Joe and Jada - Fat Joe, Jadakiss & Lola Brooke talk MASSIVE changes in last 20 years of hip hop

We clown a little, then set the tone: big love for a Brooklyn hustler with real presence who works like crazy and hits hard—welcome, Lola Brooke.

I salute how you move with experienced people; new artists need steady OG energy so they don’t make impulsive choices and end up in that jail loop.

Appreciate it—I’m here for the jokes and the love, but when “Don’t Play With It” took off I didn’t sit back; I kept my head down and worked because I don’t reward myself for what I see as basics.

The ugly part of a hit is you barely get to enjoy it; once one lands, the machine has you moving before you can feel the moment.

I come from making something out of nothing—grew up on assistance and dropped my Section 8 when I popped; I want that generational shift.

No shade to anyone who needs it, but those systems can box you in; the goal is to use them as a bridge, not a home.

My start was a 2016 feature in Brownsville; I loved how that team lived music—videos, club runs, content—and I locked in because it felt like home.

Coming from a line of Brooklyn icons—Foxy and Kim—did that weight feel like pressure?

At first, yes, but Brooklyn’s in me; I pull power from Foxy’s tone and Kim’s presence, and people often hear both in me.

We were proud seeing you at the Jordan event in Paris; this game can be rough, so we’ve got to say it out loud when we’re happy for each other.

If a kid loves guns and you live where that’s a hard no, move somewhere legal and do it right; otherwise you’re visiting them upstate.

I was fascinated for a moment, then it clicked that it’s not cool; I pray daily and try to keep my spirit right, even when I’m scared on flights.

That record with Bryson Tiller was a big look—he rarely works with folks—so that stamp matters; labels don’t always push how they should, which is why some of us go independent.

“Don’t Play With It” went platinum, but I don’t sit in the studio chasing hits; I make songs to clear my head and let the truth speak.

We knew “Why” was different the second we cut it—Havoc’s beat, then Anthony Hamilton locked the hook and it felt bigger than us.

When a hit is real, you feel the room change; I’ve lived that from “Lean Back” to now, and sometimes you have to drop fast and not overthink the mix.

I record fast and keep first takes—once the moment’s gone, it’s gone, so I tell the engineer, save that.

For “Pain,” Mary J. was automatic—my mom powered through days cleaning to Mary, so clearing that sample meant a lot.

Who shaped you when you were deciding to rap?

Lil Wayne taught me punchlines and relentless work, Meek showed me to be raw about my life, and 50 felt like pure New York.

Where do you want to go next—ten, fifteen years out?

Big screens, building my own, and being fully ready when the door opens; I love seeing Teyana Taylor’s glow because she was prepared for her moment.

You stay in the game because you never know—Dre did N.W.A., Snoop, Em, 50, and then the headphones turned into the biggest bag.

XXL Freshman felt surreal; I used to doubt I’d make that cover, so getting it reminded me to mind my lane instead of timing someone else’s.

We spin your new joint “Pain,” then let the bass walk us out—big vibes.

New York, make some noise for Lola Brooke—this ain’t that and that ain’t this, it’s Crack and Kiss, love.