50 Cent isn’t the only rapper with bullet scars. Not to glorify but do you ever wonder what it would be like to get hit by some hot lead? Ten MCs reveal in vivid detail their life-changing moments.

There was a time when “stop the violence” was a cool hip-hop catchphrase. So-called gangsters didn’t make albums, a Teflon vest wasn’t a fashion statement, and reportage of shootings fell outside the domain of MTV News. But that era has passed. Today, one man’s tragedy—real or imagined—is another man’s entertainment, as boastful tales of gunplay and bloodshed flood the lyrics of hit pop songs. In 21st century America, it shouldn’t come as news to anyone that violence sells. As record-buyers, video-watchers, and yes, magazine readers, we can’t seem to get enough of MCs with real-life bullet-riddled stories to tell. Musique verite? Art imitating life? Or the exploitation of a voyeuristic public’s fascination with street cred—an insidious marketing scheme of callous corporations?

These are questions with no easy answers. But the fact remains that in the midst of the rhythm and rhyme, the scary reality of bullets piercing flesh gets overlooked. Some action-hero rap tunes would have you think that getting shot is like taking a punch to the gut. In truth, bullets maim. Bullets kill. And rappers or not, too many Black men in this country find themselves facing the barrel. In 2001 there were over 6,400 gun deaths among Black males in the U.S., according to the National Center for Health Statistics. And Black males are 8.5 times more likely to be murdered than White males.

Clearly, those numbers are important ones for the hip-hop community to think about and discuss. But statistics, too, are a level removed. So XXL got several rappers to talk about getting shot—how it began, what it felt like, and the painful aftermath.

G-Unit’s Lloyd Banks tells of dragging himself several blocks to the hospital despite massive internal bleeding, only to wake up the next morning to a different kind of terror. Young Buck relives a robbery that erupted into automatic gunfire, while Slick Rick talks about the 1990 shooting incident that led him down a path that ended in a five-year prison sentence. Capone offers advice on avoiding the types of choices that put holes in his body.
B-Real describes the horrors of the emergency room. And  MF Grimm takes us through the tragedy that left him paralyzed and mourning the loss of his brother.

The accounts are compelling—they make for a good read. But we hope they serve to prove that in real life, getting shot isn’t a game. And it isn’t the measure of a man’s realness. Gun violence is a serious problem that unfortunately overlaps with hip-hop culture, and at some point we’re going to have to stop bobbing our heads and start opening our eyes. —Saptosa Foster

Capone
August, 1996. Afternoon. Queens, N.Y.

I was on my way to Queensbridge Day, which is a celebration we have every year [in Queensbridge Houses], and it was the summer of ’96. I had my money and I was shining a little bit. I was in the hood, and niggas tried to rob me. When they came up on me, I went for the gun. And in the process of going for the gun, I got popped in the arm. Nore’s sister, who was hanging out with me, was going crazy! I was the cool nigga, but she was like, “You’ve been shot… lay down!” I’m sitting there like, “Yo, give me some water.” I was like, Damn, this nigga got me. And she’s screaming like, “Ahhhh!” She was making me nervous.

When the ambulance came, I wasn’t saying shit. My mind was just racing at the time. My heart was racing crazy. On my way to the hospital I felt my arm like losing feeling. My shit was just dead—I couldn’t lift it or nothing. I just kept thinking, Damn, a nigga is paralyzed.

When I finally made it to the hospital, when the doctors went to look at my wound, they found out I had a hole in my back. They started bugging and throwing me on a stretcher, giving me an IV and all types of wild shit. They thought I might have had internal wounds, so they numbed me, cut me open, stuck a tube in me—and while they were doing all of this, I was still conscious. The tube shoots a light in your body, which highlights the inside. So I’m looking at the computer monitor while the doctors are looking at the inside of my body—my heartbeat and all that shit. I’m just praying that I didn’t have any internal problems.

I was totally paralyzed in my left arm. I’m still half paralyzed. After me and Nore dropped our first album, Nore had to sign all the autographs. He would sign “Capone-N-Noreaga.” I couldn’t sign shit. Now I’m kind of good. I’ve been working on my right arm for years by boxing and all that shit.

The thing is, when I got shot, I knew it was just part of the game. Everybody is not fortunate and there are hungry niggas out there. But I want to tell people that that’s not the only way to go. I think my and others’ experiences with [gun violence] should be enough for these young dudes. But everybody nowadays gotta be the toughest. Rappers coming into the game now are at a young age—18, 19, 20—when they are just starting to live. They think they can afford to do a bid or to get shot. So I’m here to say, Let me be the dude that did the bid and got shot for you and tell you about it on record. I don’t want other niggas to go through what I went through.

mf grimm
January, 1994. Afternoon. New York City.

It was in a snowstorm, a blizzard. An hour before, I was getting prepared to go to Atlantic Records to get signed for a half million dollars. I was coming out of the barbershop and jumped into the car my brother was driving. They shot the car up. My brother got killed. The first [bullet] I remember was on my side. As soon as it went into my body, it collapsed both lungs. I remember that one clear as day. The closest thing I can think of for the feeling is like how Superman would burn laser beams out of his eyes. It was that much heat, internally, trying to come out through my eyes. One went in my neck, ricocheted in my head and came out my mouth. Like a TV short-circuiting, it was like static in my head. The rest of them—side, arm, back—I don’t remember as much.

Death is something I never feared, but it did wake me up. You realize how weak you really are. Life has a higher calling beyond the physical aspect. I was pronounced dead for a moment. I woke up and there was an officer over me. I was in the ambulance with detectives. I’m strapped down, I’m bleeding, dying. All I can tell you is when I was pronounced dead, I did go somewhere. I’ve seen things it would be hard to explain. The place I was going, I was at peace and it was bliss. But I had to come back. It was one of the biggest disappointments for a while. But that was my journey, coming back here and getting another opportunity. Paralysis, which is like purgatory, was a bitter blessing. But it put me on my path to try to become a better human being.

The physical body is just a puppet. It’s not who I am. I never knew myself. Before this happened, I was already paralyzed—but it was just my brain. When someone is blind, their other senses kick in. It happens with paralysis as well. I can feel things that other people might not realize I can feel. Originally, I was blind in the right eye, deaf in the right ear. I couldn’t talk. I was paralyzed from the neck down. Since then my feelings have come back.

I don’t remember how to walk, though. It’s my own fault for not staying on top of remembering how to walk, but I do have a great chance of walking again. It took a moment not to view this totally selfishly. I’m in this for a reason, for other people to learn from it. I’m not an angel—I’ve done a lot of shit. I’ve been on the other side of the gun. It’s nothing to glorify. At the time this happened, I was getting label offers. When I got shot, the labels all wanted to separate from me. Now it’s part of your deal.