Ingredients To Time Travel Lyrics - Singles - Artifact

[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, fuck this! 

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

--> Redman (scratched sample) 

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

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

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 fuck up and check out what this is 

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

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 nigga 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 dicks in booty flicks 

Dissin niggaz like a snooty bitch (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 shit, you ain't... ahh motherfucker") 

"Do me baby, do me baby" 

("he ain't shit, you ain't shit...") 

"bom ba zi, it ain't over motherfuckers" 

("He ain't shit, you ain't shit") 

Outro: Rhino CMZ 

75% water, H2O, PE, alcohol, oil 

Dependin on temperature, what's the hot shit? 

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