Lyrics Time Travel (Produced by B.R. Gunna) - Slum Village

Time Travel (Produced by B.R. Gunna)

Intro
Yo I remember, I remember coming back from the corner store
Getting this old dude a brew, you know what I’m saying, said he’d pay me like…
A couple of dollars.
Go to store for him or whatever, know what I’m saying
He had a lot on his mind man.
He’s was just telling me all these things man
He was like…
You not a grown man yet kiddo.
The sun shine the same time the rain wets ghettos
The sky cries tears on my window pane, puffing endo flame keeps me a little
sane, hose a nigga down around wars
Police clocking, piece cocking, knocking down doors.
Now the streets where the
priests often
Rebuke the beast through tithes and peace offerings.
It’s gang graffiti on the
back of the church
Neighborhoods ran down from the blacks and it hurts.
From young bloods with
cracks in they shirts
Eh yo the drug dealers pat’em on the back for they work.
They rather…
flip a bird than a burger
My nigga got shot robbing a video store and died poor.
Wanted the newest whip,
order champagne, and high floors
The lowest taxes, vanity killed our sanity.
They grow as Baptists and
Christians, hope you listening
Made my mind be infected by divine intervention, instead it’s all about hoes
and winding my system and head
Getting bread, presidents heads and my fist and wrists glistening
I never had none, young girls pregnant with babies and never had one.
Put through death and it’s crazy
They never knew they dads.
The blocks raised us.
Watching Scar Face,
feeling it when they cock gauges
And they wonder why we die, lie in locked cages.
A lot changes with hot bangas.
DAMN!
You know what I’m saying.
Just think about that man
And think about what I go through now and understood what he was saying,
you know what I’m saying
It’s crazy out here man, I mean there’s a lot going on in the streets
There’s a lot going on in the ghettos of the mind.
I’m saying I write rhymes
Check…(fading out)
Feel my pain like it was yours.
Crack addicts busting right through my doors
Bleeding on my lawn, I’m destined to be great.
I swear gypsy can read it on my
palm tipsy
I’m calm then I blow up like Vietnam bomb history.
I lost my moms but no drug
abusers beyond 50
Sign of times twist me til I’m found dizzy.
My punished in my blood from all
the pimps that birthed me
Even when I was broke, I was wearing new kicks n jersey’s.
I lived amongst the
sickest scurvy
Til this day they can suck a dick that’s dirty.
With symptoms of burning piss
with pearly puss
My words are just emotional.
Spoken from the bottom of the token pole,
I gotta get a grip
Like a rope with a open hole that’s choke able, on a throat that hold the vocal
tone
My niggas push coke but don’t discuss it on the mobile phone.
This ain’t for
you to judge with dirt service like sewage floods
I need human hugs and back pats.
Pack gats that go «Rat-Tat»
And if they cross your path you laugh at a black cat, split poles and step on
cracks
I tipped toed to push my way in, through every zip code.
Make sure all the way
and way to get sold
It’s like that y’all
Know what I’m saying?
It’s real raw
You know I grew up on the D baby.
In the east, off the west.
North, South
Niggas is robbing niggas for nanny goats.
For real.
Niggas robbing for Starter
coats.
Yeah, Niggas robbing niggas for gators
It’s wild