💀📞 “Pimp C’s FINAL Phone Call to Bun B Was a WARNING 😳 ‘They’re Coming For Me’ — And Then He Was GONE 💔🩸”

Pimp C was always raw.

Always unfiltered.

But in the final months of 2007, something changed.

He wasn’t just spitting bars — he was naming names, pulling receipts, and peeling back the layers of a music industry that was built on silence, lies, and powerful puppeteers.

And then he died.

But rewind.

Because this story didn’t begin in that West Hollywood hotel room.

It began with a shift — a shift in how Pimp C spoke, who he was calling out, and what he was beginning to understand.

He was seeing a bigger game.

One that had nothing to do with rap battles or Billboard hits.

In interviews, Pimp started dragging executives, accusing major labels of robbing Southern artists, controlling radio playlists, and censoring real voices.

“Every city used to have its own hit record,” he said.

“Now? Same song.

Everywhere.

Same artists.

Same agenda.

” He called it for what it was: “musical colonization.”

He pointed the finger.

And one of the fingers landed squarely on Jay-Z.

Yes, the same Jay-Z who appeared on Big Pimpin’.

The same Jay-Z who benefited enormously from linking up with UGK.

The truth? Pimp C never wanted to do that track.

He didn’t like Jay.

He didn’t like how Jay talked about Tupac.

He didn’t like how Jay moved.

And when Dame Dash offered a $1 million check to secure the feature? Pimp didn’t flinch.

“Tell him to give that check to Tupac’s mama,” he snapped.

He meant it.

He stood on business.

And that day, according to insiders, Jay-Z heard every word.

Pimp didn’t know he was on the call.

Until it was too late.

That was the moment things shifted.

From there, Pimp C got louder.

He exposed fake street rappers.

Called out closeted moguls.

Spoke openly about who was doing what behind closed doors.

“I know who’s gay.

I know who’s letting women use dildos on them.

I know who’s a puppet,” he said.

“I be in Houston.

I see who walks around alone… and who’s too scared to leave the house without security.”

And that made him a threat.

Then came the final phone call.

According to multiple sources close to UGK, just days before his death, Pimp C called Bun B and said something chillingly clear:

“Watch your back.”

No details.

No riddles.

Just urgency.

Something had changed — and Pimp knew he was being watched.

He felt the weight of the system pressing in.

And then… he vanished.

December 4, 2007 — Jay-Z’s birthday.

Pimp C was found unresponsive in his hotel suite at the Mondrian in West Hollywood.

He was supposed to fly home.

His wife was waiting.

His cousin was confused.

No one heard from him.

The official autopsy blamed “sleep apnea complications” mixed with codeine.

But Pimp’s family? They never accepted it.

His mother, Mama Wes, told reporters: He was poisoned.

And according to journalist Julia Beverly, author of Sweet Jones: Pimp C’s Trill Life Story, Mama Wes believed there was a specific person of interest in that room.

Someone shady.

Someone who vanished afterward.

And it gets worse.

DJ Paul from Three 6 Mafia said Pimp’s manager, Rick Martin, was the first person to see the body.

And his account? Terrifying.

He said the scene looked like a crime scene.

Blood everywhere.

Pimp kneeling as if in prayer.

Candles burned all the way down.

No sign of struggle — but not the signs of peace, either.

“He looked like he’d been dead for a while,” DJ Paul said.

“That ain’t no regular lean overdose.

That looked like something else.”

So what really happened that night?

Some believe Pimp C had become too dangerous to be left alive.

He wasn’t just airing out old beefs — he was threatening the power structure.

He exposed how radio was hijacked, how record execs manipulated artists, and how major players, even billionaires, weren’t who they said they were.

And while Bun B has remained respectful and low-key about Pimp’s passing, even he admitted there was tension surrounding Big Pimpin’.

“We didn’t have that relationship with Jay,” he said.

“It was just business.

Pimp wasn’t impressed.

” In fact, Bun had to use reverse psychology to even get him to agree.

Pimp C wasn’t trying to be in no Hov feature.

He was trying to make real music.

And when the money came? He still didn’t care.

“Break bread and be done with it.”

And he was.

Done.

But conspiracy theories didn’t stop there.

Jaguar Wright — another industry whistleblower — blamed Jay-Z directly, calling Pimp’s death part of a long pattern of sabotage.

“You took DeHaven’s life.

You lined up Dame Dash.

You took Pimp C.

You stole, you erased, you replaced.

And now, Houston’s kings are ghosts.”

And in a chilling twist, the next day after Pimp’s death, his childhood home burned down.

Arson? Coincidence? Nobody knows.

But no one has ever been charged.

This is where the silence becomes thunderous.

Because we’re not just talking about another artist gone too soon.

We’re talking about a man who was actively warning people.

Who was documenting the crimes.

Who was calling out the names nobody dared say.

He died with knowledge.

And his last act wasn’t music.

It was a warning.

To Bun B.

To us.

To the entire culture.