Luyện nghe bài hát Ingredients to Time Travel

[sound of Keith Murray from 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 of the beat (Artifacts assure me that this is Mary J. Blige)]
"My subliminals, mixed with chemicals
Got more mily than alphabet cereal..."
*car slams*

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 ain't shit, you ain't shit, your momma ain't shit, ain't shit"
--> (scratched sample)

[Tame
If I had it my way, every wack MC die Friday
Makin a better day
Sunday wouldn't start your week off til
One day tunes I wrote yesterday be tomorrow's scriptures for today
At high noon, Skwad Gods with knowledge
at apostles, who squalor in despair, despisin those who follow
Swallowin pride like St. Ide's while you stare... a drink
Don't think in a eyeblink I won't my hijinks
and hijack a flight right, when?]
Tomorrow night, off the record with the treble and the bass
I chase my through the rap race
Last place is simply not an in my case
not want not because I front not
The Notty his lyrical shotty cocked
and locked up at temple, over instrumentals
("It's all in your mind") you No. 2 the pencil
The Skwadron, Godson, who got the Bop Gun
The top gun, from the jump Datsun
I got one, candy-coated rote rhymes skits I on when I get on
Then flip the scripts like I had on
It's on like electrical, my
alphabetic keeps my ridin on my testicles
("he ain't shit, you shit, ain't nobody 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 inches need pinches
Wake the fuck up and out what this is
("he ain't shit, you ain't shit, your momma ain't shit, nobody shit")
I can't see nuttin but
MC's think they can get to me, bring it
once I pass the blunt to my Lieutenant then we in it
For the infinite, no play
The notty headed Newark nigga NJ and the Sensai
represent fully, playin out for yappin
Thinkin be rappin, get tapped and say you scrappin
While I been waitin hatin fake MC's that make they
with passion, rippin up they stickers for
Practicin on rap has-beens, I'm down with the Biz like
Dissin Mikes the Jacksons
Thick like the lips on that Fugee
like the dicks in booty flicks
Dissin niggaz like a bitch (trick)
I only pop a coochie if it 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 over motherfuckers"
("He ain't shit, you shit")

Outro: CMZ

75% water, H2O, PE, alcohol, oil
on temperature, what's the hot shit?
Rhino, Tame, Skwad, Hidden Descent
INI, Reflections, check the
Aight God, what's fake
Time to platinum to purple chrome
Green purple yellow red chrome