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 now as I sit here, right now, writing this

I'm bugging off of 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 to 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 that I'm the best

Believe I'm not like the rest of 'em

Just saying that 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."