[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
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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
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Waste not want not because I front not
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The Notty keeps his lyrical shotty cocked
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and locked up at your temple, over instrumentals
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("It's all in your mind") you No. 2 like the pencil
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The Boom Skwadron, Godson, who got the Bop Gun
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The top gun, from the jump like Datsun
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I got one, candy-coated rote rhymes skits I shit on when I get on
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Then flip the scripts like I had Zips on
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It's on like electrical, my symmetrical
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alphabetic keeps my competition ridin on my testicles
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("he ain't shit, you ain't shit, ain't nobody shit")
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You to the rescue, let me test you
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Who the best crew, most definite
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has to be the Skwad cause I'm the President
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All you misrepresenters with your twelve inches need pinches
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Wake the fuck up and check out what this is
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("he ain't shit, you ain't shit, your momma ain't shit, ain't nobody shit")
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I can't see nuttin but victories
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MC's think they can get to me, then bring it
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Cause once I pass the blunt to my Lieutenant then we in it
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For the infinite, no play play
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The notty headed Newark nigga from NJ and the Sensai
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represent fully, playin bullies out for yappin
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Thinkin you'll be rappin, get tapped and say you scrappin
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While I been waitin hatin fake MC's that make they bacon
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with passion, rippin up they stickers for reaction
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Practicin on rap has-beens, I'm down with the Biz like Backspin
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Dissin Mikes like the Jacksons
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Thick like the lips on that Fugee chick
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Hard like the dicks in booty flicks
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Dissin niggaz like a snooty bitch (trick)
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I only pop a coochie if it smells Gucci
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Get the lucci hit it for months and then smoke blunts with the hoochies
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("What's the flavor Dunn" - Tame)
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You know the flavor like blue cheese
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on how I make crews bleed and school MC's who try to do me
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("He ain't shit, you ain't... ahh motherfucker")
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"Do me baby, do me baby"
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("he ain't shit, you ain't shit...")
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"bom ba zi, it ain't over motherfuckers"
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("He ain't shit, you ain't shit")
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Outro: Rhino CMZ
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75% water, H2O, PE, alcohol, oil
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Dependin on temperature, what's the hot shit?
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Rhino, Tame, Boom Skwad, Hidden Descent
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INI, Reflections, check the Twins
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Aight God, recognize what's fake
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Time to turn platinum to purple chrome
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Green purple yellow red white chrome
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-----------------
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Ingredients to Time Travel
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| Artifact |
