[{"id":34581569,"name":"Stress","trackName":"Stress","artistName":"38 Spesh","albumName":"1994","duration":252.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Peace to the God Spesh\nAlready know, my nigga\nR.I.P\n\nStrauss a lot, no hoops, we bounce rock\nI ain't talking about a speaker that bust, allow Pac\nTake shorty cheeks to Thailand, she Bangkok\nReek reefer, fly features, the bar card\n\nShots coming vacant with heart, don't get booked\nIt's a plan to eat, I was the cook and played the nook\nSince a youngin on the steps, all live niggas that rep\nThey didn't have to pass the torch, it's stolen, it never slept\n\nLet my taste that\nIf her eyes pop and jaw Milly Rock, I take that\nScared money don't make noise like Illinois or Chiraq's\nDon't get lined up like a round back\n\nIt's so far, got the lighter to a mayo jar\n\nThe boulevard clicking, I'm hitting the potent fog\nMy people shooting with the nine to five\nI know traffic cops that'll tow your car while you still inside\nInvest in me, go short the cheese\nYou'll be leaking from your head like an STD, yeah\nThese niggas giving pounds with they heads down\nNot for kids with my backpack, I don't spray ground\nFrom the waist up, I just playground\nSwing on 'em or slide off\nWith metal in my hand, I'm a cyborg\n\nI grinds 'em when I kickflip\nIn gear, the stick shift\nThe whip leave you thicker than Bisquick\n\nA German Ruger with the dinner heads\nIf you survive, you ride in a wheelchair with a dinner head\n\nWeigh, bag, sell, count\nWeigh, bag, sell, count\nWeigh, bag, sell, count\nWeigh, bag, sell, count\nWeigh, bag, sell, count\nWeigh, bag, sell, count\nWeigh, bag, sell, count\nWeigh, bag, sell, count\nWeigh, bag, sell, count\n\nSuede envelope, I got beige coke and Malcolm X\nGA sips, CA Crip niggas\nMy bitch lick triggers\nKissing a killer, Beverly Center winner\nHennessy panty dripper, yo, fuck with us\n\nSame nigga that gave you the plug\nWith the Christmas dolls, smuggle the work through like it's porcelain\nWant water? Let it dissolve\nSeparate it, dry it out, wrap it all up and let the tour begin\nY'all niggas talk twat, what type of war we in?\nAccording to them, I beat you with accordions\nYour dead body crowd surf the audience\nYour baby moms, she a Nautilus slut\n\nWherever the wind blow, she row row\n\nTen toes, she push her pussy for escrow\n\nI push a Lexus slow\nCircle the block, she bring back my dough\nI bring her blow so she numb when I go\nYo, baby girl, it's time to take this show on the road\nIt's Flee, though\nYou know me for the coke beats with big ghosts\nSlideway flow, the dime face hoes\nYou know the kid, I gave niggas a lane to go\nWhen in Chi, 38 snub nose\n\nWeigh, bag, sell, count\nWeigh, bag, sell, count\nWeigh, bag, sell, count\nWeigh, bag, sell, count\nWeigh, bag, sell, count\nWeigh, bag, sell, count\nWeigh, bag, sell, count\nWeigh, bag, sell, count","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Stress\n  artist: 38 Spesh\n  album: '1994'\n  duration_ms: 252000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Peace to the God Spesh\n  Already know, my nigga\n  R.I.P\n\n  Strauss a lot, no hoops, we bounce rock\n  I ain't talking about a speaker that bust, allow Pac\n  Take shorty cheeks to Thailand, she Bangkok\n  Reek reefer, fly features, the bar card\n\n  Shots coming vacant with heart, don't get booked\n  It's a plan to eat, I was the cook and played the nook\n  Since a youngin on the steps, all live niggas that rep\n  They didn't have to pass the torch, it's stolen, it never slept\n\n  Let my taste that\n  If her eyes pop and jaw Milly Rock, I take that\n  Scared money don't make noise like Illinois or Chiraq's\n  Don't get lined up like a round back\n\n  It's so far, got the lighter to a mayo jar\n\n  The boulevard clicking, I'm hitting the potent fog\n  My people shooting with the nine to five\n  I know traffic cops that'll tow your car while you still inside\n  Invest in me, go short the cheese\n  You'll be leaking from your head like an STD, yeah\n  These niggas giving pounds with they heads down\n  Not for kids with my backpack, I don't spray ground\n  From the waist up, I just playground\n  Swing on 'em or slide off\n  With metal in my hand, I'm a cyborg\n\n  I grinds 'em when I kickflip\n  In gear, the stick shift\n  The whip leave you thicker than Bisquick\n\n  A German Ruger with the dinner heads\n  If you survive, you ride in a wheelchair with a dinner head\n\n  Weigh, bag, sell, count\n  Weigh, bag, sell, count\n  Weigh, bag, sell, count\n  Weigh, bag, sell, count\n  Weigh, bag, sell, count\n  Weigh, bag, sell, count\n  Weigh, bag, sell, count\n  Weigh, bag, sell, count\n  Weigh, bag, sell, count\n\n  Suede envelope, I got beige coke and Malcolm X\n  GA sips, CA Crip niggas\n  My bitch lick triggers\n  Kissing a killer, Beverly Center winner\n  Hennessy panty dripper, yo, fuck with us\n\n  Same nigga that gave you the plug\n  With the Christmas dolls, smuggle the work through like it's porcelain\n  Want water? Let it dissolve\n  Separate it, dry it out, wrap it all up and let the tour begin\n  Y'all niggas talk twat, what type of war we in?\n  According to them, I beat you with accordions\n  Your dead body crowd surf the audience\n  Your baby moms, she a Nautilus slut\n\n  Wherever the wind blow, she row row\n\n  Ten toes, she push her pussy for escrow\n\n  I push a Lexus slow\n  Circle the block, she bring back my dough\n  I bring her blow so she numb when I go\n  Yo, baby girl, it's time to take this show on the road\n  It's Flee, though\n  You know me for the coke beats with big ghosts\n  Slideway flow, the dime face hoes\n  You know the kid, I gave niggas a lane to go\n  When in Chi, 38 snub nose\n\n  Weigh, bag, sell, count\n  Weigh, bag, sell, count\n  Weigh, bag, sell, count\n  Weigh, bag, sell, count\n  Weigh, bag, sell, count\n  Weigh, bag, sell, count\n  Weigh, bag, sell, count\n  Weigh, bag, sell, count\n"}]