Ingredients To Time Travel

(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, **** this!

"You know who the **** I am so get off that old bullshucks!"

--> Redman (scratched sample)

"He ain't ****, you ain't ****, your momma ain't ****, daddy ain't ****"

--> 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 **** 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 ****, you ain't ****, ain't nobody ****")

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 **** up and check out what this is

("he ain't ****, you ain't ****, your momma ain't ****, ain't nobody ****")

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 ***** 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 ****s in booty flicks

Dissin ****** like a snooty ***** (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 ****, you ain't... ahh ************")

"Do me baby, do me baby"

("he ain't ****, you ain't ****...")

"bom ba zi, it ain't over ************s"

("He ain't ****, you ain't ****")

Outro: Rhino CMZ

75% water, H2O, PE, alcohol, oil

Dependin on temperature, what's the hot ****?

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