After 12 years in prison, New Orleans rapper B.G. returns with ‘Freedom of Speech’

Christopher “B.G.” Dorsey is an unlikely First Amendment advocate.

Gritty solo albums and membership in Cash Money Records’ all-star quartet the Hot Boys elevated him to New Orleans rap royalty as a teenager in the 1990s.

But the street life he celebrated in song eventually cost him 12 lost years in federal prison.

Freed in late 2023 but still on supervised release, Dorsey, now 44, has relaunched his career. Under the terms of his release, he must submit lyrics he writes to his probation officer, who forwards them to Assistant U.S. Attorney Maurice Landrieu for review.

In the wake of a legal battle over what Dorsey can and cannot rap about, he titled his comeback album “Freedom of Speech.” The new album’s cover includes the text of the First Amendment, likely a first in the history of hip-hop.

“I ain’t lying, I went through a lot just to be able to rap and put this album out and get back to doing what I love,” Dorsey said recently from Las Vegas, where he now lives.

“The title was just so fitting for everything I had to go through since I came home.”

Living up to his nickname

By age 13, Christopher Dorsey had already connected with Cash Money Records and its co-founder, Bryan “Birdman” Williams. As Birdman built Cash Money into a national enterprise with his brother Ronald “Slim” Williams, he took young Dorsey under his wing.

Dorsey lived up to his nickname, Baby Gangsta — abbreviated as B.G. — by dealing drugs, dabbling in heroin, hanging out with felons and rapping about it.

When the Williams brothers cleaned house at Cash Money in the mid-1990s, B.G. was the only artist they retained. Indicative of his loyalty, Dorsey had the Cash Money dollar-sign logo tattooed across his back.

He and his fellow Hot Boys — Lil Wayne, Juvenile and Turk — helped Cash Money cash in. B.G.’s 1999 album “Chopper City In the Ghetto” sold more than 1 million copies and spawned the smash “Bling Bling.” That same year, the Hot Boys’ “Guerrilla Warfare” also sold a million copies thanks to the singalongs “I Need a Hot Girl” and “We On Fire.”

Dorsey, who had previously served seven months in Orleans Parish Prison after being caught in a car with marijuana and a gun, professed at the time that he had moved on from his old life.

“That made me realize that (jail) wasn’t the place to be,” he said in 1999. “It made me get my act together and realize I had a lot to live for and a lot to gain, and a lot to lose from indulging in illegal activities.”

But the streets ensnared him again on Nov. 3, 2009. He was a passenger in a stolen car pulled over by police on Interstate 10 near Crowder Boulevard. The cops found three guns.

Two years later, the 31-year-old Dorsey wore an orange prison jumpsuit in front of U.S. District Judge Helen “Ginger” Berrigan and plead guilty to being a felon in possession of a firearm and obstruction of justice.

He would spend the entirety of his 30s locked up.

Reason for optimism

In prison in Pennsylvania and elsewhere, he kept tabs on contemporary music via social media while doubting he’d ever get the chance to rap again.

“When I first went in, I really couldn’t even see that far,” he recalled. “I thought my career was over. It’s hard to remain relevant in this rap game. People forget about you in a heartbeat. When I gotta do 12 years … I thought they had closed the curtains on me. I was like, ‘Man, it’s over with.’”

But as his release date approached, he saw reason for optimism.

“The (Cash Money) dollar sign had remained relevant. Lil Wayne was still at the top of his game. At the end of the day, all of us are joined at the hip.

“Just to be part of a brand that was so big and is still active and relevant, it made it easier for me to fall right back into it.”

Released from prison in Herlong, California, on Sept. 5, 2023, he flew to Las Vegas, where Birdman awaited him outside the airport.

Dorsey spent the next four months at a Nevada halfway house, then settled permanently in Las Vegas. Vegas is home to his manager, longtime music industry executive Tracey “Baltimore” Smith — Dorsey refers to her as a sister — and his friend Lana Fuchs, the Russian-born fashion designer and entrepreneur with extensive ties to the rap world.

“They opened the doors and rolled out the red carpet for me,” Dorsey said.

Acclimating to Nevada’s dry desert heat “is the only thing I don’t like. I’m used to that down South New Orleans heat. But this heat here … you leave your dog outside for too long, he’s gonna have a heatstroke and die.”

Moving back to New Orleans wasn’t an option.

“Seeing the state of the city, and seeing dudes still out there doing the same thing they were doing when I left the streets … it’s like they just been running in place. I felt like I needed a new beginning, new start, new scenery.

“I chose to come out West and start over. But I’ll always be a product of New Orleans. I’m always representing. I just can’t live there. That would have been an accident waiting to happen. Trouble just seemed to find me down there.”

His Louisiana ties still run deep. He has a son at Grambling University. His mother and other relatives live in New Orleans. Dorsey popped in during Mardi Gras and plans to return to escort his daughter to prom.

“It’s always a beautiful feeling to go back home, see old friends, people you grew up with and the fans in the city,” he said. “I wouldn’t be who I am if it wasn’t for New Orleans. It’s always love going home.”

‘Nothing short of amazing’

Last summer, he came home for two important reasons: to argue in federal court for artistic freedom, and to perform at the 2024 Essence Festival of Culture in the Caesars Superdome.

At Essence on July 5, he celebrated Cash Money’s legacy alongside fellow Hot Boy Juvenile and the Big Tymers, the duo consisting of Birdman and producer Mannie Fresh.

“To have my first official concert be at Essence Festival, sold-out crowd of 40,000-plus, was nothing short of amazing,” Dorsey said. “To be gone as long as I was and to come home to be part of something that big with the dudes I came up with … And then the people still sing your songs and scream for you like you just came out yesterday? It’s very humbling.

“I had been waiting on that moment for over a decade. I was geeked up, man.”

Four months later at Wayne’s 2024 Lil WeezyAna Fest, all four Hot Boys — Wayne, B.G., Juvenile and Turk — reunited onstage for the first time in 20-plus years at a sold-out Smoothie King Center.

“We pretty much defined the era with that Cash Money movement,” Dorsey said. “To get up there and see the reaction and see the love, it just reminded me that the music we did passed the test of time.”

The Hot Boys reprised their reunion on Dec. 21 at Houston’s Toyota Center. In February, Lil Wayne featured the Hot Boys as his “special guests” at arenas in Tampa, Charlotte and St. Louis.

Given his long layoff and legal bills, Dorsey hopes to do more lucrative Hot Boys concerts: “I ain’t in a position to be leaving nothing on the table, ya heard me?”

He also hopes the Hot Boys make a new album. Meanwhile, he’s been recording fresh material with Juvenile and Birdman. The forthcoming deluxe edition of “Freedom of Speech” includes a song featuring Lil Wayne and Busta Rhymes.

“It’s a super-hot record,” Dorsey said. “I’ve been sitting on it for about a year.”

In defense of free speech?

Days before Essence, Dorsey testified before U.S. District Judge Susie Morgan in New Orleans. As a condition of his supervised release, prosecutors had sought to restrict what he could rap about, to “refrain (him) from promoting and glorifying future gun violence/murder and obstructive conduct in his songs and during his concerts.”

Rather than accept that condition, Dorsey found himself in the unlikely position of testifying in support of his own First Amendment rights.

“I could have compromised and laid down, but it ain’t feel right,” he said. “So I had to roll the dice and fight it. Deep down inside, I’m like, ‘Nah, they shouldn’t be able to do this.’”

The judge agreed, ruling that the prosecution’s request “may be an unconstitutional prior restraint of free speech.”

However, Morgan did require that Dorsey submit his new songs to federal probationers. Prosecutors could then potentially challenge any problematic lyrics as violations of his supervised release.

While making “Freedom of Speech,” Dorsey self-policed his own lyrics. In the title track, he raps, “I wanna tell them stories, but I ain’t ′bout to risk it.”

“If Maurice (Landrieu) feels like I went too far, or I’m rapping about active cases, or I’m name-dropping, or talking about (stuff) that’s going on currently and in real life, then he can bring me back in front the judge and we’d have to fight it out again,” he said.

“Ever since I finished with the court, I think it’s probably (only) one song that they’ve called my P.O. about. Sometimes I be trying to just push the envelope, man, because it be kinda messing with my creative process, thinking about, ‘I wonder how they gonna feel about this or that?’”

Having to be more careful “makes me feel like I’m writing to please the court and please the prosecutor instead of writing to please the fans. It’s kinda forced me to be a little bit more creative, and tone it down a little bit.”

“Freedom of Speech” still sounds like a B.G. record. Juvenile, Birdman and fellow Louisiana rappers Boosie BadAzz, Fiend and Fredo Bang are featured on various tracks, all of which contain B.G.’s signature sonics and vocal nuances. His flow is still stamped with a slightly nasal New Orleans drawl.

“I could never get away from my sound,” he said. “That was very important to me to, first and foremost, remind people that I ain’t lost it after all those years. Then just stay consistent with what you’re used to hearing from me.”

On the song “My Hood,” he namechecks New Orleans neighborhoods. In “Thank You,” he salutes his grandmothers, who passed away before he became a hip-hop star.

“At the end of the day, I’m just telling my story. I’m just doing what I’ve been doing since I was 13 years old. How you gonna hold me accountable for writing a fictitious book? I ain’t no different from Denzel Washington playing (drug dealer) Frank Lucas (in the 2007 film ‘American Gangster’). I’m Christopher Dorsey playing B.G. Let me live, man.”

Unlike Denzel Washington, Dorsey did engage in criminal activity in real life. His music exists somewhere between reality and fiction.

“That’s safe to say. I definitely come from the hood and grew up with some people that indulge in criminal activities and things of that nature, even though I don’t. But I did have friends that lived that lifestyle.”

His lyrics, he maintains, should not be taken literally.

“It’s not like everything that comes out my mouth is based on a true story. I put a spin to it. But the overall picture is me painting a picture of being a product of my environment. I’m just rapping about things that I’m familiar with. Things that go on where I come from. Things that go on in hoods all across America.”

To fully comply with the terms of his release, he needs a few more hours of community service and a few more Moral Reconation Therapy, or MRT, classes. He then hopes to petition the court to be freed early from supervised release.

“As of right now I get off paper Jan. 31, 2026,” he said. “But I’ve been doing everything the right way since I came home. Hopefully I can have this all behind me in a few months.”

His new album, he promises, is “the first of many more that I’ve got coming.”

And it is the first to reflect his newfound appreciation for “Freedom of Speech.”