Luyện nghe bài hát Ingredients to Time Travel

[sound of Keith Murray intro Mary J. Blige 'What's the 411' tape
I could swear has been set to B.I.G.'s "Who Shot Ya" based on
the sound of the beat (Artifacts assure me this is Mary J. Blige)]
"My subliminals, mixed with criminal
Got more syllables than alphabet cereal..."
*car door

Tame: I gots ta get bag of bam ba zi, fuck this!

"You who the fuck I am so get off that old bullshucks!"
--> (scratched sample)
"He shit, you ain't shit, your momma ain't shit, daddy ain't shit"
--> (scratched sample)

One]
If I had it my way, wack MC would die Friday
Saturday a better day
Sunday start your week off til Monday
One day tunes I wrote yesterday be tomorrow's scriptures for today
At noon, Boom Skwad Gods with knowledge
Holler at apostles, who squalor in despair, despisin those who
Swallowin pride like St. Ide's you stare... take a drink
think in a eyeblink I won't start my hijinks
and hijack a [Yeah right, when?]
Tomorrow night, off the record with the treble and the bass
I my lyrics through the rap race
Last place is simply not an option in my
Waste not not because I front not
The keeps his lyrical shotty cocked
and locked up at temple, over instrumentals
("It's all in your mind") you No. 2 like the
The Skwadron, Godson, who got the Bop Gun
The top gun, the jump like Datsun
I got one, candy-coated rote skits I shit on when I get on
Then the scripts like I had Zips on
on like electrical, my symmetrical
alphabetic keeps my competition on my testicles
("he ain't shit, you ain't shit, ain't shit")
You to the rescue, let me you
Who the best crew, most
has to be the Skwad cause I'm the
All you misrepresenters with your twelve need pinches
Wake the up and check out what this is
("he ain't shit, you ain't shit, your momma shit, ain't nobody shit")
I can't see nuttin but
MC's think they can get to me, bring it
Cause I pass the blunt to my Lieutenant then we in it
For the infinite, no play
The notty Newark nigga from NJ and the Sensai
represent fully, playin out for yappin
Thinkin you'll be rappin, get and say you scrappin
While I waitin hatin fake MC's that make they bacon
with passion, rippin up stickers for reaction
Practicin on rap has-beens, I'm down with the Biz like
Dissin Mikes the Jacksons
Thick the lips on that Fugee chick
Hard like the dicks in booty
Dissin niggaz like a snooty (trick)
I only pop a if it smells Gucci
Get the lucci hit it for and then smoke blunts with the hoochies
("What's the Dunn" - Tame)
You the flavor like blue cheese
on how I make crews and school MC's who try to do me

("He shit, you ain't... ahh motherfucker")
"Do me baby, do me baby"
("he ain't shit, you shit...")
"bom ba zi, it ain't motherfuckers"
("He shit, you ain't shit")

Outro: CMZ

75% water, H2O, PE, alcohol, oil
Dependin on temperature, what's the hot
Rhino, Tame, Skwad, Hidden Descent
INI, Reflections, the Twins
Aight God, recognize what's
Time to platinum to purple chrome
purple yellow red white chrome