Baton Rouge rap has always been a contact sport. It’s gritty. It’s loud. Honestly, it's often heartbreaking. If you followed the Southern hip-hop scene in 2017, you knew the name Garrett Burton. Most of us knew him as Da Real Gee Money. He was 22. He had that raw, melodic flow that felt like it was about to break out of Louisiana and hit the national charts. Then, in an instant, it was over.
People still ask how did Gee Money die because the circumstances felt like a script from a movie. But it wasn't. It was a cold Wednesday morning in September. The details of that night changed the trajectory of the Baton Rouge music scene forever, fueling a cycle of violence that law enforcement is still trying to untangle years later.
The Night at the Recording Studio
It happened on September 10, 2017. Gee Money was leaving a recording studio on Dallas Drive in Baton Rouge. It was late—around 1:30 a.m. You’d think a studio would be a safe haven, a place for creation. Instead, it became a crime scene.
As he walked out, an unknown gunman opened fire. Burton didn't stand a chance. He was struck in the head and died right there in the parking lot. No warning. No fair fight. Just a sudden, violent end to a life that was just starting to gain real momentum. When news broke the next morning, the city went numb.
The immediate aftermath was chaotic. The police didn't have a suspect right away, which led to a vacuum filled by internet rumors and street talk. For months, fans and family were left wondering who would want a 22-year-old artist dead. But in the rap world, especially in a city as tight-knit and tense as Baton Rouge, silence rarely lasts forever.
The Beef That Defined a Generation
To understand the context of his death, you have to look at the rivalry between TBG (Top Boy Gorilla) and NBA (Never Broke Again). Gee Money was a cornerstone of TBG. On the other side was NBA YoungBoy, arguably one of the biggest rappers in the world today.
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They weren't always enemies. In fact, they used to be friends. They recorded together. They navigated the struggle of the streets together. But fame and ego are a toxic mix. Small slights turned into social media disses. Song lyrics started targeting specific people. By the time 2017 rolled around, the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.
The investigation into the shooting eventually led to DeAndre Fields. Fields was an associate of the NBA camp. Prosecutors argued that the killing wasn't just some random act of violence—it was a calculated move in an ongoing war. The motive? Allegedly, a song. Specifically, a track where Gee Money made disparaging remarks about NBA YoungBoy’s sister. In the hyper-masculine, honor-bound culture of the streets, those words were treated like a declaration of war.
The Trial and the Conviction
It took nearly two years for an arrest. In 2019, DeAndre Fields was taken into custody. The wheels of justice turn slowly, and it wasn't until 2023 that a jury finally handed down a verdict.
Fields was found guilty of second-degree murder. The evidence was damning. Cell phone records and surveillance footage painted a picture of someone lying in wait. He was sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole. While the conviction provided some level of closure for Burton’s family, it didn't bring back the artist who was supposedly the "chosen one" for TBG.
The trial highlighted a depressing reality about the music industry. We consume the "drill" aesthetic and the "beef" narratives as entertainment, but for the people living it, the stakes are literal life and death.
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A Legacy Cut Short
If you go back and listen to "Industry" or "Jack Who," you can hear the potential. Gee Money had a way of blending the pain of the trenches with a catchy, rhythmic sensibility. He wasn't just another "mumble rapper." He was a storyteller.
Baton Rouge lost more than just a rapper that night. They lost a father and a son. The "Gee Money" persona was just a mask for Garrett Burton, a young man who was trying to use his voice to pull himself and his people out of poverty.
The tragedy is that his death didn't end the violence. If anything, it served as a catalyst for years of retaliatory shootings and legal battles that have decimated both TBG and NBA. It's a cycle that seems impossible to break. When one side loses a star, the other side feels the heat, and the streets keep score.
What We Can Learn from This
Looking back at the timeline of events, several things become clear. First, the digital age has made beefing more dangerous. In the 90s, you had to see someone to diss them. Now, a 15-second Instagram Live clip can result in a funeral three days later.
Secondly, the "rap-to-prison" pipeline is real, but the "rap-to-morgue" pipeline is even more devastating. Gee Money’s story is a cautionary tale about the dangers of bringing street politics into a professional career. Once you reach a certain level of success, the people you grew up with—and the enemies you made—don't just disappear.
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To honor the memory of artists like Gee Money, the industry and the fans need to stop glorifying the violence that leads to these outcomes. Supporting the music is one thing; cheering on the conflict that fuels it is another.
Moving Forward
If you are a fan of Southern hip-hop, the best way to keep Gee Money's memory alive is through the music. Support the legitimate ventures of independent artists in Louisiana.
- Listen to the discography: Dive into the G-Code mixtape series to understand his artistic evolution.
- Support Local Mentorship: Look into organizations in Baton Rouge that work with at-risk youth to provide alternatives to gang involvement.
- Demand Safety: Encourage venues and labels to provide better security for rising artists who are often targets when they are "home."
The story of how Da Real Gee Money died is a somber reminder that in the world of hip-hop, the music is often the only thing that survives. The beefs fade, the shooters go to jail, but the voice on the track remains.
Garrett Burton was more than a headline. He was a talent that the world never got to see reach its full potential. By understanding the real facts of his passing, we can at least respect the gravity of the loss. Keep the volume up on his tracks, but keep the lessons of his life even closer.