. were holding me back. It was time to go solo. I still remember how Eazy-E cried when I broke the news; he begged me to stay. "Sorry, Eazy," I told him. "I've got to make my money." Three months later, I debuted at No. 1 on the charts. I dropped my N.W.A. moniker, MC Muggy Pug, in favor of a new name: The Notorious M.U.G. The paychecks and crowds grew bigger. You couldn't turn on the radio without hearing my songs. I was on the cover of "Rolling Stone." But the more money I came across, the more problems I'd see.
To be continued