brief description

"have you heard it? sing along. if you didn't hear it you're gonna hear it right now.", 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.", "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."