Art Of Facts

(album: That's Them - 1997)

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
Getting blunted off somebody's ho money
Honeys beeping 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, proving who got the bomb like Russia
Friendly neighborhood rap hood, with goods
Could it be? Yes, no question
("Tame One") Now let's start up the session
Kick a rap out til I black out, check out when I wreck out
Throwing backs out, laughing out loud when niggas 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
Analyzing more spots than Matlock
Now I got this rapping shit on padlock
You only half-rock, my shit returns like resurrections in religion
Was fucking with the fact we only bullshitting

Yo El Sinister Brick City minister

One two, yo
Start taking notes, stating all quotes
Niggas couldn't see me through an optometrist scope
Open, by the rhythm MCs that's hardest
New Jerusalem, Artifacts be the oddest
Main target, crews who think they bringing the news
Who's this? Kicking 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
Staying real like Erick Sermon
Drunk off the funk like it was bourbon
Rolling up Big Willie like Suburban, Blazers make a wager
Tamer blows up like a pager
Making 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 Sensei leave 'em all beat

Many ask how I be making up my shit
Like the format and how it don't match or fit
I just, dig into the X-Files of styles
Hitting while you're missing I'll prove that the child
Be on the different angles strangle those who wanna tangle
With the, Flexi With the Technique ripper
El Da Sensei what the men say in the back?
Thinking 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
Dissing those who pose with beef that's petty

Who wanna battle (The Artifacts)? No one