Atmosphere: Road to riches

(feat. Cuts by DJ Plain Ol' Bill)[Verse 1]When I was five years old I used to hear funk and soulBeing played out my pop's hi-fi stereoLooking at the photos, buggin on the namesWith the fold out covers and the crazy illustrationsI got older and bought my own recordsBy thirteen I had three crates collected, huhAnd that's my pride, no time for white ridesKept on the grind and I stayed insideI was sort of a poser how I had my friends overCutting up till we wrecked that direct drive loaderMom's turntable went through hellA whole lot of wicky-wicky trynna teach myselfThe records got stuffed cause the parties was roughBut I still showed up to try to rock some cuts, whatAnd I was young but the bigger kids reached outGive me five minutes on decks to freak outThe type to get it right, maybe one nightI be rapping bout my life on the cordless micNo matter how it look, always kept one footBetween records and books, and the suckers got shookDreamed about it two decades straightWay before Rhymesayers first wax got madeThe music is my love and it is my businessMy name is Big Slug, I'm on the road to the...[Verse 2]I used to stand on the block selling four track tapesTrynna make enough papes to buy more blanksThere was all kinds of hits, backpacks and dripsSweatshirts running network and guess and credThe word was spread with speed, the name grew like weedsWasn't long till we took the leadTwin cities was little and the winter was bitterGetting bigger and bigger, they started taking my pictureFor the shit I spit, some rappers I knew quitGot jobs and a family, they just couldn't handle itLice and rhyming, living like a roachOn the ground and broke, holding onto the HulkIn a small town scene we stole like a thiefNo time to sleep with politics and beef, huhThey all pussies, dicks and assholesCollecting stripes from little freestyle battlesMany mics we gripped, any stage we'd ripEven with no chips we'd take them road tripsLoyal members of the crew had my back to deathG-Pool, Moonsign, myself and StressAll we had was rhymes, coming offa the mindFor the first time in my life everything felt fineThe turntables turn while the DJ's mix itI didn't know I was on the road to the...[Verse 3]The pop that rocks for props, he eventually stopsAnd maybe hops on some desktop guest spotsThe gangster's muscle, are up in the puzzleBut if their raps are wack they go back to the hustleI was the one on the opposite side of smoking a gunTaught me how to rhyme and how to runMake or break it, the hater's can't say shitStayed awake late night in Ant's basementTake notes, spray painted the paved roadThe tapes sold, got lucky with scapegoat, huhThat means work, in other words sewer vanPeace to J-Berg, the man with the core planSeeds get planted, hands get handshakesDamn straight, gonna keep goin till the man breaksAnd MC's who wanna make ends meet out on my routeBut never ever keep friendlyStack the blocks, catch that foxRhymesayers locked on the Mid-West cropsTroopers, soldiers, shoulder to shoulderSold out the shows and give the groupies to my chaufferNew tour dates, take the money, put out more tapesAnd call it foreplay, ready for the war gamesSew it up and then FUCK with the snitchesAtmosphere on the road to the riches... bitches![Scratches]"The money it counts steep" - [Kool G Rap]