Brother Mats

Man, I love Mats Nileskär at P3 Soul almost as much as I love my local bikeshop (where I, thanks to my crappy new bike am a regular these days). It's something so relaxing about this slow, dark-voiced skåning talking about soul and hiphop and interviewing rap stars. I want him to adopt me and teach me everything he knows.
With Mats in my ears, talking about hiphop I can live under the illusion that I'm as bad as any of the the bad boys he interviews, that I don't spend my days pissin' round with Hobbes and Kant and shopping at Citygross, that I'm actually living the hard knocked life.
But wait, aren't I? Living in Rosengård. Check. Seen a gang fight. Check (today and who cares they were about twelve years old). Being molested. Check (Yes, I do count stealing of bike as molesting. That thing belonged to ma' mama before it belonged to me and she had to work her whole life to earn money to pay for that bike. And it wasn't even försäkrad).
Hardcore shit like that makes me wanna write lyrics like this.