Artist: Deliciouss T Album: T.W. Chokehold Singz the Booze Song: Matter of Fact Typed by: Deliciouss T * * http://soundcloud.com/deliciouss-t/sets/thomas-william-chokehold/ Back in the day like 1980 fuckin 8 Black supremacist raised fist reciting Chuck and Flav the kids at school said cut the sht, your Chinese that's for blacks, boy i said, well fck it then i guess i wish i was a black boy asian's half my makeup, wouldn't change up, that's a fact, boy since age 8 hip hop's my train of though, i stayed on track, boy now i bat around a beat like tigers would a cat toy Make the bass rattle while Delicious kill the track boy I eat a beat and chew it up and spit it bout like "hacckkk--tuoy" Delicious is to rappers as Matsui is to bat boys Soy Godzidda! swing, smack, King Kong Smashing beats like smacking plane up out the sky like ping pong asian jokes aside though, look who's gotta thing down Word to Rae Dawn Chong, rap's Yao Ming now does hip hop need a king crowned? Yo, kiss the Lish's ring now T ain't stoppin poppin hot sht less it's time to sing now Sing now. Yeah, yeah, I think I'll sing now Get this shit to sizzle help me hit it with chicks, blaow Back in '88, half asian pro-black Fist in the air like where Chuck and Flav at?? Mr. Shocklee let that sampled soul crack Make drums bang yo play those dope tracks Sneaking Eazy Duz it from my buds on dubbed tape Hooked when I hit play heard from Dre them drum breaks Shocked by fuck the cops how they let the guns bang Tape deck sang wreck rape sex and drug game Bugged I graduated Nas Tribe, and Wu-Tang From east coast slang dopest flows the truth came Heard artifacts and flipped out hard enough to have a heart attack They artfully bombarded tracks so hard it was retarded, had hardly charted though cuz far from carters, they were martyrs hardly made out the era wearing karl kani and starters maybe it was later, hard to call it I'm an old cat but tame and el da sensei hold their own if I could go back like Doc Brown or Cro-Mag, to era dope tracks Phat quote's the goal, Fuck the plat or gold plaque Don't matter if some random whack bastard had sold tracks What mattered is if cats would go, yo! who wrote/spoke dat? before the whole rap dopes prone to load gats Just toe tagged beats by the boat load, let flows fold over beats woven so cold like snow globes Crazy legs would flail and then hold a dope pose I miss the days when emcees wrote and spoke some bold poems But fuck it move on, go forward or go home Might as well just go and spit some dim bulb slow-mo Shit flow that kids know so I can git hoes Hold gold rings spit it over techno What get dough the old days gone so let go. But I've been stuck in rep mode from the get go If the best has come and gone then why progress, yo?