Spike Lee. A soundtrack. OC, Jeru the Damaja, and me — assembled for one record that united three of hip hop's most distinct voices. Here's how it happened.

How a studio session, a simple groove, and a message about respect became a hip hop anthem that Michelle Obama put on her workout playlist.

Brooklyn made me. Atlanta chose me. The story of how a hip hop legend from New York found his second chapter — and his second home — deep in the South.

The First Lady of the United States said "Treat 'Em Right" is her get-me-going music. A Brooklyn rapper from Howie Tee's basement had a record playing in the White House. Here's the full story — including what I did next.

In 1992, a teenager from Queensbridge stepped into a session for MC Serch's "Back to the Grill." That teenager was Nas — and almost nobody remembers that I was on that record too. Let me tell you what that moment felt like from the inside.

Before they produced Nas, Jay-Z, and Will Smith — Tone and Poke got their first major platform on my 1992 album. That's a piece of hip hop production history that needs to be told right.

Thirty-plus years on stages across America. What keeps a hip hop legend hitting the road — and why the crowd never changes.

A label called Raptivism Records. A project called "No More Prisons." Lil' Dap of Group Home, Ed O.G., and me — making the case against mass incarceration before it was a mainstream conversation. That was hip hop doing what hip hop has always done best: arriving early and telling the truth.

In 2007, I appeared on a track with Zimbabwe Legit — two brothers from Zimbabwe who signed with Hollywood Records in 1991, becoming the first African artists to land a major American hip hop deal. That collaboration is one of the most remarkable untold stories in this entire genre.

Most people know Howie Tee as the producer who found me. Almost nobody knows that the same cousin who made my career was also producing Kool Moe Dee and Heavy D — helping lay the very groundwork that hip hop stands on today. This is a family story the culture needs to hear.

Most people know me as a rapper and a radio host. Fewer know that I've been building an acting career for years — including playing a judge in a film about hip hop, and an elected official in an upcoming drama. The Chubbster contains multitudes.

"Ya Bad Chubbs" got airplay on the most important hip hop television show in history — at the exact moment hip hop was fighting for its right to exist on national TV. Being in that first wave wasn't just a career moment. It was a cultural battle won.

Queen Latifah. Jada Pinkett Smith. Regina Hall. Tiffany Haddish. In 2017, one of the funniest and most celebrated films of the year put my 1990 record in front of a whole new audience. Twenty-seven years between the studio and the screen — and the record hit just as hard.

In 1990, "Treat 'Em Right," "Just The Two of Us," and "The Chubbster" all hit #1 on Billboard's Top Rap Singles chart — all from the same LP. That doesn't happen. Except it did.

John Singleton's 1991 masterpiece changed American cinema forever. Ice Cube, Morris Chestnut, Cuba Gooding Jr. — and Chubb Rock on the soundtrack. Here's why that placement meant everything to a kid from Brooklyn.

In 1996, I joined Wu-Tang Clan, Coolio, Fat Joe, and others on an album meant to save Black lives. The Source called it a masterpiece. I call it one of the most important things I've ever done.

Before hip hop, there was reggae. Before Brooklyn, there was Jamaica. The Caribbean blood running through the Chubbster shaped every record, every flow, and every story he's ever told.

"I looked at the odds, I looked at my talent, and I bet on myself. That's not reckless — that's exactly what they teach you in pre-med. Risk assessment."

Late '80s. Early '90s. When hip hop became the most important cultural force on the planet — and we knew it while it was happening.

What started as a love for broadcasting turned into a nationally syndicated institution. Here's what happens before the mic goes hot.