The last time we left our courageous hero he had squared off into battle and obtained the magical Golden MPC which whoever holds it becomes the most prestigious producer in all of the land.
We find Prince Lart in the studio working diligently. Ever since obtaining the Golden MPC Lart has become world renknowned..people from all over have sought out Prince Lart, and went on journeys of their own just to meet him in hopes that he would grace them with a magical beat.
Prince Lart capitalized on his newfound notoriety and started making beats for anyone who was anyone. He collaborated with artists from all types of music: Madonna, Cher, The dixie chicks, Michael Jackson, Christina Aguilera, just to name of few. Never before had anyone been able to grace so many talented peoples tracks. But he had become the embodiment of what producing was. Prince Lart was the "Beat Maker".
If Lart made a beat you listened. And that's how it was. A year went by and Lart had become bigger than any person in the world. Tommy Mattola served him coffee, Russell Simmons was his personal assistant. life was so good for Prince Lart.
However, we all know that if you are admired then you are hated. Hate erupted in the blood of many of his followers. Many whom he even considered to be loyal. One of his understudy's squire Pharell came to Prince Lart's side everyday, mimicked his moves, studied his craft, hoping to one day take over the golden MPC or to even surpass Prince Lart.
Prince Lart became cocky over his now sudden reign of the world. He began to not appreciate his followers. People became toys to him. He disposed of them as he saw fit. Along with Golden MPC came power which was unimaginable and if not harnessed right could turn one's soul dark and egotistical. Prince Lart did not know this. So the golden MPC started to take over his soul day by day.
Day by day he would distance himself from his peers. Busta Rhymes wanted to rap to one of his tracks and Prince Lart gave him a beat thinking that he would do it justice however he did not. Upon hearing his flow Prince Lart sentenced him to death. A very stiff penalty but it was not heard of. He sentenced Busta to death by cutting out his vocal chords. Music dominated the global economy in those days. To lose your vocal chords was equal to sentencing someone to death. Prince Lart had it ordered and it was done. Never again did sir Busta Rhymes ever make a song. Prince Lart laughed during his execution.
Lart treated girls like objects. He had girls specifically to give him brain. Girls with whom he beat. Girls who washed his clothes. Girls who tossed his salad. Girls for everything. Squires hid their wives from Prince Lart in order for them not to be brought into his castle. Squire Pharrell had one of the most beautiful girls in all of the land. She swore her allegiance to Prince Lart but Lart knowing that she was Pharells mistress never coveted her. Until one day.
Prince Lart after a hard day of sampling came home and wanted some brain. He was tired of the other girls who filled that responsibility. So one day he called Pharell's mistress. her name was Heather...Heather Hunter. He ordered her to give him brain on the spot. Squire Pharell pleaded him to not make her give him brain but Lart frowned on him. He reduced Pharell to a slave at the drop of the dime. Angered by Pharell opposing him, he ordered Pharell's fingers to be cut off. Never would Pharell make beats he again. He begged and pleaded with Prince Lart but to no avail. Heather indeed gave Prince Lart head and Pharell's fingers were cut off right in front of Prince Lart as he ordered. After this slave Pharell was sentenced to life in the dungeon. the only thing he had down there was a pencil and a hollow drum.
Prince Lart became so greedy so obsessed with himself that people couldn't stand him anymore. He banished people everyday. He murked Tommy Mottola. His body was never found. Years passed as Prince Lart's reign continued and Pharell rotted in prison. However, things always seem to play out. slave Pharell while in the dungeon managed to rummage a knife and two sticks with which he used to play the hollow drum. The dungeon was chained so no one could reach him so at night with his palms he would play the drums and play and play...one day however he was joined by someone who was just as talented as he...his name was Sir Justin Blaze.. ..
Sir Justin was a talented beatmaker just like Prince Lart and Prince Lart learned of his talents through village hearsay. Whoever he never wanted someone that could rival his skills and could possibly take the Golden MPC from him. So he had his army capture Sir Justin and throw him into the dungeon. They burned his village. Destroyed his Triton...Sir Blaze was emotionally traumatized..Pharell unaware of these events tried to comfort him but he could not. However he mentioned to Sir Justin that there was a way they could escape. Sir Pharell had now been in the dungeon for 2 years. "How" Sir Justin asked. "Grindin" said Pharell. And that is all he needed to say. At that moment the two bonded. They formed a team that was impenetrable a force that not even Prince Lart could rival. With Sir Blaze doing melody's and sampling and Pharell doing the drums they couldn't be stopped. Day and night they grinded. Pharell beating the drums and Sir Justin beating cell bars, anything that he could get his hands on to make a melody. Every night they did this and people started to hear. "What is that beat coming from the floor", people would ask. Every night Pharell and blaze would put on a concert not knowing that their crowd was building.
When it came time for the annual beat competition people came from all over. Sir Timothy from Virginia arrived on horseback, Sir Dre whom had been good friends of Prince Lart arrived by chariot from the West Side. And Sir Dupri came all the way from the south by charter to compete in this competition. There would be a 4 way competition, each man harnessing their own individual beat-making machines which they had acquired through their own adventures... The crowd favorite of course was Prince Lart who was undefeated for the past 3 years. No one expected the others to win. But welcomed the competition. Prince Lart had become so big that he didn't even come down into the town square for the competition this year. In his seat was a small tape recorder with a small sign that said "Play" and that was it.
The competition was fierce. Dre brought out indian samples from far western lands. Sir Timothy with his wide array of beats always provided a show. He even brought Sir Peter of North Carolina to rap over one of his beats. Never seen before in the competition but it was allowed. Sir Dupri however prepared a lackluster performance. Visily torn because of recent disses from Sir Eminem of Fort Detroit (who was by the way Prince Larts worst enemy) he just brought no creativity so the crowd booed him and he was thrown off of the stage into the moat which lay on the side for the losers. He would wade their till the show was over.
When it came time for Prince Lart's turn the crowd cheered, very deafening noises they made. Prince Lart sat in his room and laughed. "Those weak ass bitches" he mumbled under his breath. "We will now play THE TAPE", marked the announcer. Everyone was silent no one made a peep. There was silence. "Word" he said...and then the melody. My god..the melody was something they had never heard before in their life, and it was only coming from a tape recorder. One man burst from the crowd. "hook it up to the speakers now!" he yelled. A guard nervously grabbed the tape recorder and plugged it into the vast array of speakers on the stage. As it blasted people cheered. Women cried. Babies smiled. The most wonderful melody they had ever heard was playing. He had done it again. The challengers jumped into the moat discouraged and waited for the beat to end. Once it ended the speaker announced. "There is no doubt, the winner again is Prince Lart!" The crowd cheered, he giggled to himself. "The fools", he said.
But wait..the ground started to shake......"Grindin....boom-ba-boom...doom-da-doom-do-doom..Grindin.." came from the ground softly. "Grindin..da-doom-da-doom....da-da-da-doom-da-doom...grindin" "Wait" the people shouted..."what is that" the people said.."Grindin"..it began to get louder..girls started to dance...boys started to Harlem Shake. The drums resonated through the ground till all you could here was the melody. The crowd no longer paid attention to Prince Lart's beat. He raced down the castle stairs and out to the courtyard. "What is this atrocity" he yelled...."Grindin..da-doom-da-doom....da-da-da-doom-da-doom...grindin" The speaker in bewilder announced "who is that Prince Lart?"
To Be Contiuned......
We find Prince Lart in the studio working diligently. Ever since obtaining the Golden MPC Lart has become world renknowned..people from all over have sought out Prince Lart, and went on journeys of their own just to meet him in hopes that he would grace them with a magical beat.
Prince Lart capitalized on his newfound notoriety and started making beats for anyone who was anyone. He collaborated with artists from all types of music: Madonna, Cher, The dixie chicks, Michael Jackson, Christina Aguilera, just to name of few. Never before had anyone been able to grace so many talented peoples tracks. But he had become the embodiment of what producing was. Prince Lart was the "Beat Maker".
If Lart made a beat you listened. And that's how it was. A year went by and Lart had become bigger than any person in the world. Tommy Mattola served him coffee, Russell Simmons was his personal assistant. life was so good for Prince Lart.
However, we all know that if you are admired then you are hated. Hate erupted in the blood of many of his followers. Many whom he even considered to be loyal. One of his understudy's squire Pharell came to Prince Lart's side everyday, mimicked his moves, studied his craft, hoping to one day take over the golden MPC or to even surpass Prince Lart.
Prince Lart became cocky over his now sudden reign of the world. He began to not appreciate his followers. People became toys to him. He disposed of them as he saw fit. Along with Golden MPC came power which was unimaginable and if not harnessed right could turn one's soul dark and egotistical. Prince Lart did not know this. So the golden MPC started to take over his soul day by day.
Day by day he would distance himself from his peers. Busta Rhymes wanted to rap to one of his tracks and Prince Lart gave him a beat thinking that he would do it justice however he did not. Upon hearing his flow Prince Lart sentenced him to death. A very stiff penalty but it was not heard of. He sentenced Busta to death by cutting out his vocal chords. Music dominated the global economy in those days. To lose your vocal chords was equal to sentencing someone to death. Prince Lart had it ordered and it was done. Never again did sir Busta Rhymes ever make a song. Prince Lart laughed during his execution.
Lart treated girls like objects. He had girls specifically to give him brain. Girls with whom he beat. Girls who washed his clothes. Girls who tossed his salad. Girls for everything. Squires hid their wives from Prince Lart in order for them not to be brought into his castle. Squire Pharrell had one of the most beautiful girls in all of the land. She swore her allegiance to Prince Lart but Lart knowing that she was Pharells mistress never coveted her. Until one day.
Prince Lart after a hard day of sampling came home and wanted some brain. He was tired of the other girls who filled that responsibility. So one day he called Pharell's mistress. her name was Heather...Heather Hunter. He ordered her to give him brain on the spot. Squire Pharell pleaded him to not make her give him brain but Lart frowned on him. He reduced Pharell to a slave at the drop of the dime. Angered by Pharell opposing him, he ordered Pharell's fingers to be cut off. Never would Pharell make beats he again. He begged and pleaded with Prince Lart but to no avail. Heather indeed gave Prince Lart head and Pharell's fingers were cut off right in front of Prince Lart as he ordered. After this slave Pharell was sentenced to life in the dungeon. the only thing he had down there was a pencil and a hollow drum.
Prince Lart became so greedy so obsessed with himself that people couldn't stand him anymore. He banished people everyday. He murked Tommy Mottola. His body was never found. Years passed as Prince Lart's reign continued and Pharell rotted in prison. However, things always seem to play out. slave Pharell while in the dungeon managed to rummage a knife and two sticks with which he used to play the hollow drum. The dungeon was chained so no one could reach him so at night with his palms he would play the drums and play and play...one day however he was joined by someone who was just as talented as he...his name was Sir Justin Blaze.. ..
Sir Justin was a talented beatmaker just like Prince Lart and Prince Lart learned of his talents through village hearsay. Whoever he never wanted someone that could rival his skills and could possibly take the Golden MPC from him. So he had his army capture Sir Justin and throw him into the dungeon. They burned his village. Destroyed his Triton...Sir Blaze was emotionally traumatized..Pharell unaware of these events tried to comfort him but he could not. However he mentioned to Sir Justin that there was a way they could escape. Sir Pharell had now been in the dungeon for 2 years. "How" Sir Justin asked. "Grindin" said Pharell. And that is all he needed to say. At that moment the two bonded. They formed a team that was impenetrable a force that not even Prince Lart could rival. With Sir Blaze doing melody's and sampling and Pharell doing the drums they couldn't be stopped. Day and night they grinded. Pharell beating the drums and Sir Justin beating cell bars, anything that he could get his hands on to make a melody. Every night they did this and people started to hear. "What is that beat coming from the floor", people would ask. Every night Pharell and blaze would put on a concert not knowing that their crowd was building.
When it came time for the annual beat competition people came from all over. Sir Timothy from Virginia arrived on horseback, Sir Dre whom had been good friends of Prince Lart arrived by chariot from the West Side. And Sir Dupri came all the way from the south by charter to compete in this competition. There would be a 4 way competition, each man harnessing their own individual beat-making machines which they had acquired through their own adventures... The crowd favorite of course was Prince Lart who was undefeated for the past 3 years. No one expected the others to win. But welcomed the competition. Prince Lart had become so big that he didn't even come down into the town square for the competition this year. In his seat was a small tape recorder with a small sign that said "Play" and that was it.
The competition was fierce. Dre brought out indian samples from far western lands. Sir Timothy with his wide array of beats always provided a show. He even brought Sir Peter of North Carolina to rap over one of his beats. Never seen before in the competition but it was allowed. Sir Dupri however prepared a lackluster performance. Visily torn because of recent disses from Sir Eminem of Fort Detroit (who was by the way Prince Larts worst enemy) he just brought no creativity so the crowd booed him and he was thrown off of the stage into the moat which lay on the side for the losers. He would wade their till the show was over.
When it came time for Prince Lart's turn the crowd cheered, very deafening noises they made. Prince Lart sat in his room and laughed. "Those weak ass bitches" he mumbled under his breath. "We will now play THE TAPE", marked the announcer. Everyone was silent no one made a peep. There was silence. "Word" he said...and then the melody. My god..the melody was something they had never heard before in their life, and it was only coming from a tape recorder. One man burst from the crowd. "hook it up to the speakers now!" he yelled. A guard nervously grabbed the tape recorder and plugged it into the vast array of speakers on the stage. As it blasted people cheered. Women cried. Babies smiled. The most wonderful melody they had ever heard was playing. He had done it again. The challengers jumped into the moat discouraged and waited for the beat to end. Once it ended the speaker announced. "There is no doubt, the winner again is Prince Lart!" The crowd cheered, he giggled to himself. "The fools", he said.
But wait..the ground started to shake......"Grindin....boom-ba-boom...doom-da-doom-do-doom..Grindin.." came from the ground softly. "Grindin..da-doom-da-doom....da-da-da-doom-da-doom...grindin" "Wait" the people shouted..."what is that" the people said.."Grindin"..it began to get louder..girls started to dance...boys started to Harlem Shake. The drums resonated through the ground till all you could here was the melody. The crowd no longer paid attention to Prince Lart's beat. He raced down the castle stairs and out to the courtyard. "What is this atrocity" he yelled...."Grindin..da-doom-da-doom....da-da-da-doom-da-doom...grindin" The speaker in bewilder announced "who is that Prince Lart?"
To Be Contiuned......
