VIDEO: Big Nose Troy Singleton Final.mp4

REWRITTEN: 2026-05-12 10:05:15

SCRIPT 372 OF 686

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Yo what's good evil streets family, y'all know the deal we back at it again with another one, salute to all the members and subscribers who be tuning in on the regular, y'all the backbone of this whole operation, the real reason we growing and thriving out here. Anybody trying to push their music, brand, or business, hit my line at evil streets media at gmail.com, we can make something pop. Mad love for all the cash app donations too, and if anybody else wanna show support, pull up to evil streets TV on cash app, every dollar go right back into building this thing. Aight yo let's dive into this gangster chronicle. Back in the 80s and 90s, Queens was straight-up war territory disguised as a borough, blocks pumping with crack profits, crews flexing firepower, and everybody understood where the throne was. Sitting at the peak of that empire was Kenneth Supreme McGriff and his legendary Supreme Team, these cats wasn't just block hustlers, they was an organization, a full-blown criminal dynasty, people crossed to the other side when they rolled by, dropped their heads and hoped they wouldn't get caught in the wrong dude's shadow. Fear and respect wasn't up for debate, it was the only language spoken, and Supreme's squad spoke it fluently. But even in a city that bowed to that level of power, there's always that unpredictable element, the cat who won't bend, the one who don't blink even when the most dangerous beast is staring him down. In Queens, that individual was Troy Singleton, better known on them blocks as Big Nose Troy. Troy wasn't no side character, he came up in an age when myths were still being etched in gunpowder and getaway vehicles. Supreme, Prince, Fat Cat Nichols, these titles echoed like Sunday morning church bells, later even young 50 Cent would stake his claim in that arena. But Troy, Troy was built from a different mold. He wasn't following none of them. He wasn't submitting. He represented a fresh generation of Queens soldiers, the type who gave zero respect to what the old regime constructed or who they terrorized, and that mentality, that's what sealed his name in the street archives. He came up linked to figures that hip-hop fanatics recognize instantly, he was tight with Prodigy from Mobb Deep, moving through the same circles where rap bars and street credibility overlapped. But his closest ally was E Money Bags, his right hand, his enforcer, his reflection in the insanity. Together these two got involved in dirt that reached past Queens borders, they wasn't content with just being another pair of corner grinders. They hit licks, pulled armed robberies, and moved with no caution. Information traveled quick, Big Nose Troy was somebody you didn't want problems with, his title alone held weight like a warning bullet. But street credibility comes with documentation, and eventually the same dirt you commit returns to haunt you. Troy caught pressure when his government name appeared in court documents connected to a double homicide, the type of documents that make allies vanish like smoke and rivals smell opportunity. When Troy discovered a Supreme Team member's signature tangled up in those same papers, that was the breaking point, boundaries got carved in blood. To him it wasn't only about the criminal charges, it was about treachery, about staying alive. So him and E Money Bags went full throttle, they announced warfare, not hints, not coded messages, straight-up warfare against one of the most lethal organizations New York had ever witnessed, and when they mobilized, they mobilized loud. For months Troy and E Money Bags tracked down anyone connected to Supreme, workers, affiliates, even the dudes who just stood in proximity. They wasn't just confronting them, they was degrading them, beatdowns, chases, pure disrespect that rang throughout Queens. It was the kind of maneuver nobody imagined was feasible. The most audacious attacks went down when Troy and his squad put hands on some of Supreme's tightest connections, they laid hands on Irv Gotti, yeah that Irv Gotti, and Ron Dunner Robinson. Actions like that wasn't just violence, they was declarations, they was announcing what nobody else had the courage to whisper, we ain't shook of Supreme. But you can't provoke the beast and expect no retaliation. Supreme operated like a commander, and commanders don't accept open insurrection. He placed a contract on Troy's head, word through the hood was crystal clear, Big Nose Troy had to be eliminated, and in Queens once a bounty is issued, it's just a countdown before somebody steps up to claim it. October 2001, South Jamaica, Liberty Avenue, outside Club Van Wyck, the type of establishment where hustlers mingled with dreamers and everybody understood trouble could locate you fast. That's where Troy's chapter reached its savage conclusion. Gunmen caught him vulnerable and the murder was clinical, precision. Just like that, the individual who stood defiant against one of the city's most feared operations was dropped on the same concrete he once dominated with fearlessness. The streets went silent for a moment, the kind of silence that only comes when a legend falls. Word spread fast through every corner of Queens that Big Nose Troy was gone, and the reaction was mixed. Respect for a soldier who refused to bend mixed with the harsh reality that defiance against Supreme McGriff came with a terminal price tag. E Money Bags grieved hard, lost his left hand, his brother in arms, but he survived longer than Troy did, carried that loss like a scar that never fully healed. Prodigy mourned the loss of his brother, the dude who brought Red Lobster to his hospital bed when sickle cell was eating at his body, the man who showed loyalty when most would've disappeared. That connection they shared, built on suffering and genuine brotherhood, that was real in a game full of fakeness, and Troy's death took something from P that couldn't be replaced. The streets documented what happened to Troy, but not in the way documentaries do, not in the way media covers other crimes. Troy's legacy got passed down in the cipher, in the stories OGs tell young cats about what happens when you run into the wrong person, when ambition meets the wrong moment, when courage don't got wisdom attached to it. His story became a cautionary tale and an inspiration simultaneously, a young dude from Queens who wasn't impressed by crowns and didn't bow to empires, who looked at Supreme McGriff and didn't see a god, just another man. That's revolutionary, even if it was revolutionary in the wrong direction. Big Nose Troy Singleton's legacy lives on not in the history books or the Netflix documentaries, but in the murmurs of street corners, in the barbershop conversations, in the late-night sessions where OGs break down what was real and what wasn't. He represent a generation that didn't inherit fear from their elders, that saw the old regime and said nah, we moving different. Troy gave everything to that philosophy, paid with his blood, left his name carved into the concrete of Queens. In the final analysis, Big Nose Troy was a figure of contradiction, a rebel who became a martyr, a symbol of Queens resistance that burned bright and brief before the machinery of the street extinguished it. But that brightness, that refusal to submit, that's what made him immortal in the streets that remember him. Long after the police reports gather dust, long after the witnesses forget the details, Big Nose Troy will still be that dude who stood up to a titan and made the titan respond with bullets. That's power in its truest form, that's legacy in the streets, and that's why we still talking about him, why his name still carries weight, why Big Nose Troy Singleton remains one of the most authentic figures to ever come out of Queens, a man who chose his own story, even when the ending was written in blood.