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Artist: Deliciouss T
Album:  T.W. Chokehold Singz the Booze
Song:   Matter of Fact
Typed by: Deliciouss T *


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?