# VIDEO: Hip Hop Murder Inc.mov

## REWRITTEN: 2026-05-12 17:33:32

## SCRIPT 510 OF 686

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Yo what's good evil streets family, you already know your boy back at it with another joint, big shout to all my members and subscribers for pulling up daily, y'all the real reason this channel eating and growing. Anybody trying to push their music, brand or business hit me at evil streets media at gmail.com, we can work something out. All love to everybody hitting the cash app too, and if you trying to support the movement you can catch me at evil streets tv on cash app, every dollar go right back into this thing. Aight yo, let's slide into this gangster chronicle.

Loyalty over everything, Murder Ink Records and Kenneth Supreme McGriff, Queens, New York. This saga starts with two cats from similar cloth just walking different roads. One was a certified legend in them streets, ran the crack operation in Jamaica Queens through the mid to late 80s, had his name echoing through every block in NYC. The other was a hungry DJ who came up studying the playbook from Run DMC, then graduated to producer, engineer, Def Jam A&R and eventually his own label boss. Now heads been running their mouth for years about that whole Supreme Murder Ink rise, but mad of that talk is straight fiction. One lie folks push is Kenneth Supreme McGriff helped Irv Gotti climb up, nah that was Irv on his own hustle. The media tried spinning Murder Ink like it was funded by drug paper and even blamed Supreme for that whole G-Unit situation. But real ones know it was Irv's loyalty that brought the heat to him and his label. Irv was connected to legends from the concrete and the studio. But his real ascent came from pure talent, straight up. My man had the ear, the grind and the vision to make major moves in the music industry.

Irv was plugged in with three major forces, Supreme from the Supreme Team, Jay-Z and Dee-Dine from Ruff Ryders. That triangle was crucial to everything Irv constructed. And while Irv made power moves, the narrative that usually gets pushed don't show none of that respect. Instead cats been trying to soil his reputation, ignoring all the plays he made that shifted the culture. Irv was a Hollis Queens cat through and through, and he caught feelings for the turntables early. DJing, scratching, chopping, that's what sparked DJ Irv's flame. That sound became the foundation for a whole lot of street tales.

He came up in that crazy period where hip hop and the crack trade crashed into each other head-on, and Irv was smack in the center of all that. When folks speak on Jamaica Queens and the street activity, certain names always surface. You gonna hear about Fat Cat, Pappy Mason, the Bebos, the Corlies and of course the Supreme Team. Those names are woven into the tapestry of that time. Right when hip hop was exploding, the 80s in Queens was a wild period. Hip hop icons were emerging from the borough like tidal waves, Run DMC, Eric B, Cool G Rap, Roxanne Shante, DJ Hurricane, LL Cool J, Salt and Pepa just to name a handful. But them streets was just as loud, the same drug kingpins the rappers grew up observing were the ones shaping the movement. They were the blueprint for both the hustle and staying alive.

Crack had the city in a stranglehold, money was flooding in stupid quick. Heads was stacking paper in hours off ten dollar hits, five dollar vials, some even three. Every corner in Jamaica Queens had product and the crews, they were structured like corporations. Ten to twelve hour shifts, chain of command and a whole roundtable of bosses orchestrating power moves. Fat Cat was said to sit at the throne with straight up killers and shot callers in the circle. These were the dudes who became street mythology. By the mid-80s the crack tsunami had reached its peak. Crews were organized, handlers, runners, lookouts, lieutenants, everybody played a position in a million dollar machine, and even cats who didn't know Supreme personally were out here claiming the team just off the power of that name.

Crack dropped in 85 and the city went berserk, said Bimmy, a Supreme Team OG. Yo I witnessed everybody come through, cops, firemen, lawyers, dudes on the block, all of them chasing that rush. The Supreme Team controlled Baisley Projects right off Guy R Brewer Boulevard. Supreme, born September 19th 1960, built his squad like a general, he had real hitters, Big C, Puerto Rican Righteous, Courtney Green-Eyed Born, Baby Wise, Jeff Dog, Sea God, Black Just and his nephew Prince, that was the foundation of a movement that left a permanent mark on the streets and the culture. Supreme was well respected, yeah he might have been short in stature but in Queens, Prem stood tall like a New York Giant, real charismatic, always thinking three moves ahead and had a seat at the roundtable with the other heavyweights moving major weight.

In Queens, Prem was the type of dude you could step to. He led with love, showed respect and received that same energy back. The Supreme Team yo, that name resonated through all of Queens. Prem made sure his people was straight, they looked the part too, fly gear, fresh kicks, big chains, straight gangster meets hip hop royalty. Prem rewarded his workers real proper and was beloved all across Queens. He even established a whole basketball league, him and other top dealers had their own squads with custom jerseys, playing ball at Baisley Projects for bragging rights and the crown. Back then Queens was a blend of rappers, ballers and hustlers. It wasn't unusual to see them all in the same cipher, rappers like the Albino Twins and DJs like Grandmaster Vic would drop tracks shouting out Prem, songs like Coke Ads Life.

That period, the dealers had more influence than the rappers, artists looked up to them, dressed like them, rocked the same jewelry, moved with the same swagger. Drug dealers had that power, money, style, cars, women, everything. Prem and his squad, they was those cats, kings of the neighborhood. At its peak the Supreme Team was banking two hundred thousand a day. But with all that paper and fame, the streets started talking, truth, lies and everything in between, fuel for the feds to construct a case and trust, the cops had it out for Prem. They was on him heavy, he got knocked in 85, feds discovered eighty plus pounds of work, straps and over thirty-five thousand in cash at a stash spot connected to the team. But Prem made bail and stayed free even while the law tried building something stronger, and even behind bars he was still controlling things in Baisley, that's the kind of influence he carried.

By 87 Prem was out again fighting the case with top shelf lawyers. Even after catching a conviction he caught a break, his sentence got overturned on a technicality. But the feds weren't backing off, that October they raided Baisley and took him in, some of the crew down. Jamaica Queens was in a dark space back then, crack had the hood in a death grip. From 84 to 88 the murder rate was through the ceiling, beef over territory, bodies falling, kids and innocent folks getting caught in the chaos. Fat Cat who ran the roundtable had the streets terrified, straight savage operations, even murdering his baby mother for moving foul. But the craziest hit, rookie cop Edward Byrne in 1988, allegedly ordered by Pappy Mason and his crew, that made national headlines.

The war on drugs transformed into a full-scale manhunt, feds started throwing the book at anybody connected to a crew. Five grams of crack got you a dime, life sentences were getting handed out like food stamps, whole squads flipped and snitched just to save their own skin. Supreme, he disappeared just in time, took a twelve year plea deal before the hammer really dropped. His nephew Prince took over but he didn't operate like Prem, dude was ruthless, more focused on body counts than bread and that got the whole team knocked down eventually. Supreme was fortunate he lived to see the other side, most of the others they ain't never touching freedom, Prince and them buried alive, their own people testified on them.

Time doesn't just move clocks, it moves people too. While Supreme was locked up from 87 to 93, Queens flipped the script, the hustle changed up, old regulations got thrown out and that roundtable, gone. A new wave of dealers emerged, young bulls with a whole different mentality, ain't no more respect and love like back in the day. Now it was all muscle, menace and making folks relocate or get relocated. Hip hop transformed too, the culture shifted. By the mid-90s, rappers had more clout than the corner boys, the narrative flipped. Murder Ink Records became the voice of that new era, Irv Gotti capitalizing on the streets' obsession with their own mythology and turning it into platinum records and chart dominance.

But that connection to the street element, to figures like Supreme and the whole Supreme Team legacy, that stayed attached to Murder Ink like a shadow. The label's biggest artists, Ja Rule, Ashanti, and others, they carried that essence of Queens street culture, that blend of gangster and art that defined the borough. Murder Ink pushed boundaries, challenged the industry establishment, and gave a platform to voices that Hollywood didn't want amplified. Yet controversy followed the label relentlessly. The East Coast-West Coast beef, the shooting at the Grammys involving Ja Rule and G-Unit, federal investigations into the label's finances and connections, it all painted a target on Irv's back. The same media that once vilified Supreme Team now used the same lens to scrutinize Murder Ink, connecting dots that weren't always there, spinning narratives that fit a predetermined story.

What people often miss is that Irv Gotti, like Supreme before him, was operating in a system designed against him. The music industry had its own rules, its own hierarchy, and Irv was climbing without the backing of the major labels. He was an independent operator trying to build an empire with limited resources and unlimited enemies. The heat came from everywhere, the competition was vicious, and the feds were always watching. Murder Ink became emblematic of everything the establishment feared about hip hop culture, authenticity mixed with street credibility, and that combination made suits nervous. Court battles, conspiracy theories, RICO allegations, it seemed like there was always something new trying to take down what Irv had built.

But here's the thing about legacies like these, they ain't measured by clean hands or perfect reputations. The Supreme Team changed how Queens moved, established protocols, and showed a generation how power operated. Murder Ink did something similar, they democratized hip hop, proved that you didn't need A&R approval or Madison Avenue backing to dominate the charts. The artists that came through that label, the records they made, the culture they influenced, that's what remains. Supreme spent twelve years behind bars and came out to a world that had moved on without him. Irv faced his own legal and professional wars, some battles won, some lost, but the mark was already made. The Supreme Team and Murder Ink Records, two different eras, two different worlds, but connected by the same Queens energy, the same defiant spirit, the same refusal to play by anybody else's rules. Their legacy ain't about glorifying the criminal element or the controversies that surrounded them, it's about understanding how culture gets created in the margins, how people with nothing built something that mattered, how the streets and the studio became indistinguishable in the minds of millions. That's the real story, family.