Brief Description

Atmosphere

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    [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' fagg*t 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

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    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

    F**kin' 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.']

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