Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Time Management, artist - Blueprint. Date of issue: 31.12.2002
Song language: English
Time Management |
| Testing, testing. |
| Test the mic? |
| How we sound out there? |
| Hope it’s on. |
| It’s on? |
| Somebody turn my mic on |
| How I sound? |
| Sound aight? |
| Sound good out there? |
| Better sound right |
| Want y’all to hear this. |
| Turn it up a little bit |
| They gotta hear this. |
| Gotta get this mic right |
| Gotta have the levels right. |
| Feel me. |
| Gotta be perfect |
| Gotta be crisp. |
| One two, one two. |
| One two, one two. |
| Much better |
| Soundin' hot now. |
| I like that. |
| Testing. |
| Here we go. |
| Uh huh |
| I’m like guns smoke, floating in the air from a murder weapon |
| Whistlin' wind from shots fired off in seven |
| Realize inspire Gods to throw lightening out of Heaven |
| I’ll be standing over your body when the sound deadens |
| You got loose lips |
| But your music ain’t tight |
| I got a mean left |
| You box with gay rights |
| We’ll tie you up to a pole so you can’t take flight |
| Then pummel you to death with 108 mics |
| Weightless will never fall so end all resistance |
| There’s already way too much drama in this business |
| The character assassin leaves no witnesses |
| Pleading innocence |
| To the judge and the jury |
| Temporary insanity was the fuel behind my fury |
| I threw the book at the judge and got rushed by security |
| Spent 90 days in hip hop hell |
| And would’ve still been there if Inkwell didn’t post bail |
| Now I’m explosive corrosive like battery acid |
| Burnt plastic until this foul stench had me gaspin' |
| Only Aspirin could alleviate the pain and the tension |
| From writin' all my rhymes in three dimensions |
| While all the writers only occupy a single plain of existence |
| My imagery goes beyond simple bottles of Hennessy |
| Deciphering the mysteries of history |
| But these A&R's got me feelin' trapped like that movie Misery |
| Time management |
| Time management |
| Nothing but time on my hands |
| That’s all I got |
| Time management |
| My hands guided by the divine to write scriptures |
| For my listeners |
| It holds short attention spans prisoner |
| This probably ain’t the first Greenhouse song they ever heard |
| It’s cool if they know all the beats but don’t know the words |
| But if they knowin' all the words but they still don’t know the title |
| They probably downloaded it and didn’t get it from my crew |
| Makin' it hard for me to flourish |
| And with this pop hip hop it’s hard not to be discouraged |
| By these MC’s without identities |
| Soundin' miscellaneous |
| Enter my vicinity |
| Attack is instantaneous |
| Cold and calculated my life like chess |
| So every move I make means one piece less |
| Through self mastery |
| I relieve stress |
| And reinforce what it really means to be the best |
| Then I |
| Scribe lines with the energy of sex and let |
| Raps caress tracks like fat ass and breasts |
| Feelin' |
| Then need to write, plant the seeds of life |
| Greenhouse procreates with every song we make |
| MC’s takin' my CD home to imitate my genome |
| Nine months later my seed is sown |
| You took biting to the point that your teeth cracked |
| I can see it in your smile |
| You got platinum plaque |
| But that’s my style dawg I gotta have it back |
| Point blank, no lie I’ll make sure we handle that |
| Time management |
| Time management |
| Nothin' but time on my hands |
| Time management |
| Time |
| Nothin' but time on my hands |