It’s been almost twenty-five years, and the tune still echoes in unexpected corners of culture.
A former flower child turned art aficionado – my mother – can still hum it. She might not grasp all the lyrics, and the message might raise an eyebrow, but the melody persists. Back when I’d return home to Portland, Oregon, for holidays, I’d catch it – a quiet hum as she prepared Thanksgiving dinner, a rhythmic finger tap accompanying her morning coffee. “Wanna Be a Baller,” the 1998 hit by Houston rapper and producer Lil’ Troy, has become a permanent fixture in her mind.
This earworm took root during those childhood drives to elementary school, soundtracked by the radio. I was in fifth grade, already immersed in hip-hop thanks to my older brother. “Wanna Be a Baller” was inescapable, my favorite track at the time. Despite only reaching number 70 on the Billboard Hot 100, it dominated pop radio, blasting from Z100, my era’s equivalent of SoundCloud or Spotify. Those booming toms, a slowed-down sample of Prince’s “Little Red Corvette” that I later learned about, sent shivers of excitement through my pre-teen frame. I’d instinctively crank up the volume in our family minivan. Unbeknownst to me, my mom, who tolerated rap as long as it wasn’t overtly explicit, was secretly enjoying it just as much.
And she wasn’t alone in her suburban parental appreciation. A childhood friend, now a fellow New Yorker, recently confessed his dad was also captivated by the song, constantly quoting its infectious hook around the house. This is the magic of “Baller,” an ode to Impalas and aspirational living that unexpectedly propelled Houston hip-hop into the mainstream during a time ruled by pop icons like Christina Aguilera, Ricky Martin, and the novelty hit of Lou Bega.
Time, however, is a relentless force. Like many one-hit wonders, Lil’ Troy, born Troy Birklett, receded from the spotlight. Mention his name today, and you’re likely to encounter blank stares or confusion with another “Lil” rapper from that era. Even I, despite my mom’s enduring “Baller” obsession, hadn’t given him much thought since high school. That changed when I delved into the autobiography of Houston rap legend Scarface.
In his book, Scarface acknowledges Troy and his independent label, Short Stop Records, for giving him his initial break. However, he also reveals a lingering resentment, claiming Troy prioritized another local Houston rapper’s song over Scarface’s early work. This revelation adds context to Scarface’s public dissing of Troy throughout the 2000s and even a $225,000 lawsuit he won against him. This feud undoubtedly cast a shadow over Troy’s music career, potentially contributing to its decline.
Or perhaps Troy simply chose to step away. Online searches yield little clarity. The Scarface reference sparked my curiosity. Was the man who helped bring Southern hip-hop to the forefront still making music? Was the original architect of the “baller” persona even still around? Through the power of Twitter, I managed to locate him and secure a phone interview.
You launched an independent hip-hop label in the 1980s, a pioneering move in Houston at the time. What drove you to do that?
Lil’ Troy: My musical roots run deep, stemming from my parents who were in a band, and my own musical journey throughout school. Music was in my blood. Alongside that, I had a life of hustling from a young age, making substantial money in the streets. Music appeared as another avenue, a legitimate way out. We thought if we created music, we could generate enough income to transition away from drug dealing and that lifestyle, you know? So, we crafted a song with Scarface titled “Small Time, Dope Game, Cocaine,” a track reflecting my younger brother’s and my experiences growing up and what we were involved in. We released it, and unexpectedly, it became an anthem across the board.
What prompted you to create an album yourself?
Troy: My initial focus was on producing records and bringing artists into the fold. But consistently, those I collaborated with would end up incarcerated or simply quit rapping. It was a cycle of wasted investment. Each time I formed a group, I’d spend around $600 or $700, not to mention studio time, merchandise like T-shirts, and promotional flyers. I had a group called Mass 187 that secured a deal with Payday Records, even filmed a professional video, but it didn’t gain significant traction. I took a step back for a while, and my producer, Bruce “Grim” Rhodes, who was crafting beats for numerous local rappers, suggested,
“Troy, why don’t you record your own album, man? Get some artists to feature, and release your own project.”
And that’s precisely what I did. I gathered everyone from my neighborhood, my network, laid down the tracks, and then “Wanna Be a Baller” emerged and blew up globally.
Can you share insights into the creation of “Wanna Be a Baller,” the Baller Shot Caller Song?
Troy: Initially, we were playing it for about a month with just the hook and the music, no verses. We knew the hook and the beat were infectious, and we played that section relentlessly. Then, I brought in all the featured artists. Everyone wanted to be a part of it. For the 1999 Kappa Beach Party, I invested in significant commercial airtime at the radio station. I played “Wanna Be a Baller” during the commercial break, but only the first verse for the entire minute.
And immediately following it, the ad would say, “Brand new Lil’ Troy, in stores now!” So, listeners would hear “Wanna Be a Baller,” anticipating the full song, but it was actually just the commercial. They thought it was the song playing on the radio, not realizing it was a promotion. And that strategy really propelled it.
That iconic beat samples Prince, correct?
Troy: Ah, you know it’s Prince now. Back then, nobody recognized it as Prince. Even Universal Records was unaware initially. They eventually contacted Prince, and upon hearing it, he said, “You know what? I appreciate their interpretation. I don’t want any compensation.” Prince graciously allowed us to use it without demanding anything. He said, “Hey, I like what you did with it. I don’t want anything.”
What was your experience like witnessing people from all walks of life, worldwide, singing the hook to “Baller,” the baller shot caller song?
Troy: Man, it was an incredible feeling to realize that everywhere I went, people from every background embraced the song – white, Hispanic, everyone. It was deeply gratifying, especially after years of making music, constantly striving, and navigating legal challenges. Finally, I achieved success. Even today, when I travel, people in their late twenties tell me, “Man, Troy, your album was huge when I was a kid.” Even those in their sixties express how much they enjoyed my songs. It still resonates with people. When it plays on the radio, it still sounds fresh, like a recent release. It’s a beautiful thing to create a classic.
Did you anticipate it becoming such a massive hit, a defining baller shot caller song?
Troy: I never envisioned it reaching this level of success. My intention was simply to remain in the music industry because of my passion for it. Just before its release, I had faced a legal issue. Upon release, I knew I needed to generate income. I finished the album, released it, and it exploded. Sales skyrocketed rapidly, and Universal Records came calling. They said, “Hey, we want to sign you.” They came to Houston to assess the situation, attended my concert one night, witnessing the crowd’s enthusiastic reception and singalong to the song. Actually, Tony Draper from Suave House Records was in the process of signing me, unbeknownst to them. He called me and said,
“Hey man, these people from Monte Lipman’s team want to talk to you.” I spoke with Monte Lipman, former president of Universal, on the phone, and he said, “Troy, we’ve been hearing a lot about you, and we know you’ve been in the game for a while. We want to sign you.” I responded, “Well, let’s discuss numbers.”
They arrived the next day, presented a lucrative offer with multiple zeros, and I flew back to New York with them and signed. Shortly after, I had to return to jail.
“Sittin’ Fat Down South,” the album featuring “Baller,” went platinum, and you were prominently featured on the cover. But it was always a bit unclear what your specific role was on the record, as you only rapped on a couple of tracks and didn’t produce any of the beats. Were you the original DJ Khaled of your time?
Troy: DJ Khaled came after me. The true originator of that approach was Quincy Jones. I drew inspiration from him. He released an album where he didn’t sing or perform on any track – he solely produced it. And he featured himself on the cover. I followed a similar model, although I did contribute raps to a couple of songs. Subsequently, you saw other artists emerge adopting that approach, recognizing, “Lil’ Troy was onto something. He didn’t even rap on ‘Wanna Be a Baller,’ yet he’s the most recognizable figure associated with that album.” Khaled later adopted it and excelled, which I commend. If you discover a successful formula, capitalize on it and make it work for you.
What happened with Universal Records after “Sittin’ Fat Down South”?
Troy: They wanted to assign an A&R representative to oversee my music and provide input. I flatly refused. I told them, “I didn’t need an A&R before you signed me, and I certainly don’t need one now.” When they ultimately decided to release me from the label, they overlooked a clause I had included in my contract: “Either we gonna play or we gonna pay.” So, when they opted not to proceed with the second album, my contract stipulated they had to pay me $150,000, in addition to my royalties.
So, upon leaving the label, the following week, I inquired, “Where’s my check?” And the subsequent week, they issued me a check for $150,000.
From there, I transitioned to Koch Records, securing a 60/40 deal, which meant significantly greater earnings for me. I assembled the album, enlisted Lil’ Flip, who was gaining momentum in Houston at the time, and featured him on my new single, “We Gon’ Lean.” It was released and received some airplay on BET, but the album itself dropped on September 11, 2001. We all know the global impact of that day, the World Trade Center attacks.
In fact, I was on the phone with a friend, discussing my upcoming interviews and promotional plans for my album release, when the first plane struck the World Trade Center. He was telling me about it: “Man, some fool, must be drunk or high, flew into the World Trade Center!”
I turned on the TV and witnessed the second plane impact, and that’s when we realized it was a terrorist attack. Consequently, my album’s momentum completely stalled because the world essentially shut down. We didn’t sell records. Nothing moved. Koch Records was located in Manhattan, near the World Trade Center, so I had no expectation of any further promotion or success for my album after that.
What does your daily life look like now, post baller shot caller song fame?
Troy: My daily life now consists of relaxing and letting those royalty checks roll in. And, in reality, I work in safety at an oil refinery. I transitioned from a billion-dollar industry to another billion-dollar industry. I’m now in the oil and gas sector. I attend safety meetings, speak to people, and occasionally, they recognize me as Lil’ Troy, someone they admired. I felt it was time for a career change. I had been enjoying myself, traveling, performing shows, indulging in marijuana. It was time for me to consider what else I wanted to accomplish in life. I had been involved in drug dealing and performing. I was exhausted. I had run a long race, faced jail time a few times, and I decided, “I’m tired of this. I’m done. Let me find another career path, make a positive change for my family, and settle down.” And that’s what I’ve done. Safety is a lucrative field, and I’m constantly in demand.
What is the current status of your beef with Scarface?
Troy: I’ve moved past the Scarface situation. I’m not sure if you’ve seen the “Paperwork” DVD I released, but he recorded two or three diss tracks about me and sued me, winning $225,000 from me. When I released the “Paperwork” DVD, I considered it resolved. He continued to make songs about me, but for me, it was over.
When you have an issue with someone and encounter them in the streets, you address it directly. But we never had that physical confrontation. I initially perceived it as a hip-hop beef. However, I recently discovered the real reason behind his long-standing resentment: He has a book out now, and in it, he mentions how I favored another rapper’s song over his early material, and that always left a bitter taste in his mouth.
I was unaware of this until I read it in his book. It didn’t mention our beef at all. He only discussed his early days in the industry, making music with me, and how my preference for another rapper’s song over his caused lasting resentment. That’s what it ultimately boiled down to. It was never a beef to me. I even attempted to collaborate with him, suggesting we co-produce my son’s song, but he declined. So, at this point, I couldn’t care less. I’m over it.
What do you consider your legacy in hip-hop to be, especially in the context of the baller shot caller song?
Troy: Well, my legacy is set to continue. My son, T2, is making significant strides right now. Universal expressed interest in signing him, but he faced an eight-year prison sentence for aggravated robbery. However, I’ve been actively supporting him; he released a video titled “I Been,” which is featured on WorldStar Hip-Hop and YouTube. So, my legacy will extend through him and the continuation of Short Stop Records. Everyone recognizes that Lil’ Troy initiated the rap scene in Houston. I’m a triple OG pioneer of the rap game.
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