It’s 1 a.m. on a brisk saturday morning on Syracuse’s west side. A few young women stand outside a seemingly run-down house, smoking cigarettes in their party attire for the night. A faint hip hop beat can be heard coming from a basement.

“We about to turn-up in here,” says Napoleon “Kuntry” Clemons.

Already “feeling good” from their first party full of blaring music, blunts, and Henessy, Kuntry and his crew of aspiring young hip hop artists, known as Money Bag Movement, walk towards the entrance of the party. Once inside the team of four head downstairs to a dark basement, which is already packed with dancing people.

The four continue where they left off at the last party, with more marijuana and alcohol. The music gets louder and louder and the four begin grinding with new lady friends, rapping along with each song that blares through the party’s singular speaker.

“This is how we do, Money Bag Movement,” shouts Pauly, one of the members of the Money Bag crew.

Except partying is not all Money Bag Movement does. The next morning “Kuntry” will have to take care of his two kids, and prepare for his third. “DC” will have to go back to work at a convenience store. “Pauly” will have to go to class to finish getting his high school diploma, and “Rells” will have to go back to work at McDonalds to provide for his two-year-old boy.

Hip-hop music in Syracuse is marred by a history a violence. Making it big is a seemingly impossible task. However, Moneybag Movement is trying; living almost double lives as workers during the day and rappers at night.

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