Ingredients to Time Travel

歌詞

(sound of Keith Murray intro from Mary J. Blige 'What's the 411' tape which I could swear has been set to B.I.G.'s "Who Shot Ya" based on the sound of the beat (Artifacts assure me that this is Mary J. Blige)) "My subliminals, mixed with criminal chemicals Got more mily syllables than alphabet cereal..." *car door slams* Tame: I gots ta get this bag of bam ba zi, f**k this! "You know who the f**k I am so get off that old bullshucks!" --> Redman (scratched sample) "He ain't shit, you ain't shit, your momma ain't shit, daddy ain't shit" --> Redman (scratched sample) (Tame One) If I had it my way, every wack MC would die Friday Makin Saturday a better day Sunday wouldn't start your week off til Monday One day tunes I wrote yesterday will be tomorrow's scriptures for today At high noon, Boom Skwad Gods with knowledge Holler at apostles, who squalor in despair, despisin those who follow Swallowin pride like St. Ide's while you stare... take a drink Don't think in a eyeblink I won't start my hijinks and hijack a flight (Yeah right, when?) Tomorrow night, cause off the record with the treble and the bass I chase my lyrics through the rap race Last place is simply not an option in my case Waste not want not because I front not The Notty keeps his lyrical shotty cocked and locked up at your temple, over instrumentals ("It's all in your mind") you No. 2 like the pencil The Boom Skwadron, Godson, who got the Bop Gun The top gun, from the jump like Datsun I got one, candy-coated rote rhymes skits I shit on when I get on Then flip the scripts like I had Zips on It's on like electrical, my symmetrical alphabetic keeps my competition ridin on my testicles ("he ain't shit, you ain't shit, ain't nobody shit") You to the rescue, let me test you Who the best crew, most definite has to be the Skwad cause I'm the President All you misrepresenters with your twelve inches need pinches Wake the f**k up and check out what this is ("he ain't shit, you ain't shit, your momma ain't shit, ain't nobody shit") I can't see nuttin but victories MC's think they can get to me, then bring it Cause once I pass the blunt to my Lieutenant then we in it For the infinite, no play play The notty headed Newark nigga from NJ and the Sensai represent fully, playin bullies out for yappin Thinkin you'll be rappin, get tapped and say you scrappin While I been waitin hatin fake MC's that make they bacon with passion, rippin up they stickers for reaction Practicin on rap has-beens, I'm down with the Biz like Backspin Dissin Mikes like the Jacksons Thick like the lips on that Fugee chick Hard like the dicks in booty flicks Dissin niggaz like a snooty bitch (trick) I only pop a coochie if it smells Gucci Get the lucci hit it for months and then smoke blunts with the hoochies ("What's the flavor Dunn" - Tame) You know the flavor like blue cheese on how I make crews bleed and school MC's who try to do me ("He ain't shit, you ain't... ahh motherf**ker") "Do me baby, do me baby" ("he ain't shit, you ain't shit...") "bom ba zi, it ain't over motherf**kers" ("He ain't shit, you ain't shit") Outro: Rhino CMZ 75% water, H2O, PE, alcohol, oil Dependin on temperature, what's the hot shit? Rhino, Tame, Boom Skwad, Hidden Descent INI, Reflections, check the Twins Aight God, recognize what's fake Time to turn platinum to purple chrome Green purple yellow red white chrome