Shaq

Arell stood in the warehouse garage, the Infinity delivery trucks filling the background behind him. Kenny, Malik, Devon, Cam, and a couple of others were spread around, some leaning against the trucks, others pacing, all casually watching as the camera crew got their final shots ready. They had been filming at different locations for over an hour now and this would wrap up their session.

The music kicked in, the thump of the bassline filling the space. Arell stood at the center, his shoulders relaxed. As the beat pulsed, he began rapping to the rhythm. The lyrics flowed from him, and with each line, he tapped Kenny, who was nodding along, hyped, like he always was when Arell was in his zone. Malik and Devon leaned in closer, vibing with every word.

"You know what I'm sayin'? The whole Infinity

You know what I'm sayin'? I put this up

Shoutout my label, that's me

I'm in this bitch with KV

I'm in this bitch with Malik

I just poured up me a eight

Real nigga all in my face

Five hunnid racks in my safe

Five hunnid racks to the mansion

What you know 'bout showin' love?

What you know 'bout pullin' up, in Bentley trucks?

These bitches fallin' in love

All of my niggas on go

None of my niggas no ho

All of my niggas know 'bout smoke

All of my niggas together

We came from the bottom

We used to wear each other clothes."

As Arell spit the bars, he caught a flash of inner reflection, almost involuntarily, in the middle of the verse. The original lyrics had felt off to him for some reason. It had happened a few times lately with his tracks—songs he used to rock with, but now they didn't sit right. Slimed In, for instance, felt too aggressive when he thought back on it, too shallow. Maybe it was growth, maybe just a shift in perspective, but whatever it was, Arell knew he couldn't change those songs now—they were already mixed, locked in. But with "Freestyle," he had that shot to adjust, and he did.

Like that one line about not liking bitches with makeup. Sure, it was raw, real—but something about it rubbed him the wrong way now. He'd kept it, but he felt it was important to make the distinction. Not all females were "bitches" to him, and it mattered, especially now that people were paying close attention to every word he said. So he added a line right after it: "I don't like females with makeup"—to show there was a difference. He'd also yanked out some of the more materialistic lines, like the one about buying breast implants. It just didn't fit the vibe he was going for anymore. It was like his whole mindset had shifted.

But right now, that didn't matter. The energy in the room was fire. Kenny was hyped, Malik was vibing, and Devon was already nodding like the track was a certified hit. They were feeding off each other's energy, and the video needed to capture that.

The cameras circled him, focusing on every movement, every bar. Arell caught the lens, staring straight into it as he hit the final lines with the kind of intensity that made his team feel it deep in their bones.

When the track ended, the space erupted into a relaxed laughter. Everyone started clapping, nodding in approval.

Kenny walked over, giving Arell a dap. "That shit was fire, bro," he said, grinning ear to ear. "You already know."

Arell chuckled, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Yeah, man. That's how it's supposed to feel."

Malik walked up next. "We gotta get that edited one time."

Darius, who'd been behind the camera for most of the shoot, was already packing up his gear. "No worries, I'll get started on this right away," he said confidently. "Y'all did your thing. Shouldn't take too long to clean up and throw together. We'll have this ready in an hour or two."

…

…

…

The camera flicked on, and No Life Shaq leaned back in his chair, eyes gleaming with excitement as he adjusted his mic.

"What's good, YouTube? It's ya boy, No Life Shaq, back with another banger! Y'all know what we do on this channel, man—we catch heat! And today, bruh... Today, we got somethin' special lined up." He paused for dramatic effect, leaning forward like he was about to drop the secret formula to success. "Bruh, we got Arell today. Yes, sir! Y'all been blowin' up my DMs, my comments, talkin' bout, 'Yo, Shaq, you gotta peep this new Arell joint, this Freestyle.' Like, bruh, I've seen it, calm down! Y'all ain't gotta blow up my phone! I heard you the first fifty times!" He grinned, shaking his head at the camera like he was in on the joke.

Shaq pulled up the video thumbnail. "Man, Arell been movin' like crazy. Bro's been dominating lately! Like, I know y'all saw what he did this year. Y'all saw that whole drama with The Game, right? Like, what the hell was that? I ain't gon' lie, bruh. That fight? Game got smoked. No cap."

He leaned back, adjusting his chair, clearly enjoying the build-up before even hitting play. "And let's be real, man, Arell has been consistent. He's been droppin' bangers. Y'all remember the last few joints, right? Bro had Loyalty Ties—and that shit was TUFF. Like, I had that on repeat for weeks. The beat? The lyrics? Fire! And don't even get me started on Blue Balenciagas—bruh, that one was hittin' different. I was in my car yellin' the hook like I just copped a pair!"

He scrolled through Arell's discography on his second screen, reminiscing. "Granny Crib? It was decent. Not the craziest, but it's cool. Then bro pulled out the Lil Reese disstracks. Oh my God! Tell me y'all remember that. I swear Arell ended Reese's career with that one. I was like, 'Damn, did Lil Reese even recover?' And y'all better not forget about Fair Trade. That was some deep shit, man. That track was hard. Bro really was in his bag, talking real life."

He paused, giving the camera a dead-serious look. "But yo... the joint that had everybody movin'? Flex. The one with Rich Homie Quan? Man, y'all know that one's a classic already!"

He leaned in, eyes narrowing as he spoke directly to the camera. "Now, today? Y'all already know what we do. We got a new drop. Freestyle. Bruh, I don't know what to expect from this. You drop a track called 'Freestyle'? You gotta come CORRECT. Ain't no hook to hide behind, ain't no gimmicks. Just bars. That's it. So, Arell, you better bring the heat, or I'm coming for your head. No excuses, bro, you gotta show up today. And y'all know I ain't biased—I'll call it trash if it's trash! But if it's tough? You know we gon' let that shit ride."

He clicked on the video, but before it could start, he froze. "Hold up, hold up. Y'all see this? 210k views in one hour?? BRUH! This man really out here breakin' the internet! What the hell is goin' on? I ain't even pressed play yet, and the man's already got more views than most rappers get in a month. That's crazy! That's clout, right there."

The video started rolling, and the first frame showed Arell in a studio. His durag untied, draped over his shoulders, and the music building. Shaq's eyes locked on the screen. "Okay, okay, we in the studio with it, the gang in the back. I like the vibe already."

Then the camera panned, showing Arell's crew,. "Ay if ya'll know, you know, but thats Kenny right there, my man just won MVP in the G League."

Shaq waved his hand at the screen, "Alright, I see you, Arell. You bringin' the squad out for this one. But, yo, you know how I do. I gotta keep it 100. So let's see what you got, bro. Let's get this started." He clicked play again, letting the video roll as the beat dropped, and Arell started spitting.

Instantly, the energy in Shaq's room shifted. "Ohhhhh, here we go!" Shaq's head started bobbing along as Arell's voice cut through the beat, the rawness of the production already grabbing his attention.

Then the first lyrics hit:

"You know what I'm sayin'? The whole Infinity

You know what I'm sayin'? I put this up

Shoutout my label, that's me"

Shaq slapped the pause button, his face lighting up like a kid on Christmas. "Damn! Hold up, hold up! 'Shoutout my label, that's me'?! Bro, y'all hear what he just said? That's tough!" Shaq leaned closer to the mic, eyes wide with excitement. "Bruh, you gotta understand how crazy that is. Most of these rappers shout out their label like they work for 'em. But Arell? Man said that's him. He owns that shit. He is the label. That's a whole different kind of flex! When you own what you put out? Nah, that hits different, man. Arell really out here bossin' up on us."

He clicked play again, and Arell continued.

"I'm in this bitch with KV

I'm in this bitch with Malik

I just poured up me a eight

Real nigga all in my face

Five hunnid racks in my safe

Five hunnid racks to the mansion"

Shaq's eyes widened, leaning back in his chair as he absorbed the bars. "Bro said, 'Five hunnid racks in my safe, five hunnid racks to the mansion.' That's big money talk, right there. And he ain't lyin'. If you been followin' Arell, you know man been stackin' up heavy. This man is movin' like Jay Z."

The track rolled on, with Arell's confidence riding high:

"What you know 'bout showin' love?

What you know 'bout pullin' up, in Bentley trucks?

These bitches fallin' in love"

Shaq grinned and let the track run, but then he paused it again, shaking his head. "See, this is what I love about Arell. Real ones never forget where they came from. That's what sets him apart. Like, yeah, the money and the flex are crazy, but dude still keeps it grounded. He ain't forgot the people that was with him when there wasn't no expensive cars."

Shaq clicked play again, and Arell's bars picked up the pace:

"All of my niggas on go

None of my niggas no ho

All of my niggas know 'bout smoke

All of my niggas together

We came from the bottom

We used to wear each other clothes."

This time, Shaq didn't even wait to pause the video—he jumped out of his seat, hands thrown up in the air. "WOOOOO! REAL TALK! If you been through it, you know what that's like! Man said, 'We used to wear each other clothes.' Bruh, if you ain't never shared a shirt with your cousin, you can't relate! This is real struggle, real come-up vibes. That's why Arell different. He's not just talking about being up; he's reminding you where he came from. He ain't just out here flexin' for the sake of flexin'—he's telling his story."

Shaq nodded, clearly hyped, as the video continued. The crew in the background, all vibing, the delivery trucks in view—it all added to the raw feel of the freestyle. Shaq kept one hand hovering near the pause button, but for a while, he let Arell's flow carry through uninterrupted.

Then the bars shifted:

"None of my niggas gon' fold

Couple pussy niggas told

They ain't my niggas no mo'."

Shaq paused again, eyes intense. He leaned in like he was about to drop some profound knowledge. "See, man... this right here? This is street law. Y'all ever had somebody fold on you? I mean if yo' homie do a crime and whatever and you ain't with that, ok, but if you bout that life and had someone you thought was solid turn around and snitch? It hits different, bro. 'They ain't my niggas no mo'.' That's the code. Once you break it? Ain't no comin' back."

He clicked play again, and the vibe in the video remained strong—Arell moving through the warehouse, surrounded by his crew, the whole set feeling intimate yet powerful.

After a few more pauses to hype up random moments, Shaq reached the last section of the song:

"Lil' nigga, but I'm big dawg

All I gotta make is one call

Hit a nigga block, took off

Cross a nigga up, Hot Sauce"

Shaq nearly spat out his drink. "YOOOOO! Bro hit us with the Hot Sauce reference?! He said, 'Cross a nigga up, Hot Sauce!' If y'all don't know about Hot Sauce from AND1, y'all too young. That man was a legend with the crossovers."

He was fully locked in now, and Arell wasn't letting up:

"Ooh, I got 'em mad, my fault

Talking bout the shit that I bought

I don't need percs, I know how to turn a savage

Hunnid racks stuffed in the mattress

Hunnid racks stuffed in the attic

Hunnid racks stuffed in the sofa."

Shaq paused it again, shaking his head with a massive grin. "Bruh, y'all hearin' this? Hundred racks in the mattress, the attic, the sofa. Bruh why you got racks everywhere? I bet he got racks in his damn fridge! And then he said, 'I don't need percs, I know how to turn a savage.' I felt that, bruh. Too many of these niggas out here talkin' 'bout poppin' percs, but Arell saying he don't need that to be savage. That's grown-man talk right there."

The bars kept coming, the energy reaching a peak as the video neared its end.

"These niggas play gangsta, but they won't approach me

I know they'll never approach me

They know that they'll catch a bullet

I rock the game to the fullest

I run with some real ones, I don't hang with no pussies."

Shaq's face lit up again, eyes wide. "Man said they won't approach him! You can talk tough, but they know what's gonna happen if they try him. This is real respect he's talking about. When you move like Arell, people know not to test you. He's running with real ones only. No fakes, no snakes. And the way he delivering it? Cold as hell."

Finally, the track began to wind down:

"They can't get in touch with me

Hardly ever in the city

They just know I'm gettin' bigger

They just know a nigga busy

I been runnin' up them digits, yeah."

Shaq paused the video for one last time, letting the silence sit in the air for a moment before he spoke. "Bruh... that's it. That's the one. Arell said, 'I've been runnin' up them digits.' And that's facts! This man out here makin' moves, gettin' bigger, and the whole game knows it. This man is busy, and he still found time to bless us with this freestyle? Nah, he different."

Shaq sat back, rubbing his chin with a smirk. "I'm tellin' y'all... this one's a banger. No debate. Arell came through with the bars, the energy, and he ain't miss a single beat. And the video? Simple, but clean as hell. No flashy effects, just Arell and his crew, vibin' out, letting the bars speak for themselves. It felt kind of like a Anthem"

He leaned in again, giving the camera a knowing look. "This is what we needed from Arell. Man is on a different level right now, and the way he's movin'? Y'all better be ready, 'cause Arell's about to take over for real. I don't care what nobody say—this was tuff."

Shaq did a dramatic pause, sitting back and taking a long breath before pointing at the camera. "Certified banger. Arell, you did your thing, bruh. Keep 'em comin'. Gang, y'all let me know what y'all think in the comments, but me? I'm ridin' with this one all the way."