I Seen A Man Die

A raw, personal account of hip-hop stardom, violence and the hard truths of life as a Geto Boy

By Brad “Scarface” Jordan

In the following exclusive book excerpt, Houston hip-hop icon Brad “Scarface” Jordan provides a riveting account of a tragic 1993 incident in Shreveport, during which he was shot and a close friend was killed.

Nineteen ninety-two should have been a great year. Mr. Scarface Is Back had not only established me as a solo artist, it had solidified my name and my rep. I was one of the first MCs — from anywhere — to come through and talk that street talk on record in a skillful way. While everyone else was talking about how good they could rap, I was talking about how good I could rap in that dope talk, and anyone who knew anything about anything had to fuck with me when they heard it. And a lot of motherfuckers heard it. Mr. Scarface Is Back went gold in just a few weeks after its release in late ’91.

Then in February of ’92, We Can’t Be Stopped was certified platinum by the RIAA. Platinum! It’s a motherfucker what a hit will do for a project. But instead of celebrating as a group, the group was fucked up. And by fucked up, I mean dead. After all of the shit that the world had thrown at us, it turned out the only thing it took to stop the Geto Boys was ourselves.

The Geto Boys: Willie D, Bushwick Bill and Scarface

Instead of following up the success of We Can’t Be Stopped with another Geto Boys album, Willie was off recording I’m Goin’ Out Lika Soldier while Bill worked on his own solo debut, Little Big Man. But James wasn’t going to let a little group falling-out fuck with the label’s dough. When Willie and Bill’s albums were ready to go, he dropped them both that fall. And then in November, he took a couple of unreleased tracks and put together the greatest hits collection Uncut Dope: Geto Boys’ Best. We didn’t record any new music specifically for that album, but it did include two new songs: “The Unseen,” which was the first Geto Boys song to feature Big Mike (in place of Willie D), and my solo record “Damn It Feels Good to Be a Gangsta.”

“Damn It Feels Good” was a Mr. Scarface Is Back leftover, but we released it as a single and shot a video for it and the fans were fucking with it from jump. I really think it was that song, plus “Mind Playing Tricks on Me” and “A Minute to Pray and a Second to Die” from Mr. Scarface Is Back, that really solidified the style I’ve been most associated with throughout my career — dark, vivid storytelling that’s in touch with the streets and haunted by a conscience (and that’s a bit more laid back than the earlier stuff when I was out here just trying to beat motherfuckers’ doors down and kick their faces in). Years later, Mike Judge and his 1999 film, Office Space, would make “Damn It Feels Good” one of the more recognizable songs of my career. I don’t remember the specific session when I wrote that song, but I know this for a fact: When I wrote it, I definitely wasn’t thinking about beating the shit out of a laser printer!

As for me, with no Geto Boys album in sight and Mr. Scarface Is Back less than a year old, I spent most of 1992 on the road chasing show money. We’d sold over 500,000 copies of Grip It!, which was unheard of as an indie, and gone platinum with We Can’t Be Stopped. My solo debut had gone gold, but the record sales still weren’t paying my bills. I certainly wasn’t seeing rap star money, at least not how I thought of it at the time. If I wanted any real bread, I had to get up, get out, and go get it on my own.

And that’s exactly what I was doing as 1992 turned into 1993 when shit went super fucking haywire in the early hours of January 17, 1993, at a Waffle House in Shreveport, Louisiana.

Now, I don’t know what you know about Shreveport, but if you think that shit’s sweet just because it’s a small town in northwest Louisiana, then you don’t know shit about shit. And that goes for everywhere you go. It’s real in the field — always has been and always will be. It ain’t no mystery and it ain’t no joke, and if you think these boys are playing out here, then you have another thing coming. The shit can pop off on any given Sunday, and you better be ready, whichever way it goes.

Going into it, there wasn’t anything special about that night. I had a show in Shreveport, just like all of the other shows I’d been doing throughout the South and Midwest. I wasn’t touring. It wasn’t anything big and organized like that. I was just hitting spot dates. Nine times out of 10, I’d get booked for a show somewhere in Texas or a neighboring state and we’d load up early in the day, drive to the show, rock that motherfucker, collect the bread, grab a bite and maybe fuck with a few bitches, and then drive back to Houston that night or early the next day.

There wasn’t much to it. It’d be me, my manager B.W., my brother Warren, my cousin Jamal, my homeboy Lil Joe, my good friend Rudy Sanders, and a few other motherfuckers. We never had any security. We didn’t then and we still don’t today. We just kicked ass. That was our security. If we were gonna fight, then goddammit, we’re gonna fight. If the guns were coming out, then the guns were coming out. It ain’t like shit changed just because we were making music. We were ready for whatever. But no matter how ready you are, whatever doesn’t always go as planned.

So we get to Shreveport and do the show and after it’s done, we went to Waffle House to get something to eat. We’re in there with one of our O.G. partners chilling when this dude comes in trying to play us, asking stupid questions like, “Where Scarface at?” and shit like that, knowing damn well I’m sitting there right in front of his face. I guess he was trying to be a bad man or play the tough guy.

Well, I don’t remember exactly what happened that escalated the whole situation, but suffice to say we weren’t going to sit there and take too much of that shit and that motherfucker escalated and everyone starts heading outside to handle it and that’s when it popped off. The place erupted and the whole parking lot starts brawling. Everyone’s fighting like a motherfucker and then one of the dudes they’re with pulls out his pistol and starts shooting and pops me right in the leg, just above my knee.

As soon as I got hit, I yelled out, I’m hit! I’m hit! And one of the guys we’re with grabs me and pulls me inside to make sure I was straight. But once that shot went off, the place lit up. Motherfuckers were shooting in the parking lot, shooting inside the building, all sorts of shit. Bullets were everywhere. I was out of it, trying to lay low and make sure I didn’t get hit again, when Rudy grabs a gun from one of the other guys that had one and wasn’t doing shit with it and heads outside to light those motherfuckers up and try to get them off of us. Next thing you know, this off-duty cop raises up and shoots my boy in the back. Capped him right there, while Rudy was just out there firing back in self-defense. Instead of going out there and trying to do something about the motherfuckers shooting up the place, he shoots the one guy trying to provide cover for everyone in the fucking back.

Well, shit, Rudy was dead before the ambulance even showed up. I’d only known him for a few years, but we were young and those bonds grow quick. He was a great fucking dude and looking back on it, I always remember how sad he looked when we went to pick him up for the drive. He just had that look like he didn’t want to go. I was in the van and he was at the door looking sad as fuck, and I just remember yelling at him, like, “C’mon, man, let’s go!” And he loaded up and he never came home, ended up dead at twenty-three over some bullshit in Louisiana because a cop shot him in the back. And they called that shit justifiable homicide, too. There wasn’t shit we could do but say goodbye and try to move on.

I checked out of the hospital that night. I remember Suge Knight came to check in on me before I went home. I don’t know what he was doing in Shreveport that night, but we’d gotten cool with Death Row when we were out in L.A. and Big Mike and 3- 2 were working with Dr. Dre during The Chronic sessions. I guess he heard I’d been shot and decided to stop by. Man, Suge sure had them motherfuckers scared to death back then! But we weren’t scared. We already knew what it was. I think that’s why he had so much respect for us. He knew we weren’t about to back down for no man.

It’s only a four-hour drive from Shreveport to Houston and they’d given me some good dope at the hospital so I slept most of the ride. But every time that medicine wore off, that shit burned like a motherfucker. Man, it hurt! That’s the only time I’ve been shot, but I’ll tell you, getting shot once is enough for anybody. After that, I knew there was no way in hell I was going to get shot again. Fuck that. That’s why I’m always shooting first every time.

But I’d been lucky. One of my buddies got shot in the leg once and it shattered his femur and tore his whole shit apart. I was still young — just twenty-two — and my legs were still strong from my football days, so when the bullet hit me it didn’t break my leg. Instead it popped off my muscles and bone and worked its way down toward the outside of my knee. They never took it out and it’s still in there today.

It took me a while to be able to walk regularly again, and I spent some time in a wheelchair. I remember doing a show in Chicago right after I’d gotten shot with Big Mello pushing me around that motherfucking stage while I rapped. Shit, those people went crazy over that! After the wheelchair, I switched to crutches and then I was able to use a cane, which was part of my image anyway. Originally James had given it to me as a prop, but in the early part of 1993, I needed it for real.

The next few months were dark. Rudy was a funny-ass dude, and he was one of my best friends. He’d been living with me at the time, and it broke my heart knowing that we could have just left his ass in the house and he could have been there when we came home.

But we were young — kids, really. You couldn’t tell me shit. And there aren’t any do-overs in life and death, and when death comes, it comes — there’s no stopping it. When I think back on what happened in Shreveport, all I know is that things would play out differently if I found myself in a similar situation today. And that comes with experience. You find yourself in enough fucked-up situations and it won’t take long before you learn how to deal with shit and recognize it when it’s happening. You don’t really have a choice — it’s either that or someone will check you out quick.

One thing I know for sure: there’s a difference between going to war with a motherfucker in his hometown when you’re a kid and going to war with a motherfucker in his hometown when you’re an adult. You’ve got to recognize where you are and what you’re doing and you have to know how to move around. In my experience, when you’re on another motherfucker’s turf, if you keep it street legal and stay out of his way, nine times out of ten he’ll stay out of yours. And if it just so happens to be that tenth time that it goes the other way, you damn well better be prepared, because it can always go the other way.

But on some real shit, a big part of being real is not inviting the bullshit. You go out there trying to stir shit up, and I guarantee you that shit will find your ass. As for me, I know I ain’t no motherfucking hero. I’m not about to jump in front of a bullet that wasn’t meant for me just to jump in front of a fucking bullet, and I’m not about to subject the people that I’m with to have to jump in front of a bullet for me either. When I see some stupid shit jump off that ain’t got shit to do with me, I’m going to get the fuck out of the way. And I suggest you do the same.

At the same time, when it comes right down to it, my motto has always been: “My nigga, I’m ready to let it go. Are you?” No bullshit, that’s what it takes. When it really goes down, you have to be ready to go all the way — it’s the only way. So that’s where I’m at with it.

I’m ready to die. Are you?

What do you think? Please log in and respond below.

This will help to share the story with others.