In a chilling conclusion to a high-profile case that has gripped the city of Jacksonville and reverberated through the hip-hop community, rapper Hakeem Robinson, famously known as Ksoo, has been sentenced to mandatory life in prison without the possibility of parole. The verdict, delivered on October 1st, 2025, marks a brutal end to Ksoo’s career and serves as a stark reminder of the devastating consequences when street rivalries spill over from diss tracks into real-life violence. This case, fraught with dramatic betrayals, controversial evidence, and a father testifying against his own son, has ignited a national conversation about loyalty, the use of rap lyrics in court, and the cyclical nature of violence in urban communities.

Ksoo’s story is deeply entrenched in the turbulent landscape of Jacksonville’s rap scene, where music and street conflicts are often inextricably linked. Rising alongside ATK, a crew associated with YoungBoy Never Broke Again (YoungBoy NBA) and Young Gene, Ksoo’s music often mirrored the gritty realities of his environment. However, the same city that celebrated his rise as an artist would eventually witness his downfall, as his name transitioned from music playlists to court dockets.

The roots of this tragedy trace back to a years-long war between rival rap factions in Jacksonville: ATK, featuring artists like Young Gene and Ksoo, and KTA (also known as “6 Block”), which included FBG Juvie and others. This was no ordinary rap beef; it was street politics set to a beat, where diss tracks weren’t just lyrical boasts but open declarations of war, often disrespecting deceased rivals by name. Young Gene Ace’s viral track “Who I Smoke,” which featured the crew singing the names of murdered rivals, epitomized this dangerous dynamic, each lyric a taunt with deadly consequences.

The personal stakes for Ksoo escalated dramatically on January 15th, 2019, when his stepbrother, Willie Addison (Boss Goon), was tragically gunned down. Abdul Robinson Senior, Ksoo’s father, later described the profound pain of that night, an event that left an indelible scar on the Robinson family and ignited a fierce desire for revenge within ATK.

Just a year later, the situation reached a boiling point. Charles McCormack, known as Lil Buck, a member of KTA, released a track titled “Young Showoff” that, according to prosecutors, crossed an unforgivable line. In the song, McCormack openly mocked the death of Willie Addison, a direct insult that prosecutors argued became the flashpoint, propelling Ksoo to seek retribution.

On January 10th, 2020, Charles McCormack was tragically ambushed and killed as he left a staffing agency in Jacksonville. Witnesses described a masked man in all black chasing him down, firing multiple shots until McCormack collapsed. An off-duty police officer, hearing the gunfire, spotted a silver Nissan Altima speeding away – a car that would later be directly linked to Ksoo’s circle.

Initially, the identity of the shooter remained unknown. However, diligent police work, including surveillance footage, tracing the getaway car, and witness interviews, began to build a case. The pivotal breakthrough came when Dominique Butter Barner, a cousin within the ATK crew, began cooperating with authorities. Barner confessed to driving the Nissan, identified Leroy “ATK Scotty” Whitaker as the armed backup, and, most devastatingly, named Ksoo as the one who exited the car and carried out the shooting.

The state’s evidence didn’t stop there. Surveillance cameras, despite the shooter being masked, captured a body type matching Ksoo’s imposing 6’3″ frame. DNA evidence reportedly linked Ksoo to a shotgun found in a canal, with shells from that weapon matching casings from Willie Addison’s murder scene, suggesting a potential connection. Furthermore, social media posts made by Ksoo just hours after McCormack’s murder added damning weight to the prosecution’s case. He reportedly posted McCormack’s picture with the caption “Bay” and another Instagram story bragging, “Kill Anna then go get my toes done,” a blatant and ill-advised celebration of the crime. Legal experts have often expressed bewilderment at such online boasts, questioning the logic of incriminating oneself in such a public manner.

By September 2020, Hakeem “Ksoo” Robinson and his father, Abdul Robinson Senior, were both arrested and booked on murder charges. The subsequent trial, commencing in July 2025, drew significant media attention, featuring all the elements of a sensational true-crime saga: rival rappers, real-life violence, accusations of snitching, and the unprecedented spectacle of a father testifying against his own son.

The most shocking moment in court arrived when Abdul Robinson Senior took the witness stand. In a profound betrayal of street code, where family loyalty is sacrosanct, Ksoo’s own father pointed directly to his son as McCormack’s killer. Robinson Senior, also facing charges as an accessory after the fact, explained his agonizing decision, citing deteriorating health and the painful years of separation from his younger children due to incarceration. He conveyed the immense difficulty of his choice, stating it was the hardest thing he had ever done, but that he felt he had no other option. This testimony created a chilling silence in the courtroom, an undeniable crack in the facade of family unity.

While the defense vehemently argued that the state’s case was built on the shaky foundations of desperate witnesses cutting deals to save themselves, the prosecution’s evidence was overwhelming. They highlighted that Barner’s testimony, though coming from a place of self-preservation, was corroborated by a multitude of other facts. The defense also attempted to challenge the physical description of the shooter, arguing that Ksoo’s height and build did not match witness accounts of a shorter, slimmer assailant. They also raised the contentious issue of using rap lyrics as evidence, questioning why McCormack’s diss track about Willie Addison wasn’t considered evidence, while Ksoo’s lyrics were treated as confessions.

However, the state’s “pile of receipts” proved too substantial. After just two hours of deliberation, the jury returned with a guilty verdict for first-degree murder. The swiftness of the decision left no doubt in the minds of the jurors, effectively sealing Ksoo’s fate.

The sentencing on October 1st, 2025, was a somber and heavily guarded affair. The Duval County courtroom was packed, with McCormack’s family silently bracing for closure and the Robinson family appearing hollowed out by years of legal battles and profound internal fractures. Before the sentence was handed down, Judge Tatiana Salvador allowed the victim’s mother, Yolanda Perkins, to deliver a powerful statement. Her voice heavy with sorrow but unwavering, Perkins spoke directly to the youth of Jacksonville, using her son’s death as a poignant warning against the glorification of violence in music. She stressed how one reckless moment, one destructive decision, could shatter countless lives. Perkins reminded everyone that McCormack, her only son, was a boy who memorized Bible verses and smiled through immense loss, a stark contrast to the violent narrative surrounding his death. Her message extended beyond the courtroom, imploring the community to take a stand against music that celebrates real-life destruction.

When Ksoo was given the opportunity to speak, he reportedly stood tall and defiant, maintaining his innocence and asserting that his lyrics and lifestyle made him an easy target for prosecutors. While some in the room might have expected remorse or an outburst, Ksoo reportedly maintained the same unwavering demeanor he displayed in his music, refusing to “fold” even as a life sentence loomed. Eyewitnesses claimed he even walked out of court with a smirk, chin held high, a gesture that supporters interpreted as strength but McCormack’s family perceived as a profound disrespect.

Judge Salvador then delivered the final, crushing blow, stating that the jury’s swift verdict was a testament to the “clear and convincing” evidence. The mandatory sentence under Florida law for first-degree murder: life in prison without the possibility of parole. The gavel fell, sealing Hakeem “Ksoo” Robinson’s fate forever.

The aftermath has been intensely divisive. McCormack’s family found a semblance of peace, with tears flowing and his mother whispering that her son could finally rest. For the Robinson family, it was a moment of utter devastation, a family bond irrevocably shattered by a father’s testimony and a cousin’s cooperation. The broader internet community erupted, with some celebrating the justice served and others vehemently arguing that the system had targeted Ksoo, unfairly using his rap lyrics as confessions rather than artistic expression.

This case has reignited a national debate about the admissibility of rap lyrics as evidence in court. Proponents of free speech argue that prosecutors crossed a dangerous line by putting Ksoo’s music on trial, asserting that rap, like other art forms, often employs hyperbole and fantasy. However, the prosecution maintained that in Jacksonville’s drill scene, where specific names and events are frequently referenced, it becomes difficult to separate music from reality. For them, Ksoo’s lyrics and social media posts aligned too closely with the timeline of McCormack’s murder to be mere coincidence.

The tragedy of Ksoo’s story is not unique in the rap world. Artists like Young Thug, TK, and Bobby Shmurda have faced legal battles where their lyrics, particularly those referencing deceased individuals or criminal activities, were used as evidence against them. This clash between artistic freedom and legal interpretation remains a contentious issue, continuously challenging the boundaries of expression and accountability.

Ultimately, Ksoo’s sentencing underscores a painful truth about the cycle of violence in Jacksonville’s rap scene. Willie Addison, Charles “Lil Buck” McCormack, and Adrien “Bby Gainor” were all victims, and now Ksoo faces life behind bars. Each death has fueled another diss track, another shooting, another grieving family. Ksoo’s story serves as a stark warning, a testament to how quickly the game can turn. From a rising drill rapper to a lifer in the Florida Department of Corrections, with no parole, no second chances, and no comeback tour, Ksoo’s fate is sealed. For McCormack’s family, it may be justice, but for the Robinson family, it is heartbreak layered on betrayal. And for the streets, it is a lesson written in blood and concrete, a brutal reminder that rap beefs rarely remain confined to the recording booth. The law has spoken, but the cultural debates over loyalty, art, and reality will undoubtedly rage on.