034.

                                    

                                          









' MON , OCT 8TH 1995. '
can-am studios ⸻  
tarzana , california !






     TUPAC WAS CONSTANTLY WORKING , with plans to head to Club 662 with Deathrow records later on in the week, it was a performance organized to announce his arrival towards the world and also the plans of his upcoming album as he would be performing unreleased songs.
Always busy, there's times within the week where he spends most of the day in the studio or out and about hanging about with Deathrow, but it's always on his mind to go home to his son and make it up with Sanai, even if he's exhausted and tired by working all day.
He's got this feeling in his gut to keep grinding —life isn't promised.
Tupac is in his element as the piano slow tune play, his passion obvious in every word he spits into the microphone. His voice is raw with emotion, each verse telling a story of his life, his struggles, and his dreams. All a rap he managed to freestyle and put together in just thirty minutes.


Change, shit
I guess change is good for any of us
Whatever it take for any of y'all niggas to get up out the hood
Shit, I'm witcha, I ain't mad at cha
Got nothin' but love for ya, do your thing, boy



At one point, Dr. Dre nods in approval, a smile playing on his lips. "That's fire, Pac. Pure fire," he says, his voice filled with admiration. DJ Quik adds his own touch to the mix, laying down beats that fit Tupac's lyrics perfectly. The collaboration between them is nothing short of great, each one bringing their own unique style to the table.
DJ Quik interjects with a casual tone, trying to turn the tension that had subtly crept into the studio. "Yo, Pac, when's Danny Boy coming in? We need those vocals for the hook, man," he asks, glancing between Tupac and Dre turning side to side in the wheeled chair he sits on.
Tupac's expression lightens, the seriousness dissolving as he responds, "Yeah, he should be here soon. He always late for some reason but it's all good, I think he'll sing the hook on the track, my voice ain't working I can't sing like that."
Dre nods in agreement, his focus returning to the mixing console. "Yeah, Danny Boy would sound good here. If he ain't gon' come we can just call in somebody else, Jewell, Michel'le?" he remarks, his tone filled with anticipation.
Tupac, lost in the rhythm of the music, simply responds with a low hum. Without a word, he reaches for his pocket, taking out a neatly rolled blunt. The sweet scent of marijuana fills the air as he lights it, the flame casting a warm glow on his face.
With a long drag, Tupac inhales deeply, the smoke swirling around him in a cloud. His eyes close for a moment, savoring the familiar sensation as he lets the calming effects wash over him. The room seems to relax with him, the tension lifting as Tupac exhales a plume of smoke. His movements become more fluid, his mind clearing with each puff of the blunt.
Just then, the door swings open, and in walks Suge Knight, followed by his goons. They hold an aura of power and authority, their presence filling the room with an intensity. Suge, a large figure with a commanding presence, surveys the studio with a pleased eye.
"Yo, what's good, everybody?" Suge booms, his voice echoing through the room. His gaze falls on Tupac, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Pacman, my man, how's the music coming along?"