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

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