VIDEO: Lil D Final.mov

REWRITTEN: 2026-05-12 20:02:14

SCRIPT 564 OF 686

============================================================

Yo what's good to the evil streets family, y'all know how we do, back at it with another heavy hitter. Big salute to all the day ones holding me down, the members and subscribers that keep tapping in religiously. Y'all the backbone of this whole operation, the reason we still standing. If you tryna get your music promoted, push your brand, or shine light on your business, hit the inbox at evil streets media at gmail.com and we can work something out. Much love to everybody who sent them cash app donations too, that's real support right there. And for anybody else looking to throw in, you can catch me at evil streets TV on cash app, every dollar goes right back into the content. Aight bet, let's dive into this grimy street saga.

Lockwood elementary and Havens court junior high weren't just some regular schools sitting on the east side. Nah, these institutions was planted dead smack in a certified war zone, right there on 66th Ave caught between two of Oakland's most notorious and battle-hardened blocks, 65th village and 69th village. These two housing projects had witnessed generations of soldiers cycle through, but they also produced some of the realest cats to ever touch pavement, and most importantly, they shaped and sculpted Northern Cali's youngest, richest, and most ruthless cocaine boss, little D, better known in them trenches as Lil D.

Lil D came of age during that wild Reagan administration era, back when the government was pushing that just say no propaganda heavy while secretly flooding every inner city from the bay to the Bronx with them bricks. That was the Iran Contra timeline, when Uncle Sam and them CIA boys was basically playing plug for the whole nation. East Oakland was getting hammered with powder and Lil D, he was positioned right in the eye of that storm, learning how to navigate them treacherous waters. But this wasn't your average shorty coming up, nah, he had pedigree in his bloodline. His uncle was none other than big feet, Oakland's original kingpin, the city's first true godfather when it came to authentic organized criminal enterprise.

Lil D was raised over on seminary, maybe ten blocks removed from the 69th. His moms was connected, came from one of the most respected families out the village. Two of his uncles were soldiers under big feet back when the organization was running the city heavy, and his aunt, she had birthed one of big fee's kids. That wasn't just casual family ties, that was authentic mob genealogy. Dee spent countless hours in the village, especially posted at his grandmother's crib deep in the guts of the block. That spot was like a street university. He absorbed everything, from how the mob operated, how they controlled currency, commanded respect, wielded power, and handled conflict. He was barely tall enough to grip a football properly and already he was studying street politics like it was in his DNA.

Now understand this, 69th and 65th weren't just neighboring projects, they were blood. That was genuine tight-knit community fabric. If one side was eating, everybody was fed. If one side was hurting, they all felt that pain. They celebrated together, grieved together, went to battle together. It was concrete family bonds. The kids raised in them projects didn't just grow up in proximity, they learned early to go to war for each other, from the sandbox all the way to graduation. The village kids moved like a unified army. If you violated one, you had a whole wave of problems coming behind that.

Little D started making noise early, even back in elementary school. People kept eyes on him because of his family tree, but he carved out his own reputation too. Dee was intelligent, athletic, and had no fear pumping through his veins. He played baseball and basketball in all the youth leagues around the east side. But a lot of them games transformed into straight chaos real quick. If fists needed to fly, D was with it, and he never rolled solo. At any game you might clock 20, 30 village heads ready to stomp out anybody on command. If you was tuned in, you knew what time it was. And the females, they had their own squadron too, the 69th angels. Don't let that sweet title deceive you, they weren't hesitant to put in work on any girl out of line. They was known to hand out beatdowns on sight.

You could always identify the village boys from a distance. They'd be rolling on beach cruisers with white walls, three deep on each bike, one pedaling, one perched on the handlebars, one holding down the pegs, sometimes 10 or 15 bikes deep looking like a procession of junior soldiers. One of them might even be riding on a double seat just because. Their whole aesthetic was classic East Oakland, Levi 501s, thick hoodies, and them box top beanies or the ones sagging down like smurf hats, bald heads all the way around. That was their signature presentation, clean domes like their OGs before them.

These weren't just kids cruising on bikes though, these were future shot callers, sons and nephews of real gunmen from the original six nine mob. They were raised on codes, loyalty, and survival instincts from the first time they peeked through the blinds as toddlers. They witnessed real life unfolding in the streets, shootings, hustling, betrayal, it was all regular scheduled programming. Mob activity was everyday existence. Seeing a corpse stretched out on the concrete, that didn't rattle them, it hardened them. It trained them.

Right down the street from all this was the rainbow center on seminary and East 14th. That was the neighborhood recreation facility, the spot where kids played sports, hung out after school, and stayed posted during them summer months. That center gave a lot of them their first taste of competition and their first physical confrontations too.

The core squad that stood firm around Lil D was stacked with future street legends. You had names that echoed through the blocks like fat hub, Kenny Wayne, black, Scarf are, Sylvester, Doddaw, Wayne Gordon, Marvel, candy man, Lil Pat, Gary Tillery, Benny Mays, green eyed Floyd, Rick, Sean, Poo man, Lil Jerry, Dutta, Duke, James, Magnum, Seagram, Stone, Yogi, fat gene, rav, Chancé, Dion, Tim D.H., and of course big fee's sun, Lil Wayne. They was the first generation to ride under Lil D's banner, and together they would go on to flip East Oakland completely upside down.

Lil D was the connection that stitched seminary to the village, the bridge that made two dangerous zones move like one unified force, and the rainbow center, that was the headquarters, the rally point where young goons linked up and strategized moves. It wasn't just a rec center, it was the breeding ground for what would become a tight knit squad of natural born killers, future legends out of the east side.

Seminary wasn't no casual walk through the block, it was a savage strip of drug spots, liquor stores, cutthroat alleys, and after hour speakeasy joints. Bodies dropped so frequently on that strip they started calling it the cemetery. It had an aura to it, money, murder, and power. By the time Lil D hit junior high, him and the village were one unit, moving under the same banner, wrapping the name S.N.V., short for seminary and village. This wasn't no small time clique, this was a street militia covering two whole projects and about 20 blocks deep. They made it clear from the jump, power moves better when it's mobbed up.

One of the wildest locations back then was Mojo's skating rink on 71st and East 14. That was the local coliseum. If you weren't from the village, stepping in Mojo's meant you were gambling with your well-being. First thing they'd ask you, where you from, and if that answer wasn't the right one, you was getting stomped, slapped, and possibly carried out. Lucky ones walked away dizzy with a concussion. That Tom Tom Club joint, genius of love, that was the unofficial brawl anthem. When it hit the speakers, all hell broke loose, fists flying, crews throwing upsets, girls pulling hair, dudes getting trampled. Most rival turfs didn't even bother pulling up no more, they already knew Mojo's was Ville turf, and if it popped off, reinforcements were just a few blocks away.

There were other rinks too, Foothill Square and roller garden in San Leandro, but whenever the village mob slid outside their zone, they pulled up 50 to 60 deep, no less, rocking cotton sweatsuits and gear stamped with SNV on the back. They came prepared for whatever, whenever. Lil D had transformed them young heads into a mobile army, and their reputation preceded them everywhere they went. By the time they was teenagers, SNV was the most feared organization in the East Bay, and Lil D was the undisputed general commanding that whole movement.

But the streets don't stay young forever, and power built on violence always carries a price that eventually comes due. Lil D would go on to become one of the most influential but also most dangerous figures Oakland ever produced. His legacy ain't just about the money he moved or the blocks he controlled, it's about the blueprint he created and how it spread through every hood in Northern California. Some say he was a visionary, others say he was a predator wearing a crown. The truth probably sits somewhere in between. What's undeniable is this—Lil D changed East Oakland forever, and the ripple effects of his reign can still be felt today. For better or worse, his name echoes through them streets like a ghost, a reminder that in this life, you either write your story or somebody else writes it for you. And Lil D, he wrote his story in blood and bricks, leaving behind a legacy that neither the streets nor history will ever forget.