"Took Her To The O" isn't just a catchy song. For King Von, it was a mission statement. If you've spent any time on the internet in the last few years, you’ve seen the memes, the tweets, and the viral clips of Von dismissing a whole street with one line: "Not from 63rd." It became a global catchphrase. People in London, Tokyo, and New York started saying it without even knowing what it actually meant. But for Dayvon Bennett, better known as King Von, that number represented more than just a coordinate on a map.
It was personal. It was violent. It was the epicenter of a generational war.
To understand why King Von hated 63rd, you have to look past the music videos and the diamond chains. You have to look at the geography of South Side Chicago. Von grew up in Parkway Gardens, a low-income housing complex officially located at 6417 S. Calumet Ave. The world knows it as O-Block. Just a few blocks away lies 63rd Street, specifically the area around St. Lawrence Avenue. This is the heart of "Tookaville," the territory of the Gangster Disciples (GDs), the sworn rivals of Von’s set, the Black Disciples (BDs).
The Origin of the Conflict: Blood and Concrete
This isn't some manufactured rap beef meant to sell records. Honestly, that’s what most people get wrong. They think it started with a tweet. It didn't. This blood feud predates Von’s rap career by decades. The rivalry between the Black Disciples and the Gangster Disciples is a complex web of Chicago history, but by the time Von was a teenager, it had devolved into a hyper-local war between specific blocks.
The name "Tookaville" is the key. It was named after Shondale "Tooka" Gregory, a 15-year-old from 63rd Street who was shot and killed at a bus stop in 2011. In the grim reality of Chicago drill culture, "smoking on Tooka" became a way for rivals to disrespect the fallen. Von was relentless with this. He wasn't just rapping; he was taunting the people who lived on that street every single day of his life.
It's heavy. It's dark.
Von spent years in and out of jail. When he was on the streets, he was a "loose screw," a term used for people who were known to be active in the conflict. Every time Von said he hated 63rd, he was referencing the friends he lost and the people he was allegedly trying to get back at. 10 years of his life were defined by the distance between 64th and 63rd. That’s less than a five-minute walk. Imagine living your entire life in a war zone where the "enemy" is close enough to throw a rock at your window.
Music as a Weapon of War
When Chief Keef blew up in 2012, the world got its first taste of this rivalry. But Von took it to a different level. He had a storytelling gift that made the violence feel cinematic. In songs like "Crazy Story" and "War With Us," he didn't just mention 63rd; he turned it into a punchline. He made being "from 63rd" synonymous with being a loser, a "goofy," or a target.
The influence was massive.
Suddenly, you had kids in the suburbs who had never stepped foot in Illinois shouting "Not from 63rd" at their friends. This arguably fueled the fire. When a local street beef goes global, the pressure on the people living those lyrics intensifies. The people on 63rd Street, including rappers like FBG Duck and Wooski, weren't just taking it lying down. They fired back with their own tracks, like the infamous "Exposing Me" remix.
But Von had the bigger platform. He had Lil Durk and the OTF (Only The Family) machine behind him. He used his fame to broadcast his hatred to millions. It wasn't just about the music; it was about branding his lifestyle. He was the "King of Killers," and 63rd was his favorite target.
The Tragic Cycle of "Dissing"
You can't talk about Von's hatred for 63rd without talking about the cost. This wasn't a game. FBG Duck, the leader of the 63rd Street (STL/EBT) faction, was killed in broad daylight in Chicago’s Gold Coast in 2020. The celebratory reaction from Von and his circle was visceral. It showed that even with millions of dollars in the bank and a legitimate career in the music industry, the pull of the block was stronger than the lure of the "good life."
Von’s obsession with 63rd was a symptom of a much larger issue: the inability to leave the trauma behind. Even when he moved to Atlanta to escape the legal heat in Chicago, his mind was still on those few blocks. He lived his life through the lens of a soldier. To him, 63rd wasn't just a place where people lived; it was the "other side."
It’s easy to judge from the outside. But when you grow up in an environment where your survival depends on your loyalty to your block, "hating" the neighbors becomes a survival mechanism. It becomes your identity.
Beyond the Catchphrase: What We Can Learn
So, why does the "63rd" meme still persist even years after Von’s death in November 2020? Because Von was charismatic. He was handsome, he could tell a story, and he felt "authentic" in an era where many rappers are seen as fake. People gravitated toward his raw energy, and "Not from 63rd" was the easiest way to tap into that energy.
However, the reality behind the meme is a trail of grieving mothers on both sides of the street. Von's hatred wasn't based on a whim. It was based on a life spent in the trenches of the South Side. It was a product of systemic neglect, gang politics, and personal loss.
If you’re a fan of the music, it’s worth looking at the human cost. Von’s career was a meteor—bright, fast, and devastating. His rivalry with 63rd defined him, fueled his rise, and arguably contributed to the atmosphere of violence that eventually claimed his life in Atlanta.
Moving Toward a Deeper Understanding
Understanding the context of King Von’s lyrics requires more than just listening to the beat. To truly grasp the gravity of the 63rd beef, consider these steps:
- Research the "Tookaville" vs. "O-Block" History: Look into the social factors that led to the hyper-localization of gangs in Chicago. The demolition of high-rise projects like the Robert Taylor Homes forced different groups into smaller, tighter spaces, escalating tensions.
- Listen to the "Other Side": To get a full picture, listen to the music of FBG Duck or Rooga. It provides the perspective of the people Von was rapping against and shows that the pain was mutual.
- Support Chicago Youth Programs: The best way to "honor" the talent of artists lost to this cycle—on both sides—is to support organizations like Beyond the Ball or The Dovetail Project that work to provide alternatives to the street life that claimed Von and so many others.
- Acknowledge the Trauma: Recognize that the "beef" wasn't entertainment for the people involved; it was a series of traumatic events broadcast for public consumption.
King Von’s legacy is complicated. He was a brilliant storyteller and a product of his environment. His hatred for 63rd was real, rooted in a history that most of his listeners will never truly understand. By looking past the catchphrase, we see the true story of a young man who couldn't—or wouldn't—outrun the ghosts of his past.