Luyện nghe bài hát Ingredients to Time Travel

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

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

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

[Tame
If I had it my way, every wack MC would die
Makin Saturday a day
Sunday wouldn't your week off til Monday
One day tunes I wrote yesterday will be tomorrow's scriptures for
At high noon, Boom Gods with knowledge
Holler at apostles, who squalor in despair, those who follow
Swallowin pride like St. Ide's while you stare... take a
Don't think in a I won't start my hijinks
and hijack a flight right, when?]
Tomorrow night, cause off the record with the and the bass
I chase my lyrics through the rap
Last place is simply not an in my case
Waste not want not because I not
The Notty keeps his lyrical shotty
and up at your 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, from the jump Datsun
I got one, candy-coated rhymes skits I shit on when I get on
Then flip the scripts like I had on
It's on electrical, my symmetrical
alphabetic keeps my competition on my testicles
("he ain't shit, you ain't shit, nobody shit")
You to the rescue, let me you
Who the best crew, definite
has to be the Skwad I'm the President
All you misrepresenters your twelve inches need pinches
Wake the up and check out what this is
("he ain't shit, you shit, your momma ain't shit, ain't nobody shit")
I can't see nuttin but
think they can get to me, then bring it
Cause once I the blunt to my Lieutenant then we in it
For the infinite, no play
The notty headed Newark nigga from NJ and the
represent fully, playin bullies out for
Thinkin you'll be rappin, get and say you scrappin
While I been waitin hatin fake MC's make they bacon
with passion, up they stickers for reaction
Practicin on rap has-beens, I'm with the Biz like Backspin
Dissin like the Jacksons
Thick like the lips on that chick
like the dicks in booty flicks
Dissin like a snooty bitch (trick)
I only pop a if it smells Gucci
Get the hit it for months and then smoke blunts with the hoochies
("What's the Dunn" - Tame)
You know the flavor like blue
on how I make crews bleed and school 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 over motherfuckers"
("He ain't shit, you shit")

Outro: CMZ

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