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[sound of Keith Murray intro from Mary J. Blige 'What's the 411' tape
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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)]
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"My subliminals, mixed with criminal chemicals
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Got more mily syllables than alphabet cereal..."
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*car door slams*
|
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Tame: I gots ta get this bag of bam ba zi, fuck this!
|
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"You know who the fuck I am so get off that old bullshucks!"
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--> Redman (scratched sample)
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"He ain't shit, you ain't shit, your momma ain't shit, daddy ain't shit"
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--> Redman (scratched sample)
|
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[Tame One]
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If I had it my way, every wack MC would die Friday
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Makin Saturday a better day
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Sunday wouldn't start your week off til Monday
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One day tunes I wrote yesterday will be tomorrow's scriptures for today
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At high noon, Boom Skwad Gods with knowledge
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Holler at apostles, who squalor in despair, despisin those who follow
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Swallowin pride like St. Ide's while you stare... take a drink
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Don't think in a eyeblink I won't start my hijinks
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and hijack a flight [Yeah right, when?]
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Tomorrow night, cause off the record with the treble and the bass
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I chase my lyrics through the rap race
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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
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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
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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 fuck 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
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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 motherfucker")
|
"Do me baby, do me baby"
|
("he ain't shit, you ain't shit...")
|
"bom ba zi, it ain't over motherfuckers"
|
("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
|
|
|
|
-----------------
|
Ingredients to Time Travel
|
| The Artifacts |
