[Sample: "Have you heard it? Sing along.
   If you didn't hear it you're gonna hear it right now."]
  
   [Slug]
   Bam, the door way opened for me
   I saw ways and told the story
   Raw day dreams of holding glory
   Junior high,
   Hall way king
   Lockin' faggot MCs
   Beat boxin', breakin' Zulu Nation wannabees
   It didn't take long to see who would stay strong
   High school upon
   Some B-Boys put their gang bangs on
   But some kept on doing
   Step 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 hand full
   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 a 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
  
   Within the movement
   Fact checkin' tryin' to completely avoid all channels of backstepping
   From the lines of paint on the concrete
   They 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 faze
   And that not so serious state but I've evolved
   Metamorphed manifestate
  
   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 renown
   From Minneap to the Bronx
   Capture girls in crowns
   Snap, crackle and stomp
   That's what 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 make 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 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
   Fuckin' 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 writing this
   I'm buggin' off the people in my life that made me like this
  
   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 cross fader
   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 faze
   And to that not quite so serious state
   Metamorph manifestate
  
   Well sometimes it rings and I don't answer it
   That's it no asterisks
   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 are a few that have developed when I let them in my spectrum
   For the rest of em
   I give them just enough to cause infection
   Not trippin' on attention
   But if you ? it's welcome
   Open arms patient charms
   I know the words and I can spell them
   Seldom is it
   When one inquisits
   Do they leave with this interest
   In fact most begin crave the business
   Bringin' me to the table
   That's it no more no less
   The love the life the stress
   Slug, the mic, the mess
   Testin'
   Yes, I've been tested and I've tested some
   I'm not sayin' I'm the best
   Believe I'm not
   Like the rest of em
   Just sayin' 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
   Built the empire before I get tired
   The ones that tare me down don't know it
   But they're the same ones that build 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 everyday, 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? I don't
   about rule, anymore. It is of no importance to me, as such, but I must
   find out what I am before I die."]