Yo what's good to the real ones in the streets, y'all know the deal we back at it again, major salute to every single member and subscriber that be pulling up on the daily, straight up. Y'all the ones keeping this whole operation breathing, the reason we even still standing. Anybody trying to get their music, their brand, their whole business out there, hit my line at evil streets media at gmail.com, we can work something out no doubt. Big respect to everybody sending that cash app love too, and if you trying to throw support this way, pull up to evil streets TV on cash app, every dollar goes right back into keeping this moving. Aight yo let's dive into this street chronicle right now. August 29th 1986, Oakland never witnessed no send-off like what went down that day, 8,000 deep in the streets posted up watching a horse drawn carriage rolling through with the casket, right behind that a whole convoy screaming power and status, four Rolls Royces, ten white limos, Cadillacs and Lincolns, all rolling out heavy for the man they was putting in the ground. The whole procession ran eight miles deep, took two whole hours, shut down every block and had the headlines going crazy. National news coverage was all over it, but it wasn't just the press documenting the scene, federal agents was posted too, sitting in a red Ferrari they done seized from the deceased. They wasn't there to mourn nah they was there watching, snapping flicks of anybody they figured might still be running in the game. The crowd had two sides to it, some viewed him as a legend. Kids was telling reporters they looked up to dude, people was speaking on how he put bread back into the hood, made sure folks was eating and looked out for his people, a woman in the crowd kept it a hundred, if there ain't no jobs what they expect people to do, who else the kids supposed to look up to? But not everybody was seeing it that way, to others dude was poison, some was relieved he was gone, saying the city was better off without him, a city councilman called the funeral a disgrace, said it was hero worship of a murderous thug, and then when the funeral was wrapping up, Sade's smooth operator played over the loudspeakers. Felix the cat Mitchell, gone at 32, the 69 mob's original boss, Oakland's first real kingpin, the one who flipped the game forever. He had been whipping that red Ferrari and mad other exotic whips through some of the grimiest blocks in America, rolling through East Oakland like royalty, flanked by his lieutenants strapped with assault rifles. His empire covered massive housing projects locked down like fortresses while he draped himself in full-length furs, glittering diamonds and the swagger of a cat who made it on his own terms. But it wasn't just about the flex, he spread the wealth too, donating to charities, passing out cash, making sure East Oakland felt his presence in more ways than one. Then the downfall came, his crew had brought too much heat and when the feds finally made their move, Oakland's bloody August put him and his operation on their radar for good. By the time they had him in cuffs facing his fate in court, Felix the cat didn't sound like no man full of regret. According to the LA Times when a probation officer asked about his choices before sentencing, his response was cold, simple and to the point, I like money, I like jewelry, I like fine cars and I went out and got them, isn't that the American way? For a man who once ran the streets like royalty, the way Felix Mitchell met his end was almost unthinkable, just a year into his life sentence locked down in Leavenworth, he was stabbed to death, reportedly over a $10 debt, a kingpin who had built an empire worth millions, brought down in a way that felt almost petty compared to the scale of his past. Mitchell had stepped into the drug game young and climbed fast, turning the 69 mob into one of the most feared and powerful drug organizations in Oakland, under his leadership the crew built a tight grip on the city, enforcing their rule through violence, intimidation and an iron clad street code. But with that power came heat, from rivals, from law enforcement and eventually from the feds. When they finally got him he was hit with drug trafficking, racketeering and murder charges, earning him life without parole. They called him the cat, a name that fit his elusive, smooth and strategic nature, some say it was because of how he always landed on his feet no matter how rough things got, others claim it was just his natural charisma, the way he moved through the game with a mix of cunning and precision. Either way the name stuck and it became legend in the streets of Oakland, in the criminal world an alias is more than just a name, it's a brand, an identity, a reputation that carries weight long after a man is gone, and for better or worse Felix the cat Mitchell's legacy still lingers in the Bay area, a symbol of both the rise and the inevitable fall that comes with playing the game at the highest level. Felix Mitchell didn't just stumble into the game, he built an empire, after dropping out of high school he went all in, forming my other brother, better known as the six nine mob or simply mob. What set him apart wasn't just his ambition but his vision, he wasn't just running street corners, he was connecting cities, making power moves from Oakland to LA and even Detroit. One of his biggest influences was Tuti Reese, a heavyweight in the Los Angeles drug trade, through Reese, Mitchell leveled up his operation, learning the game from one of the best and locking in serious business connections. His network ran deep, crossing state lines and pulling in major weight, this wasn't just a local hustle, he turned the mob into a force that demanded respect far beyond the Bay area. With drug trafficking, extortion and a tight grip on the streets, Mitchell rose to infamy as one of the most feared figures in the game, his empire was built on power, strategy and ruthless enforcement. But like all kings who climbed too high, the fall was inevitable, and when it came it changed the streets of Oakland forever. Felix Mitchell wasn't just a hustler, he was a warlord in the streets, his rise to power in the six nine mob wasn't just about making money, it was about control, and control in his world came through fear, violence and intimidation. He ruled with an iron fist, eliminating anyone who stood in his way, whether it was a rival crew, a disloyal associate or even someone who simply crossed the wrong line. Stories of his ruthlessness are legendary, orchestrated hits, brutal retaliation and a willingness to get his hands dirty set him apart from the average dealer, he wasn't just making examples out of people, he was sending messages that echoed through the entire Bay area. Under his rule the mob wasn't just a drug crew, it was an organized machine of fear and discipline, and nobody dared test him unless they were ready to face the consequences. Mitchell's brutality kept the streets in check, but it also made him a prime target for law enforcement, the feds didn't just want to take down a dealer, they wanted to dismantle an empire, and when they finally got him the power vacuum left behind unleashed chaos in Oakland, proving that for all the fear he commanded, even Felix the cat Mitchell wasn't untouchable. Felix Mitchell's reign over the Oakland drug trade came crashing down when federal authorities finally moved in, the kingpin who had built an empire on violence, intimidation and sheer strategic dominance was hit with a wave of charges, drug trafficking, extortion and even murder. For years heroin and cocaine flowed through his network, flooding the streets and lining his pockets with millions, but the feds weren't just after a dealer, they were after a crime boss who controlled entire housing projects like they were his personal kingdom. Along with his drug empire, Mitchell was allegedly tied to orchestrating murders to maintain his grip on power, enemies, snitches and even suspected disloyal associates, none were safe. When the law finally caught up they weren't handing out light sentences, Felix was convicted and sentenced to life in prison without parole, a move that authorities hoped would cripple the 69 mob for good, but even behind bars his legend only grew and his death just a year later would prove that the game never really lets you go. Even behind bars Felix Mitchell wasn't out of the game, his empire didn't crumble overnight, if anything he adapted, prison walls couldn't contain his influence and from his cell he continued to pull strings, move product and enforce his will just like he did on the streets. Investigators found that Mitchell still had deep connections to his network, using trusted lieutenants to keep his operation alive, drug trafficking, extortion and violence, it didn't stop just because he was locked up, his name alone still carried weight and word was if Felix wanted something done it got done. Inside the prison he was just as dangerous, fights, assaults and power moves, Mitchell was still running things from behind the bars, controlling his cell block like he controlled East Oakland, making enemies everywhere he went. But that's what led to his downfall, that same ruthlessness that had made him king on the streets became his death sentence in the pen. A $10 debt over a gambling dispute, something that would've been nothing on the outside, turned into a blood debt on the inside, and in 1989, Mitchell was stabbed repeatedly by inmates, dying from his wounds in a federal penitentiary, the same place where thousands of other convicted felons were serving time. The man who had controlled millions, who had built an empire from nothing, who had streets shutting down for his funeral, met his end in a prison yard over pocket change. It was a stark reminder that no matter how high you climb, no matter how much power you accumulate, the game don't care about your story. The irony was brutal and complete, a kingpin brought down not by federal indictments or rival crews, but by the very system he had spent years evading and the violence he had made his trade. Felix the cat Mitchell's legacy stands as a cautionary tale echoing through the streets of Oakland and far beyond, a man who rose from nothing to become one of the most powerful drug traffickers in American history, only to fall victim to the brutal consequences of the life he chose. His name remains synonymous with the golden era of the crack epidemic, a time when young Black men like Felix saw the drug game as the only path to power, respect and wealth when legitimate opportunities were locked behind doors society had long since sealed shut. But his story also serves as a grim reminder that street legends are just that, legends, built on violence, suffering and the destruction of communities. Eight thousand people showed up to his funeral not because he was a hero, but because he represented something powerful in a powerless situation, a symbol of defiance in a system that had written them off. Yet those same streets that mourned him were devastated by the very empire he built, families torn apart, addictions spawned, lives ruined in the wake of his cocaine and heroin. Felix Mitchell's true legacy isn't the Rolls Royces or the diamonds or the eight-mile funeral procession, it's the cautionary verse in every street sermon about how the game takes everything, how no amount of money or respect can protect you when you build your throne on suffering. He changed the game, yes, but not for the better, and in the end, a $10 debt and a prison yard proved what the feds could not, that nobody's untouchable, and the streets always collect their debt in full.