I may have not been born in the 70's, but listening to his music... I felt as if I knew him myself. 

I could relate to him. He lived a tough life, appreciated what he had, and got through it all. I, however, still struggle to survive the harsh reality. That is exactly why I listen to him. The Westside King.

They attacked him, jailed him, put him in chains like a slave. He broke right through them, blocked their voices out, and made his voice even louder. He had his friends, he had his enemies, but nobody ever tried to stop him. The Westside King was strong, and his reign was just beginning.

That's when the war began.

He found himself the enemy of his own friend, and others went after him. He was shot at... he shook the bullets off like dust. Colors soon divided the West and East, and both coasts had their rulers. The War became worse, people started to die, and blood was shed. The Kings, no longer friends, fought each other, and vowed to fight to the very end.

The 90's. Their reigns were coming to a close.

West remained West, and East remained East. They were separated not by race, but by allegiance, color, and code. It was nighttime in Vegas, and the Westside King walked out the hotel. They attacked him once again, and like a hurricane, they went in separate directions, intimidated by the king's fury. He was unstoppable, leaving as if nothing happened.

Shots rang out, and the Westside King was hit.

His loyal subjects waited for him to recover. They waited for hours, and hours soon turned into days. When the hospital came out with the news, nobody could hold in the tears. Their king was gone. 

The Westside King was gone.

To this very day, I still wonder why he had to leave so early. He was still young, and he never deserved what he had received. Now, he is immortalized forever. A Legend.

His Name...

Tupac Shakur.

He was the Westside King, and he was my hero.