In a rare prison interview that’s sparked a wave of conversation across the hip-hop community, Michael “Marlo Mike” Louding—once known as the teenage hitman tied to rapper Boosie Badazz—broke his silence from behind bars. The interview, led by none other than Terrance “Gangsta” Williams, Birdman’s older brother and a former street figure turned outspoken public speaker, offered a raw glimpse into the mindset of a man serving life without parole.
The video, now making rounds online, captures more than just a convict’s personal music preferences—it reignites old tensions, unpacks questions of loyalty, and digs deep into the ongoing conversation about authenticity in hip-hop.
The interview setting is stark and simple—no glitz or glamour, just two men talking across the divide of time and decisions made. Terrance “Gangsta” Williams, who once lived the very street life he now warns others about, has become a controversial figure in his own right. His involvement in this conversation is significant, especially given his past connections to Birdman, the Cash Money Records empire, and his public pivot away from crime after a long federal sentence.
As the camera rolls, Marlo Mike doesn’t hold back. With a calm, matter-of-fact tone, he shares that he still listens to NBA YoungBoy, a Louisiana rapper whose rise has been as turbulent as it has been rapid.
“He remind me of Lil Phat,”
Marlo said.
“Everybody be lying these days. I wanna hear somebody who really live that life.”
In a world where image often outweighs reality, Marlo’s words cut through the noise. To him, it’s not about fame or flash—it’s about truth.
It didn’t take long for Boosie Badazz, real name Torrence Hatch, to respond. Known for wearing his emotions on his sleeve, Boosie dismissed the interview as a setup designed to provoke him.
“That interview was staged,”
he said in a recent statement.
“I’m a die being real.”
Boosie didn’t let it end there. He was calling out Williams, accusing him of trying to cause drama and questioning the integrity of a man who has cooperated with law enforcement, at least in his eyes. The reason for this accusation is longstanding rumors that Williams cooperated with federal agents for a lighter sentence regarding cold case murders of Hot Boys, a charge Williams has not fully confirmed or denied.
To Boosie, the idea of loyalty is irrevocable—a cornerstone of his identity as a man and artist forged by the streets. Frustration is fed by what he perceives as a pervasive trend of betrayal within the culture.
Louding was only 15 years old when he was apprehended for a murder rampage that claimed the life of Terry Boyd in 2009. Who was nicknamed Boosie’s alleged hitman, he was later sent to a life term without a possibility of parole. His notorious tattoo—“Yo Boosie Who’s Next?”—was a haunting reminder during the trial of Boosie himself in 2012, even as the latter was acquitted.
Still, it was Marlo Mike’s own recorded confessions, some of which he later recanted, that heavily influenced public perception and shaped the courtroom narrative. Despite his young age at the time, his case became a tragic example of how deeply the street life can entrench itself in young lives.
Why would a man locked away for life care so much about who’s “real” in the rap game?
In hip-hop, authenticity is currency. It’s what separates legends from pretenders. For Marlo Mike, NBA YoungBoy and Lil Phat represent more than music—they embody a lived reality that mirrors his own.
Lil Phat, a Baton Rouge rapper gunned down in 2012, had a reputation for staying true to the streets. YoungBoy, a fellow Louisianan, has consistently invoked his own challenges, brushes with law enforcement, and loved ones’ losses throughout his own lyrics. In one song, even going so far as to pay homage to Lil Phat, further entwining the group of artists within a multifaceted mix of respect, tragedy, and street credibility.
“It’s not just about being tough—it’s about being real,” said one fan online, reacting to the interview. “That’s what makes YoungBoy different.”
The interview has reignited broader conversations about how closely rap and real-life crime are intertwined. For some, artists like NBA YoungBoy resonate because their lyrics reflect a harsh reality many have lived. But that same connection can blur dangerous lines between entertainment and the streets.
Figures like Marlo Mike—young, impressionable, and entrenched in a violent lifestyle—are often the real-life stories behind the music. And while their actions carry grave consequences, their voices still find an audience, especially in a culture that prizes street credibility.
Williams, by facilitating this interview, walks a tightrope—part journalist, part redemption seeker—using his platform to shed light on cautionary tales like Marlo’s.
