(feat. Cuts by DJ Plain Ol' Bill)


[Verse 1]

When I was five years old I used to hear funk and soul

Being played out my pop's hi-fi stereo

Looking at the photos, buggin on the names

With the fold out covers and the crazy illustrations

I got older and bought my own records

By thirteen I had three crates collected, huh

And that's my pride, no time for white rides

Kept on the grind and I stayed inside

I was sort of a poser how I had my friends over

Cutting up till we wrecked that direct drive loader

Mom's turntable went through hell

A whole lot of wicky-wicky trynna teach myself

The records got stuffed cause the parties was rough

But I still showed up to try to rock some cuts, what

And I was young but the bigger kids reached out

Give me five minutes on decks to freak out

The type to get it right, maybe one night

I be rapping bout my life on the cordless mic

No matter how it look, always kept one foot

Between records and books, and the suckers got shook

Dreamed about it two decades straight

Way before Rhymesayers first wax got made

The music is my love and it is my business

My name is Big Slug, I'm on the road to the...



[Verse 2]

I used to stand on the block selling four track tapes

Trynna make enough papes to buy more blanks

There was all kinds of hits, backpacks and drips

Sweatshirts running network and guess and cred

The word was spread with speed, the name grew like weeds

Wasn't long till we took the lead

Twin cities was little and the winter was bitter

Getting bigger and bigger, they started taking my picture

For the shit I spit, some rappers I knew quit

Got jobs and a family, they just couldn't handle it

Lice and rhyming, living like a roach

On the ground and broke, holding onto the Hulk

In a small town scene we stole like a thief

No time to sleep with politics and beef, huh

They all pussies, dicks and assholes

Collecting stripes from little freestyle battles

Many mics we gripped, any stage we'd rip

Even with no chips we'd take them road trips

Loyal members of the crew had my back to death

G-Pool, Moonsign, myself and Stress

All we had was rhymes, coming offa the mind

For the first time in my life everything felt fine

The turntables turn while the DJ's mix it

I didn't know I was on the road to the...



[Verse 3]

The pop that rocks for props, he eventually stops

And maybe hops on some desktop guest spots

The gangster's muscle, are up in the puzzle

But if their raps are wack they go back to the hustle

I was the one on the opposite side of smoking a gun

Taught me how to rhyme and how to run

Make or break it, the hater's can't say shit

Stayed awake late night in Ant's basement

Take notes, spray painted the paved road

The tapes sold, got lucky with scapegoat, huh

That means work, in other words sewer van

Peace to J-Berg, the man with the core plan

Seeds get planted, hands get handshakes

Damn straight, gonna keep goin till the man breaks

And MC's who wanna make ends meet out on my route

But never ever keep friendly

Stack the blocks, catch that fox

Rhymesayers locked on the Mid-West crops

Troopers, soldiers, shoulder to shoulder

Sold out the shows and give the groupies to my chauffer

New tour dates, take the money, put out more tapes

And call it foreplay, ready for the war games

Sew it up and then FUCK with the snitches

Atmosphere on the road to the riches... bitches!



[Scratches]

"The money it counts steep" - [Kool G Rap]