“And Buck, I think that’s over. I think that’s done. But what do you mean? I think his career is finished.”

That cold, definitive line from 50 Cent wasn’t just a diss; it was a prophecy. For years, fans watched in confusion and horror as Young Buck, one of the most charismatic and raw voices in the G-Unit collective, spiraled. His career didn’t just end; it collapsed in a painfully public, slow-motion demolition. From platinum albums to IRS raids, from sold-out arenas to a new viral video of him in court in April 2025, Buck’s journey is a hip-hop tragedy.

The reasons behind it are far darker and more complex than a simple beef. It’s a story of misguided loyalty, devastating financial decisions, and a secret, recorded phone call that would become the nail in his coffin.

To understand the fall, you must first understand the come-up. David Brown, the man who would become Young Buck, was shaped by the streets of Nashville, Tennessee. He wasn’t stationary; he was a product of the entire city, moving from Seafright to the JC Napier projects, and then to the South Seven projects. By age eight, he knew every hood, and that street life would later infuse his music with an undeniable authenticity.

He was a hustler from the jump, pumping gas for tips, cutting lawns, and washing cars. Music was his escape, his dream. That hunger led to one of the wildest origin stories in rap. Buck and a friend, having discovered a CD by B.G., found a phone number for Cash Money Records on the back. With audacious hope, they called the number and tried to book the label for a $5,000 show in Nashville.

Miraculously, the call led to a real meeting. The show never happened, but 14-year-old Buck found himself in New Orleans, face-to-face with Birdman. He was put in an impromptu battle against a young Lil Wayne, and he impressed them so much that he was invited to join the burgeoning empire. Buck made a life-altering decision: he dropped out of school to pursue rap full-time.

But the dream quickly soured. For three or four years, Buck was on the back burner. He watched from the sidelines as Lil Wayne, Juvenile, and B.G. blew up. His own music was never released. His only proof of being there was a background appearance in a Big Tymers video. By 1999, he’d had enough. He bounced from Cash Money, returning to Nashville with invaluable, if harsh, lessons about the music business.

Back home, he started grinding independently, and on August 22, 2000, he and his homie DT dropped Thug Until the End. Incredibly, the independent project charted on Billboard. It was a massive victory for an unknown Nashville rapper, proving his music had a real audience. But the streets were still calling. That life came to a head when Buck was shot during a home invasion. Lying there, hit in the arm and thigh, he had an epiphany: “If this shit keep going on like this, I’m either get killed or go to jail.”

He recovered and made a commitment: music was the only way forward. That’s when his old connection, DJ Paul of Three 6 Mafia, reached out, leading to his first major album placement. Things were looking up, but his path would take another wild turn.

Birdman reached out again, wanting Buck for a new group. He flew back to New Orleans, but history repeated itself. He was left waiting for a week, no paperwork, no movement. This time, he wasn’t a naive kid. He was frustrated. Then, in a moment of pure serendipity, Juvenile—who was having his own beef with Cash Money—walked into the office, saw Buck, and said, “Man, you want to get up out of here for a minute?”

Buck took that ride. He joined Juvenile’s UTP label, but he’d learned his lesson. He took the contract home, put it under his bed, and never signed it. He was watching the game, and he saw Juvenile’s situation was unstable. Juvie himself told Buck that if a better opportunity came, he should take it.

That opportunity came on a tour bus in New York. The year was 2002, and 50 Cent had the hottest buzz in the city. The bus driver had a connection to 50’s manager, Sha Money XL, and they managed to get 50 on the bus to record with Juvenile. While they were in the back, Buck made a brilliant move. He started playing his own music for Lloyd Banks and Tony Yayo. One track caught Banks’s ear, who took it to 50. 50 jumped on it, and that track became “Blood Hound” on the legendary Get Rich or Die Tryin’ album.

A week after his UTP deal fizzled, 50 Cent called. He wanted “Blood Hound” for the album and flew Buck to Los Angeles to meet with him, Eminem, and Dr. Dre. Buck was officially signed to G-Unit.

His rise was meteoric. The G-Unit album Beg for Mercy sold 377,000 copies in its first week. Buck’s solo debut, Straight Outta Cashville, debuted at number three, selling 361,000 copies. He had done it. He broke the “Nashville Curse,” becoming the first non-country artist from the city to achieve massive mainstream success.

But Buck’s greatest strength—his street-bred loyalty—would soon become his fatal flaw. The first red flag was the 2004 Vibe Awards. When a man allegedly put his hands on Dr. Dre, Buck’s instincts took over. He allegedly stabbed the man. He went on the run before turning himself in, eventually getting three years probation. It showed his ride-or-die loyalty, but it was a sign of the derailment to come.

The real breaking point came from within the G-Unit camp. 50 Cent began having a serious beef with their shared manager, Sha Money XL. 50 gathered the group and demanded everyone cut ties with Sha Money. Banks and Yayo fell in line. Buck didn’t.

This is the moment his career ended, even if he didn’t know it. Buck was closer to Sha Money than he was to 50; Sha was the best man at his wedding. “I’m judging Sha not from a business standpoint of his problems with 50,” Buck explained, “but looking at him as my brother.” He refused to turn his back on his friend, assuming 50 and Sha would eventually work it out.

To 50 Cent, this was the ultimate betrayal. It was disloyalty. The resentment was immediate. 50 began freezing Buck out, leaving him and Sha Money to promote his second album, Buck the World, on their own. The album, which dropped in 2007, went gold but underperformed without the full G-Unit machine.

Then, 50 began the public campaign. He accused Buck of being “cool” with his enemies and, more damagingly, of blowing through money and not paying his taxes. By 2008, Buck discovered he owed a crippling $300,000 to the IRS.

The situation imploded in March 2008. Buck and 50 had a phone conversation. It was emotional. Buck, desperate, was reportedly crying on the phone, begging for help. For a moment, it seemed like they were patching things up. But 50 Cent was secretly recording the entire call.

Days later, an old interview with Buck surfaced where he complained, “I’m still waiting on a royalty check.” The timing was sabotage. On April 7, 2008, 50 Cent called Hot 97 and publicly kicked Young Buck out of G-Unit. Then, to complete the humiliation, 50 released the full, unedited, secretly taped conversation of Buck crying.

It was over. Buck was still technically signed to G-Unit Records, meaning 50 could block him from releasing any new music. He was trapped. He tried to fight back, flooding the streets with mixtapes in 2009—a period many fans call his most authentic—but the damage was done.

On August 3, 2010, the IRS raided his home for the $300,000 debt. During the raid, they found a gun. As a convicted felon from the Vibe Awards incident, this was a catastrophic federal charge. Days later, he filed for Chapter 13 bankruptcy, a move he later admitted was strategic to finally get out of his G-Unit contract.

The hits kept coming. In 2012, he survived a drive-by shooting. That same year, he was sentenced to 18 months in federal prison for the weapons charge. The IRS auctioned off all his possessions—his jewelry, his studio equipment—for a humiliating $53,000.

After his release in 2013, the impossible happened. At the 2014 Hot 97 Summer Jam, G-Unit reunited. All of them. It seemed like a new beginning. But it was a false dawn.

By 2016, Buck was arrested for threatening his ex-girlfriend. In 2019, a leaked audio conversation involving Buck and a trans person went viral. 50 Cent, rather than helping his “brother,” was merciless, mocking him online with homophobic posts, slamming the door on their relationship forever.

In 2020, Buck filed for bankruptcy again, this time to escape a new lawsuit from 50. He lost the case in 2023, agreeing to pay 50 over $200,000. Which brings us to April 2025. The “new footage” that went viral was Buck back in court, sentenced to 30 days for violating his bond. It’s a bleak snapshot of a man who’s been in a legal and financial prison for over 15 years.

Today, Buck appears to be in a better mental space, active on social media, but the story is a devastating cautionary tale. He survived a shooting, only to have his career assassinated by a man he called a friend. His loyalty to Sha Money may have been noble in his own mind, but in 50 Cent’s world, it was a fatal miscalculation—one that cost him everything.