Artist: artifact
Song: art of facts
As Mellow Max passes the blunts to Skully
We're about to come get nutty up in here
Artifacts, nine-six tricks, Sean J. with the beat
Complete with the Artifact techniques
I like to rip off mics and clock off dice that roll funny
Gettin' blunted off somebody's hoe money
Honies beepin' for me for cheese, ease back
Please keep that weave intact, best believe that Tamer D'll be back
Get the weed sacks relax, fuck a flick from Blockbuster
I'ma touch ya, provin' who got the bomb like Russia
Friendly neighborhood rap hood with goods
Could it be? Yes, no question
Now let's start up the session, kick a rap out 'til I black out
Check out when I wreck out, throwin' backs out, laughin' out loud
When niggaz crap out, me I want more G's than the LAPD
From when I wrote my first rhyme in eighty-three
With each speech released I reach mad blocks
Analyzin' more spots than Matlock, now I got this rappin' shit on padlock
You only half-rock, my shit returns like resurrections in religion
Was fuckin' with the fact we only bullshittin'
Yo El, Sinister Brick City minister
One two, yo, start takin' notes, statin' all quotes
Niggaz couldn't see me through an optometrist scope
Open, by the rhythm MC's that's hardest
New Jerusalem, Artifacts be the oddest
Main target, crews who think they bringin' the news
Who's this? Kickin' in your Benz-y box crisp
As long as the Boom Skwad is hearing me clear
There ain't another rapper here that's gonna G this year
(Yeah)
Lyric for lyric we exhibit mass appeal, stayin' Real like Erick Sermon
Drunk off the funk like it was bourbon, rollin' up Big Willie like Suburban
Blazers make a wager, tamer blows up like a pager
Makin' you wake up early, tell your girlie turn my tape up
Wait up, let me lace up the place like boots
Make loot and proceed to rock like Roots
I tear the roof off and when I fuck don't take my boots off
I shoot from the lip and make your nose glow like Rudolph
You soft, so let me hit you off with all the hardness
Artifacts shit, we got the hard shit regardless
Punks pop junk, Tame and the Sensai leave 'em all beat
Many ask how I be makin' up my shit
Like the format and how it don't match or fit
I just, dig into the X-Files of styles
Hittin' while you're missin' I'll prove that the child
Be on the different angles, strangle those who wanna tangle
With the Flexi, with the Technique ripper
El the Sensai what the men say in the back?
Thinkin' that we can't battle rap in combat
Cease that, realize that the Facts don't mess
Around when we bless sounds down for any test
So bring your nine and your vest
'Cause when you step to these men, your plan best to be correct
Interject with intellect, each step steady
Dissin' those who pose with beef that's petty
Who wanna battle? No one
