ISAIAS stood backstage watching ZAIRE’S performance and caught himself nodding his head to the beat of Zaire’s OH MY LOVE. It was a catchy song and it pulled in quite the revenue for OVO since Isaias was still in control of Zaire’s masters. Nevertheless, the male stopped abruptly and glanced around to see if anyone caught him in the act. Upon pulling his attention away from the stage, he noticed and heard an abrupt change in the reaction of the crowd and the crew around him. His eyes returned to the stage where it seemed like Zaire had passed out. Isaias’ eyes widened. “Is that nigga dead?” He said more to himself then to the people around him. “That money would be nice.” Calmly, he unscrewed the top of the Gatorade in his hand and lifted it to his mouth, tilting his head back to take a few gulps of the refreshing beverage. When he was done, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and narrowed his eyes at AYLA assisting Zaire’s brother with Zaire’s limp body. His jaw ticked and he handed the Gatorade bottle and the cap to his assistant as the crew went to prep the stage for him. “Set a meeting with Ayla” he told her as the lights on the stage went out and the OVO logo appeared in lime green lights, signaling his go. Fixing his ear piece, Isaias grabbed the mic handed to him by his assistant and proceed to the stage as the beginning to his new single MOB TIES played loudly in arena.
“I have somethin’ new for y’all, Moonlight,” ISAIAS spoke into his mic over the roaring crowd as he centered the stage and the green lights behind him reflected off his arms and the back of his hand. He dropped his mic hand and swiped his tongue against the corner of his mouth brought the mic back up to his mouth. “Just how I’ve been feelin’ lately,” he thought out loud. “Y’all ever been sick of niggas?” The crowd’s reaction had his face cracking into a smile and he nodded his head, lifting his hand to signal his crew member to end the loop of the instrumental at the beginning of MOB TIES. Walking to the edge of the stage, Isaias started off the first verse lowly. “Ay. Sick of these niggas. Sick of these niggas. Hired some help. Get rid of these niggas,” he rapped to the crowd, waving his hand dismissively. “Sick of these shit. Move to the Ritz. Turned out the bitch, it is what it is, yeah,” he walked along the edge of the stage as his voice transitioned into trap-like vocals. “GLE, ‘cause that Lambo movin' fast. S Class, G Class, lotta’ class.” Lifting his hand, he pointed to the sky and glanced upwards as he rapped his next line, “In a rocket and that bitch ain't got no tags.” He lowered his gaze back to the stage, “Louis bags in exchange for body bags, yeah.” Shaking his head, the 6FT male stood in place, and pointed his index finger at the opposite side of the stage, behind the curtains where he knew some STNE people where. “Sick of these niggas. Sick of these niggas. Hired some help, get rid of these niggas. Fuck what it was, it is what it is. Whatever you did, it is what it is.” Standing in place, Isaias ran his hand over his beard and shook his head once more, lowering his gaze to the stage floor. “And I’m so tired,” he sung. “I fuck with the mob and I got ties,” he warned, lifting his threatening gaze back to the crowd, unaware of his own demeanor change. “Knock you off to pay their tithes. They want me gone, but don’t know why.” Lifting the muscle underneath the side of his nose, Isaias sneered with another head shake. “It’s too late for all that lovey-dovey shit, I’m yo’ brother shit, all that shit,” he sung more aggressively, raising his voice. “It’s too late for all that. It's too late for all that.” Dropped his hand to his jeans, Isaias lifted the material quickly before lowering himself in a slight squat, pointing to the crowd as if he were speaking to his opposition like he was a person who lacked comprehension. “Ay. It's too late for all that lovey-dovey shit. I'm your brother shit, all that other shit. It's too late for all that. Ay. It's too late for all that.” Raising to his full stature, his voice boomed loudly in the mic. “Ay, sick of these niggas. Sick of these niggas. Hire some help. Get rid of these niggas. I’m not with the rah-rah. I am a dah-dah,” he grinned as the crowd got louder at that line. “My bitch in Chanel now, your bitch in Escada,” he ended that line with a high-pitched note. “Yeah, and they shook. Please don't let them fool ya’, I don't care how they look,” he rapped, shaking his hand. “Heard all of the talkin', now it's quiet, now it's shush,” he continued, bringing his index finger close to his mouth to mimic a shushing motion. “Twenty-nine is comin', they on edge when I cook,” he cooked. “Lead the league in scorin', man, but look at my assists. Yes I be with Future but I like to reminisce. I do not forget a thing, I'm patient, it's a gift. Try to tell 'em they ain't got to do it, they insist,” he raised his broad shoulders in a shrug. “Yeah, I can tell, I just gave 'em two for forty million like Chappelle,” he sung, swaying his body to the beat of the song as he hovered over the crowd. “Standin' over coffin with a hammer and a nail. Heard you hit up so and so, that name don't ring a bell. Naw,” he affirmed. The chorus came back around and he finished the song, turning his back to the crowd as he sung the last line and walked back to the center of the stage. The instrumental at the end looped as the platform underneath his feet lowered, bringing the male down and out of sight as the fans cheered.
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