Atmosphere - Road To The Riches lyrics

(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 s**ers 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 sh** 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 a**holes 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 d**h 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 sh** 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 fu*k with the snitches Atmosphere on the road to the riches... b**hes! (Scratches:) (Kool G Rap:) "The money it counts steep"