Brief Description

[Sample: "Have you heard it? Sing along
If you didn't hear it you're gonna hear it right now."]

[Verse 1: Slug]
Bam, the doorway opened for me
I saw ways and told the story
Raw daydreams of holding glory
Junior high hallway kings
Locking, Bagging MCs
Beat boxing, breaking Zulu Nation wannabees
It didn't take long to see who would stay strong
High school came upon, some B-Boys put their gang bangs on
But some kept on doing, stepped on to ruin
Others that were pursuing the same shit we thought we ruled in
But what a surprise: the passion for being the best
Puts a quest for allies to rest
Dead in the Midwest where heads is just a handful
In a land of gangstas
Players, replacements, priests, banjos
We scramble to break MCs that may appreciate it
Guided by their envy, insecurity, and their hatred
Separated by the "gimmie props" technique
And the desire to be the tops this week
I gotta floss the speak
Cause talk is cheap, even the broke kids can afford it
That's why I stand close and if you're dope then I'm supportive
But if not: we'll keep the mic warm
For the next one, respect the artform
And make your wishes on the stars born

[Hook]
Within the movement
Fact checking, trying to completely avoid all channels of backstepping
From the lines of painted concrete
That reside on Lake Street
To the way we close our eyes to sleep
And drift through Deep Space 9 type shit
To find this
I've been around for as long as sound
I've been to that not-so-fresh phase
And to that not-quite-that-serious state
But I've evolved, metamorphed manifestate

[Verse 2: Slug]
I used to be young, dumb and full of vision
Like it was religious rituals
I made initial decisions
I wanted to be a rapper world renowned
From Minneap to the Bronx
Capture girls and crowns
Snap, tackle and stomp
That's when I found
The abyss that sits in-between the one that holds the mic and those that don't even listen
Formed some crews, rocked talent shows at schools
Saturdays on the 18 making my way down to the record pool
I met a grip of people that was bullshit
Was down with a lot of people that was bullshit
But I'll pull shit from the asshole of an angel before I let him hassle and strangle
The love triangle between me the mic and the turntable
Went to studios, we want to make demos
We want to do shows and rock our own instrumentals
Do our own production, fucking around with this kid Kazir
Nitwit engineer, barely knew his own equipment
Atmosphere, the prefix was "Urban"
Wrecked shows, made friends, made foes
Overall, we made flows
And right now as I sit here, right now, writing this
I'm bugging off the people in my life that made me like this

[Hook]
Within the movement
Fact checkin'
Tryin' to completely avoid all channels of backsteppin'
From the lines of painted concrete
That reside on Franklin Ave
To the dead bird on the elevator
To that short in your crossfader
I never got lost later
For efforts to pester
Just throw your hands up in the air like a leper
I've been to that not-so-fresh phase
And to that not-quite-that-serious state
Metamorph and manifestate

[Verse 3: Slug]
Well sometimes it rings and I don't answer it
That's it, no asterisk
No thirst to find the circumstances
It was planted in me deep
It was nurtured and it grew
Gave it sleep and nutrition
It was efficient, let it through
There's a few that have developed to where I let them in my spectrum
For the rest of 'em, I give them just enough to cause infection
Not tripping on attention
But if you have it, it's welcome
Open arms, potent charm
I know the words and I can spell them
Seldom is it, when one inquisits
Do they leave with disinterest
In fact most begin crave the visits
Bringin' me to the table
That's it, no more no less
The love, the life, the stress
Slug, the mic, the mess
Testing. Yes, I've been tested and I've tested some
Not saying I'm the best
Believe I'm not like the rest of 'em
Just saying I'm better than you
That's my mind state my rhymes take me into
When I check one two, I guess some do get pissed
But intentions were to inspire
Build the empire before I get tired
The ones that tear me down don't know it
But they're the same ones that built me
Now quietly in your head say, "Yes you can feel me."

[Sample]
"Asking himself, even before the curtain goes up: What am I? I am now 80 years old, and more, and I am determined to find precisely what I am, what I amount to. They tell me I am everything, they flatter me every day of my life. I am now going to subject myself to a rigorous test in order to find out really what I am. I don't care about kingdom. I don't care about rule anymore. It is of no importance to me, as such, but I must find out what I am before I die."