[{"id":22079048,"name":"Rapper Shit","trackName":"Rapper Shit","artistName":"Ab‐Soul & Kendrick Lamar","albumName":"Rapper Shit","duration":375.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"My back against the wall\nLike I see y'all fronting\nDrowning in your own spit and ain't coming up with nothing\nI call this shit \"Rapper Shit\"\nCause I ain't a rapper\nBut if I was, this ain't some shit\nThat I could rap after\nCaught up in the rapture, you call yourself a factor\nYou're lame, paving a way\nBob could build faster\nI'm a real master, real massive\nYou just real average\nI see your chain, it's strange\nThey wore those in the\nMiddle Passage\nAnd it's harder to play me than to fiddle backwards\nDon't act like you knew my tactics\nCause when it hits the fan, you know\nI stand last\nI see through your true colors like stained glass\nI see the fear in your eyes when we arrive\nAnd what's the odds of\nEven thinking you coincide\nWhen every time a nigga\nOpen a door you go inside\nJust to realize, either you're weak or someone lied\nSee, you spend more time boasting about what you do than you do\nSo by the time your shit is due it's doo-doo\nAnd who knew that too\nCool fool who used to\nSit in the back\nWould slip through the crack, like dudes who went to rehab\nAb-Soul, Abstract Asshole\nBlack Lip Bastard, et cetera\nFor forever\nI follow no ruler, even if\nI'm under a drastic measure\nBut whatever\nThey say pressure bust pipes\nAnd I ain't never had to deal with plumbing in my life, now\nThat's a bar\nSparring with me like\nBlasphemy to cathedral\nOr colliding with the diesel\nWith your baby in your arms\nYou would test me but\nYou know better\nIt's inadequate to go against the\nJesus of Nazareth\nOf the rap game, and guess what\nI got no cheddar\nBut my mind is like a wizard\nI defy the laws of gravity\nEvery time I get high and\nWrite a sentence\nBack teeth never been in agony\nBut I got wisdom\nI have risen from the wicked\nTo jump on the competition\nScorch ya, third degree burns\nNext to their sideburns\nAll sorts of combustible flows\nFiremen on speed dial\nFree the leaders of the\nFree world with a freestyle\nFree the teachers, black\nActivists get up off your feet now\nAnd feed off my feelings\nAs I control my wheel like\nNew power steering, so sincere\nTryna duck court hearings\nBut I got big ears\nRap peers, used to study them\nWishing they would fuck with me\nNow they can't fuck with him\nI'm wishing good luck to them\nReluctantly these critics\nLoving me and I don't blame 'em\nThey say, Kendrick you\nGunning for these niggas\nSo when I pull my weapon out\nI give 'em the pleasure to\nSee me aim it\nAnd watch these bullets\nRun into these niggas\nClear the set\nI got now, I got next\nGive you nouns, give you verbs\nGive you adjectives while\nProposing an agitated threat\nI am most debated in\nBarber shops all because\nThey slept on me\nBig homie fear young, buck\nCause when I buck I make\nMore than a buck\nDollars come quick like a\nFucking nun fucking for\nThe first time\nPut me in Alaska for\nSix months in the dark\nIn my heart I know\nSun still shine\nStill got a skill to be found\nIn a gold mine\nI got an appetite for habitual\nLiars on the mic\nWho with pliers couldn't\nGet a grip on life\nI spit like I sat the tip of\nMy dick on ice, and that's intense\nImagine if I had already\nCame twice, ain't that some shit\nPass the swisher nigga\nFill your cup with liquor nigga\nFly your kite till you're gone till November nigga\nShow 'em you remember nigga\nPour some Hennessy and\nCrown for your homie six feet underground\nSmoke an ounce and\nTurn that frown upside down\nLike the triangle in the\nPanties of my gal\nWhen Mike Jack made\n\"Raining in Moscow\"\nI had no style\nTommy Boy stocking on my scalp\nAnd that was like ninety-five\nNow it's twenty-ten\nTwo years away from\nWhen they say the world's\nExpected to end\nAnd I ain't even begin\nThat's more ironic than a\nBum asking for 50 Cent from\n\"Many Men\", one\nToo many relays for DJs\nTo replay\nI do the reject while I\nEject your new singlay\nHot enough to sit in hell\nThen unveil in heatwave\nPiss on a demon with ice water\nAnd if I lose my voice then\nI'm probably calling out to all P.A\nSystems to assist in with the word\nI'm tryna spread\nLike county jail bread or\nThe legs of a hoochie\nAnd that's off top like a toupee\nI'm 2Pac\nComing back for doomsday\nSpitting at cops, go and\nCop my album\nGet high to it, pop some valium\nThen turn up the volume\nI influence ghettos where\nIt says caution\nAnd them bloggers get to\nSparking like L.A. females\nThat's balling\nRound the time this happens often\nThe violence get the flare\nWe racing against life, the\nTurtle or the hare?\nAnd nobody can compare to the\nLegacy that we bout to build\nY'all work at Build-A-Bear soft as underhand pitching with skills\nShit, and ain't no use in\nCrying over spilt milk\nYou're dead and gone\nThe pall-bearers carry you\nAnd your family will carry on\nAnd on the real, this ain't a\nConstruction site but you\nKnow the drill\nWe lead the league in all aspects\nAnd we deserve more\nMedals than a magnet\nPut you niggas in a hole like bad debt\nShooting three pointers\nWith the globe, nothing but nets\nNigga, nothing but the best\nEvery time we hit your tape deck niggas hit the deck\nI rhyme like a fucking TEC-9\nAnd I 'Clown Posses' if they\nDisrespect\nYou looking at a T-Rex\nSnapping at 'em with Tourette's\nYeah, this the flow that\nKilled aspiring rappers\nToo late, I grab the eight and start expiring rappers\nSome shit only BIG and Pac\nCould rap after\nAnd if they was alive\nThey would have to pay tithes\nI am God\nM.C.R. squares will\nDisperse in despair, this is me motherfucker","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Rapper Shit\n  artist: Ab‐Soul & Kendrick Lamar\n  album: Rapper Shit\n  duration_ms: 375000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  My back against the wall\n  Like I see y'all fronting\n  Drowning in your own spit and ain't coming up with nothing\n  I call this shit \"Rapper Shit\"\n  Cause I ain't a rapper\n  But if I was, this ain't some shit\n  That I could rap after\n  Caught up in the rapture, you call yourself a factor\n  You're lame, paving a way\n  Bob could build faster\n  I'm a real master, real massive\n  You just real average\n  I see your chain, it's strange\n  They wore those in the\n  Middle Passage\n  And it's harder to play me than to fiddle backwards\n  Don't act like you knew my tactics\n  Cause when it hits the fan, you know\n  I stand last\n  I see through your true colors like stained glass\n  I see the fear in your eyes when we arrive\n  And what's the odds of\n  Even thinking you coincide\n  When every time a nigga\n  Open a door you go inside\n  Just to realize, either you're weak or someone lied\n  See, you spend more time boasting about what you do than you do\n  So by the time your shit is due it's doo-doo\n  And who knew that too\n  Cool fool who used to\n  Sit in the back\n  Would slip through the crack, like dudes who went to rehab\n  Ab-Soul, Abstract Asshole\n  Black Lip Bastard, et cetera\n  For forever\n  I follow no ruler, even if\n  I'm under a drastic measure\n  But whatever\n  They say pressure bust pipes\n  And I ain't never had to deal with plumbing in my life, now\n  That's a bar\n  Sparring with me like\n  Blasphemy to cathedral\n  Or colliding with the diesel\n  With your baby in your arms\n  You would test me but\n  You know better\n  It's inadequate to go against the\n  Jesus of Nazareth\n  Of the rap game, and guess what\n  I got no cheddar\n  But my mind is like a wizard\n  I defy the laws of gravity\n  Every time I get high and\n  Write a sentence\n  Back teeth never been in agony\n  But I got wisdom\n  I have risen from the wicked\n  To jump on the competition\n  Scorch ya, third degree burns\n  Next to their sideburns\n  All sorts of combustible flows\n  Firemen on speed dial\n  Free the leaders of the\n  Free world with a freestyle\n  Free the teachers, black\n  Activists get up off your feet now\n  And feed off my feelings\n  As I control my wheel like\n  New power steering, so sincere\n  Tryna duck court hearings\n  But I got big ears\n  Rap peers, used to study them\n  Wishing they would fuck with me\n  Now they can't fuck with him\n  I'm wishing good luck to them\n  Reluctantly these critics\n  Loving me and I don't blame 'em\n  They say, Kendrick you\n  Gunning for these niggas\n  So when I pull my weapon out\n  I give 'em the pleasure to\n  See me aim it\n  And watch these bullets\n  Run into these niggas\n  Clear the set\n  I got now, I got next\n  Give you nouns, give you verbs\n  Give you adjectives while\n  Proposing an agitated threat\n  I am most debated in\n  Barber shops all because\n  They slept on me\n  Big homie fear young, buck\n  Cause when I buck I make\n  More than a buck\n  Dollars come quick like a\n  Fucking nun fucking for\n  The first time\n  Put me in Alaska for\n  Six months in the dark\n  In my heart I know\n  Sun still shine\n  Still got a skill to be found\n  In a gold mine\n  I got an appetite for habitual\n  Liars on the mic\n  Who with pliers couldn't\n  Get a grip on life\n  I spit like I sat the tip of\n  My dick on ice, and that's intense\n  Imagine if I had already\n  Came twice, ain't that some shit\n  Pass the swisher nigga\n  Fill your cup with liquor nigga\n  Fly your kite till you're gone till November nigga\n  Show 'em you remember nigga\n  Pour some Hennessy and\n  Crown for your homie six feet underground\n  Smoke an ounce and\n  Turn that frown upside down\n  Like the triangle in the\n  Panties of my gal\n  When Mike Jack made\n  \"Raining in Moscow\"\n  I had no style\n  Tommy Boy stocking on my scalp\n  And that was like ninety-five\n  Now it's twenty-ten\n  Two years away from\n  When they say the world's\n  Expected to end\n  And I ain't even begin\n  That's more ironic than a\n  Bum asking for 50 Cent from\n  \"Many Men\", one\n  Too many relays for DJs\n  To replay\n  I do the reject while I\n  Eject your new singlay\n  Hot enough to sit in hell\n  Then unveil in heatwave\n  Piss on a demon with ice water\n  And if I lose my voice then\n  I'm probably calling out to all P.A\n  Systems to assist in with the word\n  I'm tryna spread\n  Like county jail bread or\n  The legs of a hoochie\n  And that's off top like a toupee\n  I'm 2Pac\n  Coming back for doomsday\n  Spitting at cops, go and\n  Cop my album\n  Get high to it, pop some valium\n  Then turn up the volume\n  I influence ghettos where\n  It says caution\n  And them bloggers get to\n  Sparking like L.A. females\n  That's balling\n  Round the time this happens often\n  The violence get the flare\n  We racing against life, the\n  Turtle or the hare?\n  And nobody can compare to the\n  Legacy that we bout to build\n  Y'all work at Build-A-Bear soft as underhand pitching with skills\n  Shit, and ain't no use in\n  Crying over spilt milk\n  You're dead and gone\n  The pall-bearers carry you\n  And your family will carry on\n  And on the real, this ain't a\n  Construction site but you\n  Know the drill\n  We lead the league in all aspects\n  And we deserve more\n  Medals than a magnet\n  Put you niggas in a hole like bad debt\n  Shooting three pointers\n  With the globe, nothing but nets\n  Nigga, nothing but the best\n  Every time we hit your tape deck niggas hit the deck\n  I rhyme like a fucking TEC-9\n  And I 'Clown Posses' if they\n  Disrespect\n  You looking at a T-Rex\n  Snapping at 'em with Tourette's\n  Yeah, this the flow that\n  Killed aspiring rappers\n  Too late, I grab the eight and start expiring rappers\n  Some shit only BIG and Pac\n  Could rap after\n  And if they was alive\n  They would have to pay tithes\n  I am God\n  M.C.R. squares will\n  Disperse in despair, this is me motherfucker\n"},{"id":16179275,"name":"Rapper Shit (feat. Kendrick Lamar)","trackName":"Rapper Shit (feat. Kendrick Lamar)","artistName":"Ab-Soul","albumName":"Ab-Soul","duration":375.048707,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"My back against the wall, I can see y'all fronting\nDrowning in your own spit and ain't coming up with nothing\nI call this shit \"Rapper Shit\" cause I ain't a rapper\nBut if I was, this ain't some shit that I could rap after\nCaught up in the rapture, you call yourself a factor\nYou're lame, paving away, Bob the Buil' factor\nI'm a real master, real massive, you just real average\nI see your chain, it's strange, they wore those in the Middle Passage\nAnd it's harder to play me than to fiddle backwards\nDon't act like you knew my tactics\nCause when it hits the fan, you know I stand last\nI see through your true colors like stained glass\nI see the fear in your eyes when we arrive\nAnd what's the odds of even thinking you coincide\nWhen every time a nigga open a door you go inside\nJust to realize, either you're weak or someone lied\nSee, you spend more time boasting about what you do than you do\nSo by the time your shit is due it's doo-doo\nAnd who knew that too cool fool who used to sit in the back\nWould slip through the crack, like dudes who went to rehab\nAb-Soul, Abstract Asshole\nBlack Lip Bastard, et cetera for forever\nI follow no ruler, even if I'm under a drastic measure\nBut whatever\n\nThey say pressure bust pipes\nAnd I ain't never had to deal with plumbing in my life, now that's a bar\nSparring with me like blasphemy to cathedral\nOr colliding with the diesel with your baby in your arms\nYou would test me but you know better\nIt's inadequate to go against the Jesus of Nazareth\nOf the rap game, and guess what, I got no cheddar\nBut my mind is like a wizard\nI defy the laws of gravity every time I get high and write a sentence\nBack teeth never been in agony, but I got wisdom\nI have risen from the wicked to jump on the competition, scorch ya\nThird degree burns next to their sideburns, all sorts of\nCombustible flows, firemen on speed dial\nFree the leaders of the free world with a freestyle\nFree the teachers, black activists get up off your feet now\nAnd feed off my feelings as I control my wheel\nLike new power steering, so sincere\nTryna duck court hearings but I got big ears\nRap peers, used to study them wishing they would fuck with me\nNow they can't fuck with him, I'm wishing good luck to them\nReluctantly these critics loving me and I don't blame 'em\nThey say, Kendrick you gunning for these niggas\nSo when I pull my weapon out, I give 'em the pleasure to see me aim it\nAnd watch these bullets run into these niggas, clear the set\nI got now, I got next, give you nouns, give you verbs\nGive you adjectives while proposing an agitated threat\nI am most debated in barber shops all because they slept on me\nBig homie fear young, buck cause when I buck I make more than a buck\nDollars come quick like a fucking nun fucking for the first time\nPut me in Alaska for six months in the dark, in my heart I know sun/son still shine\nStill got a skill to be found in a gold mine\n\nI got an appetite for habitual liars on the mic\nWho with pliers couldn't get a grip on life\nI spit like I sat the tip of my dick on ice, and that's intense\nImagine if I had already came twice, ain't that some shit\nPass the swisher nigga, fill your cup with liquor nigga\nFly your kite till you're gone till November nigga\nShow 'em you remember nigga\nPour some Hennessy and Crown for your homie six feet underground\nSmoke an ounce and turn that frown upside down\nLike the triangle in the panties of my gal\nWhen Mike Jack made \"Raining in Moscow\" I had no style\nTommy Boy stocking on my scalp\nAnd that was like ninety-five, now it's twenty-ten\nTwo years away from when they say the world's expected to end\nAnd I ain't even begin\nThat's more ironic than a bum asking for 50 Cent from \"Many Men\", one\n\nToo many relays for DJs to replay\nI do the reject while I eject your new singlay\nHot enough to sit in hell, then unveil in heatwave\nPiss on a demon with ice water\nAnd if I lose my voice then I'm probably calling out to all P.A\nSystems to assist in with the word I'm tryna spread\nLike county jail bread or the legs of a hoochie\nAnd that's off top like a to","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Rapper Shit (feat. Kendrick Lamar)\n  artist: Ab-Soul\n  album: Ab-Soul\n  duration_ms: 375049\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  My back against the wall, I can see y'all fronting\n  Drowning in your own spit and ain't coming up with nothing\n  I call this shit \"Rapper Shit\" cause I ain't a rapper\n  But if I was, this ain't some shit that I could rap after\n  Caught up in the rapture, you call yourself a factor\n  You're lame, paving away, Bob the Buil' factor\n  I'm a real master, real massive, you just real average\n  I see your chain, it's strange, they wore those in the Middle Passage\n  And it's harder to play me than to fiddle backwards\n  Don't act like you knew my tactics\n  Cause when it hits the fan, you know I stand last\n  I see through your true colors like stained glass\n  I see the fear in your eyes when we arrive\n  And what's the odds of even thinking you coincide\n  When every time a nigga open a door you go inside\n  Just to realize, either you're weak or someone lied\n  See, you spend more time boasting about what you do than you do\n  So by the time your shit is due it's doo-doo\n  And who knew that too cool fool who used to sit in the back\n  Would slip through the crack, like dudes who went to rehab\n  Ab-Soul, Abstract Asshole\n  Black Lip Bastard, et cetera for forever\n  I follow no ruler, even if I'm under a drastic measure\n  But whatever\n\n  They say pressure bust pipes\n  And I ain't never had to deal with plumbing in my life, now that's a bar\n  Sparring with me like blasphemy to cathedral\n  Or colliding with the diesel with your baby in your arms\n  You would test me but you know better\n  It's inadequate to go against the Jesus of Nazareth\n  Of the rap game, and guess what, I got no cheddar\n  But my mind is like a wizard\n  I defy the laws of gravity every time I get high and write a sentence\n  Back teeth never been in agony, but I got wisdom\n  I have risen from the wicked to jump on the competition, scorch ya\n  Third degree burns next to their sideburns, all sorts of\n  Combustible flows, firemen on speed dial\n  Free the leaders of the free world with a freestyle\n  Free the teachers, black activists get up off your feet now\n  And feed off my feelings as I control my wheel\n  Like new power steering, so sincere\n  Tryna duck court hearings but I got big ears\n  Rap peers, used to study them wishing they would fuck with me\n  Now they can't fuck with him, I'm wishing good luck to them\n  Reluctantly these critics loving me and I don't blame 'em\n  They say, Kendrick you gunning for these niggas\n  So when I pull my weapon out, I give 'em the pleasure to see me aim it\n  And watch these bullets run into these niggas, clear the set\n  I got now, I got next, give you nouns, give you verbs\n  Give you adjectives while proposing an agitated threat\n  I am most debated in barber shops all because they slept on me\n  Big homie fear young, buck cause when I buck I make more than a buck\n  Dollars come quick like a fucking nun fucking for the first time\n  Put me in Alaska for six months in the dark, in my heart I know sun/son still shine\n  Still got a skill to be found in a gold mine\n\n  I got an appetite for habitual liars on the mic\n  Who with pliers couldn't get a grip on life\n  I spit like I sat the tip of my dick on ice, and that's intense\n  Imagine if I had already came twice, ain't that some shit\n  Pass the swisher nigga, fill your cup with liquor nigga\n  Fly your kite till you're gone till November nigga\n  Show 'em you remember nigga\n  Pour some Hennessy and Crown for your homie six feet underground\n  Smoke an ounce and turn that frown upside down\n  Like the triangle in the panties of my gal\n  When Mike Jack made \"Raining in Moscow\" I had no style\n  Tommy Boy stocking on my scalp\n  And that was like ninety-five, now it's twenty-ten\n  Two years away from when they say the world's expected to end\n  And I ain't even begin\n  That's more ironic than a bum asking for 50 Cent from \"Many Men\", one\n\n  Too many relays for DJs to replay\n  I do the reject while I eject your new singlay\n  Hot enough to sit in hell, then unveil in heatwave\n  Piss on a demon with ice water\n  And if I lose my voice then I'm probably calling out to all P.A\n  Systems to assist in with the word I'm tryna spread\n  Like county jail bread or the legs of a hoochie\n  And that's off top like a to\n"},{"id":20257527,"name":"Rapper Shit","trackName":"Rapper Shit","artistName":"Kendrick Lamar & Ab‐Soul","albumName":"Compton State of Mind, Vol. 2","duration":375.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"My back against the wall\nLike I see y'all fronting\nDrowning in your own spit and ain't coming up with nothing\nI call this shit \"Rapper Shit\"\nCause I ain't a rapper\nBut if I was, this ain't some shit\nThat I could rap after\nCaught up in the rapture, you call yourself a factor\nYou're lame, paving a way\nBob could build faster\nI'm a real master, real massive\nYou just real average\nI see your chain, it's strange\nThey wore those in the\nMiddle Passage\nAnd it's harder to play me than to fiddle backwards\nDon't act like you knew my tactics\nCause when it hits the fan, you know\nI stand last\nI see through your true colors like stained glass\nI see the fear in your eyes when we arrive\nAnd what's the odds of\nEven thinking you coincide\nWhen every time a nigga\nOpen a door you go inside\nJust to realize, either you're weak or someone lied\nSee, you spend more time boasting about what you do than you do\nSo by the time your shit is due it's doo-doo\nAnd who knew that too\nCool fool who used to\nSit in the back\nWould slip through the crack, like dudes who went to rehab\nAb-Soul, Abstract Asshole\nBlack Lip Bastard, et cetera\nFor forever\nI follow no ruler, even if\nI'm under a drastic measure\nBut whatever\nThey say pressure bust pipes\nAnd I ain't never had to deal with plumbing in my life, now\nThat's a bar\nSparring with me like\nBlasphemy to cathedral\nOr colliding with the diesel\nWith your baby in your arms\nYou would test me but\nYou know better\nIt's inadequate to go against the\nJesus of Nazareth\nOf the rap game, and guess what\nI got no cheddar\nBut my mind is like a wizard\nI defy the laws of gravity\nEvery time I get high and\nWrite a sentence\nBack teeth never been in agony\nBut I got wisdom\nI have risen from the wicked\nTo jump on the competition\nScorch ya, third degree burns\nNext to their sideburns\nAll sorts of combustible flows\nFiremen on speed dial\nFree the leaders of the\nFree world with a freestyle\nFree the teachers, black\nActivists get up off your feet now\nAnd feed off my feelings\nAs I control my wheel like\nNew power steering, so sincere\nTryna duck court hearings\nBut I got big ears\nRap peers, used to study them\nWishing they would fuck with me\nNow they can't fuck with him\nI'm wishing good luck to them\nReluctantly these critics\nLoving me and I don't blame 'em\nThey say, Kendrick you\nGunning for these niggas\nSo when I pull my weapon out\nI give 'em the pleasure to\nSee me aim it\nAnd watch these bullets\nRun into these niggas\nClear the set\nI got now, I got next\nGive you nouns, give you verbs\nGive you adjectives while\nProposing an agitated threat\nI am most debated in\nBarber shops all because\nThey slept on me\nBig homie fear young, buck\nCause when I buck I make\nMore than a buck\nDollars come quick like a\nFucking nun fucking for\nThe first time\nPut me in Alaska for\nSix months in the dark\nIn my heart I know\nSun still shine\nStill got a skill to be found\nIn a gold mine\nI got an appetite for habitual\nLiars on the mic\nWho with pliers couldn't\nGet a grip on life\nI spit like I sat the tip of\nMy dick on ice, and that's intense\nImagine if I had already\nCame twice, ain't that some shit\nPass the swisher nigga\nFill your cup with liquor nigga\nFly your kite till you're gone till November nigga\nShow 'em you remember nigga\nPour some Hennessy and\nCrown for your homie six feet underground\nSmoke an ounce and\nTurn that frown upside down\nLike the triangle in the\nPanties of my gal\nWhen Mike Jack made\n\"Raining in Moscow\"\nI had no style\nTommy Boy stocking on my scalp\nAnd that was like ninety-five\nNow it's twenty-ten\nTwo years away from\nWhen they say the world's\nExpected to end\nAnd I ain't even begin\nThat's more ironic than a\nBum asking for 50 Cent from\n\"Many Men\", one\nToo many relays for DJs\nTo replay\nI do the reject while I\nEject your new singlay\nHot enough to sit in hell\nThen unveil in heatwave\nPiss on a demon with ice water\nAnd if I lose my voice then\nI'm probably calling out to all P.A\nSystems to assist in with the word\nI'm tryna spread\nLike county jail bread or\nThe legs of a hoochie\nAnd that's off top like a toupee\nI'm 2Pac\nComing back for doomsday\nSpitting at cops, go and\nCop my album\nGet high to it, pop some valium\nThen turn up the volume\nI influence ghettos where\nIt says caution\nAnd them bloggers get to\nSparking like L.A. females\nThat's balling\nRound the time this happens often\nThe violence get the flare\nWe racing against life, the\nTurtle or the hare?\nAnd nobody can compare to the\nLegacy that we bout to build\nY'all work at Build-A-Bear soft as underhand pitching with skills\nShit, and ain't no use in\nCrying over spilt milk\nYou're dead and gone\nThe pall-bearers carry you\nAnd your family will carry on\nAnd on the real, this ain't a\nConstruction site but you\nKnow the drill\nWe lead the league in all aspects\nAnd we deserve more\nMedals than a magnet\nPut you niggas in a hole like bad debt\nShooting three pointers\nWith the globe, nothing but nets\nNigga, nothing but the best\nEvery time we hit your tape deck niggas hit the deck\nI rhyme like a fucking TEC-9\nAnd I 'Clown Posses' if they\nDisrespect\nYou looking at a T-Rex\nSnapping at 'em with Tourette's\nYeah, this the flow that\nKilled aspiring rappers\nToo late, I grab the eight and start expiring rappers\nSome shit only BIG and Pac\nCould rap after\nAnd if they was alive\nThey would have to pay tithes\nI am God\nM.C.R. squares will\nDisperse in despair, this is me motherfucker","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Rapper Shit\n  artist: Kendrick Lamar & Ab‐Soul\n  album: Compton State of Mind, Vol. 2\n  duration_ms: 375000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  My back against the wall\n  Like I see y'all fronting\n  Drowning in your own spit and ain't coming up with nothing\n  I call this shit \"Rapper Shit\"\n  Cause I ain't a rapper\n  But if I was, this ain't some shit\n  That I could rap after\n  Caught up in the rapture, you call yourself a factor\n  You're lame, paving a way\n  Bob could build faster\n  I'm a real master, real massive\n  You just real average\n  I see your chain, it's strange\n  They wore those in the\n  Middle Passage\n  And it's harder to play me than to fiddle backwards\n  Don't act like you knew my tactics\n  Cause when it hits the fan, you know\n  I stand last\n  I see through your true colors like stained glass\n  I see the fear in your eyes when we arrive\n  And what's the odds of\n  Even thinking you coincide\n  When every time a nigga\n  Open a door you go inside\n  Just to realize, either you're weak or someone lied\n  See, you spend more time boasting about what you do than you do\n  So by the time your shit is due it's doo-doo\n  And who knew that too\n  Cool fool who used to\n  Sit in the back\n  Would slip through the crack, like dudes who went to rehab\n  Ab-Soul, Abstract Asshole\n  Black Lip Bastard, et cetera\n  For forever\n  I follow no ruler, even if\n  I'm under a drastic measure\n  But whatever\n  They say pressure bust pipes\n  And I ain't never had to deal with plumbing in my life, now\n  That's a bar\n  Sparring with me like\n  Blasphemy to cathedral\n  Or colliding with the diesel\n  With your baby in your arms\n  You would test me but\n  You know better\n  It's inadequate to go against the\n  Jesus of Nazareth\n  Of the rap game, and guess what\n  I got no cheddar\n  But my mind is like a wizard\n  I defy the laws of gravity\n  Every time I get high and\n  Write a sentence\n  Back teeth never been in agony\n  But I got wisdom\n  I have risen from the wicked\n  To jump on the competition\n  Scorch ya, third degree burns\n  Next to their sideburns\n  All sorts of combustible flows\n  Firemen on speed dial\n  Free the leaders of the\n  Free world with a freestyle\n  Free the teachers, black\n  Activists get up off your feet now\n  And feed off my feelings\n  As I control my wheel like\n  New power steering, so sincere\n  Tryna duck court hearings\n  But I got big ears\n  Rap peers, used to study them\n  Wishing they would fuck with me\n  Now they can't fuck with him\n  I'm wishing good luck to them\n  Reluctantly these critics\n  Loving me and I don't blame 'em\n  They say, Kendrick you\n  Gunning for these niggas\n  So when I pull my weapon out\n  I give 'em the pleasure to\n  See me aim it\n  And watch these bullets\n  Run into these niggas\n  Clear the set\n  I got now, I got next\n  Give you nouns, give you verbs\n  Give you adjectives while\n  Proposing an agitated threat\n  I am most debated in\n  Barber shops all because\n  They slept on me\n  Big homie fear young, buck\n  Cause when I buck I make\n  More than a buck\n  Dollars come quick like a\n  Fucking nun fucking for\n  The first time\n  Put me in Alaska for\n  Six months in the dark\n  In my heart I know\n  Sun still shine\n  Still got a skill to be found\n  In a gold mine\n  I got an appetite for habitual\n  Liars on the mic\n  Who with pliers couldn't\n  Get a grip on life\n  I spit like I sat the tip of\n  My dick on ice, and that's intense\n  Imagine if I had already\n  Came twice, ain't that some shit\n  Pass the swisher nigga\n  Fill your cup with liquor nigga\n  Fly your kite till you're gone till November nigga\n  Show 'em you remember nigga\n  Pour some Hennessy and\n  Crown for your homie six feet underground\n  Smoke an ounce and\n  Turn that frown upside down\n  Like the triangle in the\n  Panties of my gal\n  When Mike Jack made\n  \"Raining in Moscow\"\n  I had no style\n  Tommy Boy stocking on my scalp\n  And that was like ninety-five\n  Now it's twenty-ten\n  Two years away from\n  When they say the world's\n  Expected to end\n  And I ain't even begin\n  That's more ironic than a\n  Bum asking for 50 Cent from\n  \"Many Men\", one\n  Too many relays for DJs\n  To replay\n  I do the reject while I\n  Eject your new singlay\n  Hot enough to sit in hell\n  Then unveil in heatwave\n  Piss on a demon with ice water\n  And if I lose my voice then\n  I'm probably calling out to all P.A\n  Systems to assist in with the word\n  I'm tryna spread\n  Like county jail bread or\n  The legs of a hoochie\n  And that's off top like a toupee\n  I'm 2Pac\n  Coming back for doomsday\n  Spitting at cops, go and\n  Cop my album\n  Get high to it, pop some valium\n  Then turn up the volume\n  I influence ghettos where\n  It says caution\n  And them bloggers get to\n  Sparking like L.A. females\n  That's balling\n  Round the time this happens often\n  The violence get the flare\n  We racing against life, the\n  Turtle or the hare?\n  And nobody can compare to the\n  Legacy that we bout to build\n  Y'all work at Build-A-Bear soft as underhand pitching with skills\n  Shit, and ain't no use in\n  Crying over spilt milk\n  You're dead and gone\n  The pall-bearers carry you\n  And your family will carry on\n  And on the real, this ain't a\n  Construction site but you\n  Know the drill\n  We lead the league in all aspects\n  And we deserve more\n  Medals than a magnet\n  Put you niggas in a hole like bad debt\n  Shooting three pointers\n  With the globe, nothing but nets\n  Nigga, nothing but the best\n  Every time we hit your tape deck niggas hit the deck\n  I rhyme like a fucking TEC-9\n  And I 'Clown Posses' if they\n  Disrespect\n  You looking at a T-Rex\n  Snapping at 'em with Tourette's\n  Yeah, this the flow that\n  Killed aspiring rappers\n  Too late, I grab the eight and start expiring rappers\n  Some shit only BIG and Pac\n  Could rap after\n  And if they was alive\n  They would have to pay tithes\n  I am God\n  M.C.R. squares will\n  Disperse in despair, this is me motherfucker\n"},{"id":9030305,"name":"Rapper Shit (feat. Ab-Soul)","trackName":"Rapper Shit (feat. Ab-Soul)","artistName":"Kendrick Lamar","albumName":"Compton State Of Mind Pt. II","duration":373.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"My back against the wall, I can see y'all fronting\nDrowning in your own spit and ain't coming up with nothing\nI call this shit \"Rapper Shit\" cause I ain't a rapper\nBut if I was, this ain't some shit that I could rap after\nCaught up in the rapture, you call yourself a factor\nYou're lame, paving away, Bob the Buil' factor\nI'm a real master, real massive, you just real average\nI see your chain, it's strange, they wore those in the Middle Passage\nAnd it's harder to play me than to fiddle backwards\nDon't act like you knew my tactics\nCause when it hits the fan, you know I stand last\nI see through your true colors like stained glass\nI see the fear in your eyes when we arrive\nAnd what's the odds of even thinking you coincide\nWhen every time a nigga open a door you go inside\nJust to realize, either you're weak or someone lied\nSee, you spend more time boasting about what you do than you do\nSo by the time your shit is due it's doo-doo\nAnd who knew that too cool fool who used to sit in the back\nWould slip through the crack, like dudes who went to rehab\nAb-Soul, Abstract Asshole\nBlack Lip Bastard, et cetera for forever\nI follow no ruler, even if I'm under a drastic measure\nBut whatever\n\nThey say pressure bust pipes\nAnd I ain't never had to deal with plumbing in my life, now that's a bar\nSparring with me like blasphemy to cathedral\nOr colliding with the diesel with your baby in your arms\nYou would test me but you know better\nIt's inadequate to go against the Jesus of Nazareth\nOf the rap game, and guess what, I got no cheddar\nBut my mind is like a wizard\nI defy the laws of gravity every time I get high and write a sentence\nBack teeth never been in agony, but I got wisdom\nI have risen from the wicked to jump on the competition, scorch ya\nThird degree burns next to their sideburns, all sorts of\nCombustible flows, firemen on speed dial\nFree the leaders of the free world with a freestyle\nFree the teachers, black activists get up off your feet now\nAnd feed off my feelings as I control my wheel\nLike new power steering, so sincere\nTryna duck court hearings but I got big ears\nRap peers, used to study them wishing they would fuck with me\nNow they can't fuck with him, I'm wishing good luck to them\nReluctantly these critics loving me and I don't blame 'em\nThey say, Kendrick you gunning for these niggas\nSo when I pull my weapon out, I give 'em the pleasure to see me aim it\nAnd watch these bullets run into these niggas, clear the set\nI got now, I got next, give you nouns, give you verbs\nGive you adjectives while proposing an agitated threat\nI am most debated in barber shops all because they slept on me\nBig homie fear young, buck cause when I buck I make more than a buck\nDollars come quick like a fucking nun fucking for the first time\nPut me in Alaska for six months in the dark, in my heart I know sun/son still shine\nStill got a skill to be found in a gold mine\n\nI got an appetite for habitual liars on the mic\nWho with pliers couldn't get a grip on life\nI spit like I sat the tip of my dick on ice, and that's intense\nImagine if I had already came twice, ain't that some shit\nPass the swisher nigga, fill your cup with liquor nigga\nFly your kite till you're gone till November nigga\nShow 'em you remember nigga\nPour some Hennessy and Crown for your homie six feet underground\nSmoke an ounce and turn that frown upside down\nLike the triangle in the panties of my gal\nWhen Mike Jack made \"Raining in Moscow\" I had no style\nTommy Boy stocking on my scalp\nAnd that was like ninety-five, now it's twenty-ten\nTwo years away from when they say the world's expected to end\nAnd I ain't even begin\nThat's more ironic than a bum asking for 50 Cent from \"Many Men\", one\n\nToo many relays for DJs to replay\nI do the reject while I eject your new singlay\nHot enough to sit in hell, then unveil in heatwave\nPiss on a demon with ice water\nAnd if I lose my voice then I'm probably calling out to all P.A\nSystems to assist in with the word I'm tryna spread\nLike county jail bread or the legs of a hoochie\nAnd that's off top like a to","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Rapper Shit (feat. Ab-Soul)\n  artist: Kendrick Lamar\n  album: Compton State Of Mind Pt. II\n  duration_ms: 373000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  My back against the wall, I can see y'all fronting\n  Drowning in your own spit and ain't coming up with nothing\n  I call this shit \"Rapper Shit\" cause I ain't a rapper\n  But if I was, this ain't some shit that I could rap after\n  Caught up in the rapture, you call yourself a factor\n  You're lame, paving away, Bob the Buil' factor\n  I'm a real master, real massive, you just real average\n  I see your chain, it's strange, they wore those in the Middle Passage\n  And it's harder to play me than to fiddle backwards\n  Don't act like you knew my tactics\n  Cause when it hits the fan, you know I stand last\n  I see through your true colors like stained glass\n  I see the fear in your eyes when we arrive\n  And what's the odds of even thinking you coincide\n  When every time a nigga open a door you go inside\n  Just to realize, either you're weak or someone lied\n  See, you spend more time boasting about what you do than you do\n  So by the time your shit is due it's doo-doo\n  And who knew that too cool fool who used to sit in the back\n  Would slip through the crack, like dudes who went to rehab\n  Ab-Soul, Abstract Asshole\n  Black Lip Bastard, et cetera for forever\n  I follow no ruler, even if I'm under a drastic measure\n  But whatever\n\n  They say pressure bust pipes\n  And I ain't never had to deal with plumbing in my life, now that's a bar\n  Sparring with me like blasphemy to cathedral\n  Or colliding with the diesel with your baby in your arms\n  You would test me but you know better\n  It's inadequate to go against the Jesus of Nazareth\n  Of the rap game, and guess what, I got no cheddar\n  But my mind is like a wizard\n  I defy the laws of gravity every time I get high and write a sentence\n  Back teeth never been in agony, but I got wisdom\n  I have risen from the wicked to jump on the competition, scorch ya\n  Third degree burns next to their sideburns, all sorts of\n  Combustible flows, firemen on speed dial\n  Free the leaders of the free world with a freestyle\n  Free the teachers, black activists get up off your feet now\n  And feed off my feelings as I control my wheel\n  Like new power steering, so sincere\n  Tryna duck court hearings but I got big ears\n  Rap peers, used to study them wishing they would fuck with me\n  Now they can't fuck with him, I'm wishing good luck to them\n  Reluctantly these critics loving me and I don't blame 'em\n  They say, Kendrick you gunning for these niggas\n  So when I pull my weapon out, I give 'em the pleasure to see me aim it\n  And watch these bullets run into these niggas, clear the set\n  I got now, I got next, give you nouns, give you verbs\n  Give you adjectives while proposing an agitated threat\n  I am most debated in barber shops all because they slept on me\n  Big homie fear young, buck cause when I buck I make more than a buck\n  Dollars come quick like a fucking nun fucking for the first time\n  Put me in Alaska for six months in the dark, in my heart I know sun/son still shine\n  Still got a skill to be found in a gold mine\n\n  I got an appetite for habitual liars on the mic\n  Who with pliers couldn't get a grip on life\n  I spit like I sat the tip of my dick on ice, and that's intense\n  Imagine if I had already came twice, ain't that some shit\n  Pass the swisher nigga, fill your cup with liquor nigga\n  Fly your kite till you're gone till November nigga\n  Show 'em you remember nigga\n  Pour some Hennessy and Crown for your homie six feet underground\n  Smoke an ounce and turn that frown upside down\n  Like the triangle in the panties of my gal\n  When Mike Jack made \"Raining in Moscow\" I had no style\n  Tommy Boy stocking on my scalp\n  And that was like ninety-five, now it's twenty-ten\n  Two years away from when they say the world's expected to end\n  And I ain't even begin\n  That's more ironic than a bum asking for 50 Cent from \"Many Men\", one\n\n  Too many relays for DJs to replay\n  I do the reject while I eject your new singlay\n  Hot enough to sit in hell, then unveil in heatwave\n  Piss on a demon with ice water\n  And if I lose my voice then I'm probably calling out to all P.A\n  Systems to assist in with the word I'm tryna spread\n  Like county jail bread or the legs of a hoochie\n  And that's off top like a to\n"},{"id":16798823,"name":"Rapper Shit (feat. Ab-Soul)","trackName":"Rapper Shit (feat. Ab-Soul)","artistName":"Kendrick Lamar","albumName":"Found Myself","duration":374.700408,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"My back against the wall, I can see y'all fronting\nDrowning in your own spit and ain't coming up with nothing\nI call this shit \"Rapper Shit\" cause I ain't a rapper\nBut if I was, this ain't some shit that I could rap after\nCaught up in the rapture, you call yourself a factor\nYou're lame, paving away, Bob the Buil' factor\nI'm a real master, real massive, you just real average\nI see your chain, it's strange, they wore those in the Middle Passage\nAnd it's harder to play me than to fiddle backwards\nDon't act like you knew my tactics\nCause when it hits the fan, you know I stand last\nI see through your true colors like stained glass\nI see the fear in your eyes when we arrive\nAnd what's the odds of even thinking you coincide\nWhen every time a nigga open a door you go inside\nJust to realize, either you're weak or someone lied\nSee, you spend more time boasting about what you do than you do\nSo by the time your shit is due it's doo-doo\nAnd who knew that too cool fool who used to sit in the back\nWould slip through the crack, like dudes who went to rehab\nAb-Soul, Abstract Asshole\nBlack Lip Bastard, et cetera for forever\nI follow no ruler, even if I'm under a drastic measure\nBut whatever\n\nThey say pressure bust pipes\nAnd I ain't never had to deal with plumbing in my life, now that's a bar\nSparring with me like blasphemy to cathedral\nOr colliding with the diesel with your baby in your arms\nYou would test me but you know better\nIt's inadequate to go against the Jesus of Nazareth\nOf the rap game, and guess what, I got no cheddar\nBut my mind is like a wizard\nI defy the laws of gravity every time I get high and write a sentence\nBack teeth never been in agony, but I got wisdom\nI have risen from the wicked to jump on the competition, scorch ya\nThird degree burns next to their sideburns, all sorts of\nCombustible flows, firemen on speed dial\nFree the leaders of the free world with a freestyle\nFree the teachers, black activists get up off your feet now\nAnd feed off my feelings as I control my wheel\nLike new power steering, so sincere\nTryna duck court hearings but I got big ears\nRap peers, used to study them wishing they would fuck with me\nNow they can't fuck with him, I'm wishing good luck to them\nReluctantly these critics loving me and I don't blame 'em\nThey say, Kendrick you gunning for these niggas\nSo when I pull my weapon out, I give 'em the pleasure to see me aim it\nAnd watch these bullets run into these niggas, clear the set\nI got now, I got next, give you nouns, give you verbs\nGive you adjectives while proposing an agitated threat\nI am most debated in barber shops all because they slept on me\nBig homie fear young, buck cause when I buck I make more than a buck\nDollars come quick like a fucking nun fucking for the first time\nPut me in Alaska for six months in the dark, in my heart I know sun/son still shine\nStill got a skill to be found in a gold mine\n\nI got an appetite for habitual liars on the mic\nWho with pliers couldn't get a grip on life\nI spit like I sat the tip of my dick on ice, and that's intense\nImagine if I had already came twice, ain't that some shit\nPass the swisher nigga, fill your cup with liquor nigga\nFly your kite till you're gone till November nigga\nShow 'em you remember nigga\nPour some Hennessy and Crown for your homie six feet underground\nSmoke an ounce and turn that frown upside down\nLike the triangle in the panties of my gal\nWhen Mike Jack made \"Raining in Moscow\" I had no style\nTommy Boy stocking on my scalp\nAnd that was like ninety-five, now it's twenty-ten\nTwo years away from when they say the world's expected to end\nAnd I ain't even begin\nThat's more ironic than a bum asking for 50 Cent from \"Many Men\", one\n\nToo many relays for DJs to replay\nI do the reject while I eject your new singlay\nHot enough to sit in hell, then unveil in heatwave\nPiss on a demon with ice water\nAnd if I lose my voice then I'm probably calling out to all P.A\nSystems to assist in with the word I'm tryna spread\nLike county jail bread or the legs of a hoochie\nAnd that's off top like a to","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Rapper Shit (feat. Ab-Soul)\n  artist: Kendrick Lamar\n  album: Found Myself\n  duration_ms: 374700\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  My back against the wall, I can see y'all fronting\n  Drowning in your own spit and ain't coming up with nothing\n  I call this shit \"Rapper Shit\" cause I ain't a rapper\n  But if I was, this ain't some shit that I could rap after\n  Caught up in the rapture, you call yourself a factor\n  You're lame, paving away, Bob the Buil' factor\n  I'm a real master, real massive, you just real average\n  I see your chain, it's strange, they wore those in the Middle Passage\n  And it's harder to play me than to fiddle backwards\n  Don't act like you knew my tactics\n  Cause when it hits the fan, you know I stand last\n  I see through your true colors like stained glass\n  I see the fear in your eyes when we arrive\n  And what's the odds of even thinking you coincide\n  When every time a nigga open a door you go inside\n  Just to realize, either you're weak or someone lied\n  See, you spend more time boasting about what you do than you do\n  So by the time your shit is due it's doo-doo\n  And who knew that too cool fool who used to sit in the back\n  Would slip through the crack, like dudes who went to rehab\n  Ab-Soul, Abstract Asshole\n  Black Lip Bastard, et cetera for forever\n  I follow no ruler, even if I'm under a drastic measure\n  But whatever\n\n  They say pressure bust pipes\n  And I ain't never had to deal with plumbing in my life, now that's a bar\n  Sparring with me like blasphemy to cathedral\n  Or colliding with the diesel with your baby in your arms\n  You would test me but you know better\n  It's inadequate to go against the Jesus of Nazareth\n  Of the rap game, and guess what, I got no cheddar\n  But my mind is like a wizard\n  I defy the laws of gravity every time I get high and write a sentence\n  Back teeth never been in agony, but I got wisdom\n  I have risen from the wicked to jump on the competition, scorch ya\n  Third degree burns next to their sideburns, all sorts of\n  Combustible flows, firemen on speed dial\n  Free the leaders of the free world with a freestyle\n  Free the teachers, black activists get up off your feet now\n  And feed off my feelings as I control my wheel\n  Like new power steering, so sincere\n  Tryna duck court hearings but I got big ears\n  Rap peers, used to study them wishing they would fuck with me\n  Now they can't fuck with him, I'm wishing good luck to them\n  Reluctantly these critics loving me and I don't blame 'em\n  They say, Kendrick you gunning for these niggas\n  So when I pull my weapon out, I give 'em the pleasure to see me aim it\n  And watch these bullets run into these niggas, clear the set\n  I got now, I got next, give you nouns, give you verbs\n  Give you adjectives while proposing an agitated threat\n  I am most debated in barber shops all because they slept on me\n  Big homie fear young, buck cause when I buck I make more than a buck\n  Dollars come quick like a fucking nun fucking for the first time\n  Put me in Alaska for six months in the dark, in my heart I know sun/son still shine\n  Still got a skill to be found in a gold mine\n\n  I got an appetite for habitual liars on the mic\n  Who with pliers couldn't get a grip on life\n  I spit like I sat the tip of my dick on ice, and that's intense\n  Imagine if I had already came twice, ain't that some shit\n  Pass the swisher nigga, fill your cup with liquor nigga\n  Fly your kite till you're gone till November nigga\n  Show 'em you remember nigga\n  Pour some Hennessy and Crown for your homie six feet underground\n  Smoke an ounce and turn that frown upside down\n  Like the triangle in the panties of my gal\n  When Mike Jack made \"Raining in Moscow\" I had no style\n  Tommy Boy stocking on my scalp\n  And that was like ninety-five, now it's twenty-ten\n  Two years away from when they say the world's expected to end\n  And I ain't even begin\n  That's more ironic than a bum asking for 50 Cent from \"Many Men\", one\n\n  Too many relays for DJs to replay\n  I do the reject while I eject your new singlay\n  Hot enough to sit in hell, then unveil in heatwave\n  Piss on a demon with ice water\n  And if I lose my voice then I'm probably calling out to all P.A\n  Systems to assist in with the word I'm tryna spread\n  Like county jail bread or the legs of a hoochie\n  And that's off top like a to\n"},{"id":21546119,"name":"Rapper Shit (feat. Ab-Soul)","trackName":"Rapper Shit (feat. Ab-Soul)","artistName":"Kendrick Lamar","albumName":"Ever Heard of Section 80","duration":386.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"My back against the wall, I can see y'all fronting\nDrowning in your own spit and ain't coming up with nothing\nI call this shit \"Rapper Shit\" cause I ain't a rapper\nBut if I was, this ain't some shit that I could rap after\nCaught up in the rapture, you call yourself a factor\nYou're lame, paving away, Bob the Buil' factor\nI'm a real master, real massive, you just real average\nI see your chain, it's strange, they wore those in the Middle Passage\nAnd it's harder to play me than to fiddle backwards\nDon't act like you knew my tactics\nCause when it hits the fan, you know I stand last\nI see through your true colors like stained glass\nI see the fear in your eyes when we arrive\nAnd what's the odds of even thinking you coincide\nWhen every time a nigga open a door you go inside\nJust to realize, either you're weak or someone lied\nSee, you spend more time boasting about what you do than you do\nSo by the time your shit is due it's doo-doo\nAnd who knew that too cool fool who used to sit in the back\nWould slip through the crack, like dudes who went to rehab\nAb-Soul, Abstract Asshole\nBlack Lip Bastard, et cetera for forever\nI follow no ruler, even if I'm under a drastic measure\nBut whatever\n\nThey say pressure bust pipes\nAnd I ain't never had to deal with plumbing in my life, now that's a bar\nSparring with me like blasphemy to cathedral\nOr colliding with the diesel with your baby in your arms\nYou would test me but you know better\nIt's inadequate to go against the Jesus of Nazareth\nOf the rap game, and guess what, I got no cheddar\nBut my mind is like a wizard\nI defy the laws of gravity every time I get high and write a sentence\nBack teeth never been in agony, but I got wisdom\nI have risen from the wicked to jump on the competition, scorch ya\nThird degree burns next to their sideburns, all sorts of\nCombustible flows, firemen on speed dial\nFree the leaders of the free world with a freestyle\nFree the teachers, black activists get up off your feet now\nAnd feed off my feelings as I control my wheel\nLike new power steering, so sincere\nTryna duck court hearings but I got big ears\nRap peers, used to study them wishing they would fuck with me\nNow they can't fuck with him, I'm wishing good luck to them\nReluctantly these critics loving me and I don't blame 'em\nThey say, Kendrick you gunning for these niggas\nSo when I pull my weapon out, I give 'em the pleasure to see me aim it\nAnd watch these bullets run into these niggas, clear the set\nI got now, I got next, give you nouns, give you verbs\nGive you adjectives while proposing an agitated threat\nI am most debated in barber shops all because they slept on me\nBig homie fear young, buck cause when I buck I make more than a buck\nDollars come quick like a fucking nun fucking for the first time\nPut me in Alaska for six months in the dark, in my heart I know sun/son still shine\nStill got a skill to be found in a gold mine\n\nI got an appetite for habitual liars on the mic\nWho with pliers couldn't get a grip on life\nI spit like I sat the tip of my dick on ice, and that's intense\nImagine if I had already came twice, ain't that some shit\nPass the swisher nigga, fill your cup with liquor nigga\nFly your kite till you're gone till November nigga\nShow 'em you remember nigga\nPour some Hennessy and Crown for your homie six feet underground\nSmoke an ounce and turn that frown upside down\nLike the triangle in the panties of my gal\nWhen Mike Jack made \"Raining in Moscow\" I had no style\nTommy Boy stocking on my scalp\nAnd that was like ninety-five, now it's twenty-ten\nTwo years away from when they say the world's expected to end\nAnd I ain't even begin\nThat's more ironic than a bum asking for 50 Cent from \"Many Men\", one\n\nToo many relays for DJs to replay\nI do the reject while I eject your new singlay\nHot enough to sit in hell, then unveil in heatwave\nPiss on a demon with ice water\nAnd if I lose my voice then I'm probably calling out to all P.A\nSystems to assist in with the word I'm tryna spread\nLike county jail bread or the legs of a hoochie\nAnd that's off top like a to","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Rapper Shit (feat. Ab-Soul)\n  artist: Kendrick Lamar\n  album: Ever Heard of Section 80\n  duration_ms: 386000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  My back against the wall, I can see y'all fronting\n  Drowning in your own spit and ain't coming up with nothing\n  I call this shit \"Rapper Shit\" cause I ain't a rapper\n  But if I was, this ain't some shit that I could rap after\n  Caught up in the rapture, you call yourself a factor\n  You're lame, paving away, Bob the Buil' factor\n  I'm a real master, real massive, you just real average\n  I see your chain, it's strange, they wore those in the Middle Passage\n  And it's harder to play me than to fiddle backwards\n  Don't act like you knew my tactics\n  Cause when it hits the fan, you know I stand last\n  I see through your true colors like stained glass\n  I see the fear in your eyes when we arrive\n  And what's the odds of even thinking you coincide\n  When every time a nigga open a door you go inside\n  Just to realize, either you're weak or someone lied\n  See, you spend more time boasting about what you do than you do\n  So by the time your shit is due it's doo-doo\n  And who knew that too cool fool who used to sit in the back\n  Would slip through the crack, like dudes who went to rehab\n  Ab-Soul, Abstract Asshole\n  Black Lip Bastard, et cetera for forever\n  I follow no ruler, even if I'm under a drastic measure\n  But whatever\n\n  They say pressure bust pipes\n  And I ain't never had to deal with plumbing in my life, now that's a bar\n  Sparring with me like blasphemy to cathedral\n  Or colliding with the diesel with your baby in your arms\n  You would test me but you know better\n  It's inadequate to go against the Jesus of Nazareth\n  Of the rap game, and guess what, I got no cheddar\n  But my mind is like a wizard\n  I defy the laws of gravity every time I get high and write a sentence\n  Back teeth never been in agony, but I got wisdom\n  I have risen from the wicked to jump on the competition, scorch ya\n  Third degree burns next to their sideburns, all sorts of\n  Combustible flows, firemen on speed dial\n  Free the leaders of the free world with a freestyle\n  Free the teachers, black activists get up off your feet now\n  And feed off my feelings as I control my wheel\n  Like new power steering, so sincere\n  Tryna duck court hearings but I got big ears\n  Rap peers, used to study them wishing they would fuck with me\n  Now they can't fuck with him, I'm wishing good luck to them\n  Reluctantly these critics loving me and I don't blame 'em\n  They say, Kendrick you gunning for these niggas\n  So when I pull my weapon out, I give 'em the pleasure to see me aim it\n  And watch these bullets run into these niggas, clear the set\n  I got now, I got next, give you nouns, give you verbs\n  Give you adjectives while proposing an agitated threat\n  I am most debated in barber shops all because they slept on me\n  Big homie fear young, buck cause when I buck I make more than a buck\n  Dollars come quick like a fucking nun fucking for the first time\n  Put me in Alaska for six months in the dark, in my heart I know sun/son still shine\n  Still got a skill to be found in a gold mine\n\n  I got an appetite for habitual liars on the mic\n  Who with pliers couldn't get a grip on life\n  I spit like I sat the tip of my dick on ice, and that's intense\n  Imagine if I had already came twice, ain't that some shit\n  Pass the swisher nigga, fill your cup with liquor nigga\n  Fly your kite till you're gone till November nigga\n  Show 'em you remember nigga\n  Pour some Hennessy and Crown for your homie six feet underground\n  Smoke an ounce and turn that frown upside down\n  Like the triangle in the panties of my gal\n  When Mike Jack made \"Raining in Moscow\" I had no style\n  Tommy Boy stocking on my scalp\n  And that was like ninety-five, now it's twenty-ten\n  Two years away from when they say the world's expected to end\n  And I ain't even begin\n  That's more ironic than a bum asking for 50 Cent from \"Many Men\", one\n\n  Too many relays for DJs to replay\n  I do the reject while I eject your new singlay\n  Hot enough to sit in hell, then unveil in heatwave\n  Piss on a demon with ice water\n  And if I lose my voice then I'm probably calling out to all P.A\n  Systems to assist in with the word I'm tryna spread\n  Like county jail bread or the legs of a hoochie\n  And that's off top like a to\n"},{"id":20728902,"name":"12 - Rapper Shit (Feat Ab-Soul)","trackName":"12 - Rapper Shit (Feat Ab-Soul)","artistName":"Kendrick Lamar","albumName":"Compton State Of Mind","duration":375.066122,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"My back against the wall, I can see y'all fronting\nDrowning in your own spit and ain't coming up with nothing\nI call this shit \"Rapper Shit\" cause I ain't a rapper\nBut if I was, this ain't some shit that I could rap after\nCaught up in the rapture, you call yourself a factor\nYou're lame, paving away, Bob the Buil' factor\nI'm a real master, real massive, you just real average\nI see your chain, it's strange, they wore those in the Middle Passage\nAnd it's harder to play me than to fiddle backwards\nDon't act like you knew my tactics\nCause when it hits the fan, you know I stand last\nI see through your true colors like stained glass\nI see the fear in your eyes when we arrive\nAnd what's the odds of even thinking you coincide\nWhen every time a nigga open a door you go inside\nJust to realize, either you're weak or someone lied\nSee, you spend more time boasting about what you do than you do\nSo by the time your shit is due it's doo-doo\nAnd who knew that too cool fool who used to sit in the back\nWould slip through the crack, like dudes who went to rehab\nAb-Soul, Abstract Asshole\nBlack Lip Bastard, et cetera for forever\nI follow no ruler, even if I'm under a drastic measure\nBut whatever\n\nThey say pressure bust pipes\nAnd I ain't never had to deal with plumbing in my life, now that's a bar\nSparring with me like blasphemy to cathedral\nOr colliding with the diesel with your baby in your arms\nYou would test me but you know better\nIt's inadequate to go against the Jesus of Nazareth\nOf the rap game, and guess what, I got no cheddar\nBut my mind is like a wizard\nI defy the laws of gravity every time I get high and write a sentence\nBack teeth never been in agony, but I got wisdom\nI have risen from the wicked to jump on the competition, scorch ya\nThird degree burns next to their sideburns, all sorts of\nCombustible flows, firemen on speed dial\nFree the leaders of the free world with a freestyle\nFree the teachers, black activists get up off your feet now\nAnd feed off my feelings as I control my wheel\nLike new power steering, so sincere\nTryna duck court hearings but I got big ears\nRap peers, used to study them wishing they would fuck with me\nNow they can't fuck with him, I'm wishing good luck to them\nReluctantly these critics loving me and I don't blame 'em\nThey say, Kendrick you gunning for these niggas\nSo when I pull my weapon out, I give 'em the pleasure to see me aim it\nAnd watch these bullets run into these niggas, clear the set\nI got now, I got next, give you nouns, give you verbs\nGive you adjectives while proposing an agitated threat\nI am most debated in barber shops all because they slept on me\nBig homie fear young, buck cause when I buck I make more than a buck\nDollars come quick like a fucking nun fucking for the first time\nPut me in Alaska for six months in the dark, in my heart I know sun/son still shine\nStill got a skill to be found in a gold mine\n\nI got an appetite for habitual liars on the mic\nWho with pliers couldn't get a grip on life\nI spit like I sat the tip of my dick on ice, and that's intense\nImagine if I had already came twice, ain't that some shit\nPass the swisher nigga, fill your cup with liquor nigga\nFly your kite till you're gone till November nigga\nShow 'em you remember nigga\nPour some Hennessy and Crown for your homie six feet underground\nSmoke an ounce and turn that frown upside down\nLike the triangle in the panties of my gal\nWhen Mike Jack made \"Raining in Moscow\" I had no style\nTommy Boy stocking on my scalp\nAnd that was like ninety-five, now it's twenty-ten\nTwo years away from when they say the world's expected to end\nAnd I ain't even begin\nThat's more ironic than a bum asking for 50 Cent from \"Many Men\", one\n\nToo many relays for DJs to replay\nI do the reject while I eject your new singlay\nHot enough to sit in hell, then unveil in heatwave\nPiss on a demon with ice water\nAnd if I lose my voice then I'm probably calling out to all P.A\nSystems to assist in with the word I'm tryna spread\nLike county jail bread or the legs of a hoochie\nAnd that's off top like a to","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: 12 - Rapper Shit (Feat Ab-Soul)\n  artist: Kendrick Lamar\n  album: Compton State Of Mind\n  duration_ms: 375066\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  My back against the wall, I can see y'all fronting\n  Drowning in your own spit and ain't coming up with nothing\n  I call this shit \"Rapper Shit\" cause I ain't a rapper\n  But if I was, this ain't some shit that I could rap after\n  Caught up in the rapture, you call yourself a factor\n  You're lame, paving away, Bob the Buil' factor\n  I'm a real master, real massive, you just real average\n  I see your chain, it's strange, they wore those in the Middle Passage\n  And it's harder to play me than to fiddle backwards\n  Don't act like you knew my tactics\n  Cause when it hits the fan, you know I stand last\n  I see through your true colors like stained glass\n  I see the fear in your eyes when we arrive\n  And what's the odds of even thinking you coincide\n  When every time a nigga open a door you go inside\n  Just to realize, either you're weak or someone lied\n  See, you spend more time boasting about what you do than you do\n  So by the time your shit is due it's doo-doo\n  And who knew that too cool fool who used to sit in the back\n  Would slip through the crack, like dudes who went to rehab\n  Ab-Soul, Abstract Asshole\n  Black Lip Bastard, et cetera for forever\n  I follow no ruler, even if I'm under a drastic measure\n  But whatever\n\n  They say pressure bust pipes\n  And I ain't never had to deal with plumbing in my life, now that's a bar\n  Sparring with me like blasphemy to cathedral\n  Or colliding with the diesel with your baby in your arms\n  You would test me but you know better\n  It's inadequate to go against the Jesus of Nazareth\n  Of the rap game, and guess what, I got no cheddar\n  But my mind is like a wizard\n  I defy the laws of gravity every time I get high and write a sentence\n  Back teeth never been in agony, but I got wisdom\n  I have risen from the wicked to jump on the competition, scorch ya\n  Third degree burns next to their sideburns, all sorts of\n  Combustible flows, firemen on speed dial\n  Free the leaders of the free world with a freestyle\n  Free the teachers, black activists get up off your feet now\n  And feed off my feelings as I control my wheel\n  Like new power steering, so sincere\n  Tryna duck court hearings but I got big ears\n  Rap peers, used to study them wishing they would fuck with me\n  Now they can't fuck with him, I'm wishing good luck to them\n  Reluctantly these critics loving me and I don't blame 'em\n  They say, Kendrick you gunning for these niggas\n  So when I pull my weapon out, I give 'em the pleasure to see me aim it\n  And watch these bullets run into these niggas, clear the set\n  I got now, I got next, give you nouns, give you verbs\n  Give you adjectives while proposing an agitated threat\n  I am most debated in barber shops all because they slept on me\n  Big homie fear young, buck cause when I buck I make more than a buck\n  Dollars come quick like a fucking nun fucking for the first time\n  Put me in Alaska for six months in the dark, in my heart I know sun/son still shine\n  Still got a skill to be found in a gold mine\n\n  I got an appetite for habitual liars on the mic\n  Who with pliers couldn't get a grip on life\n  I spit like I sat the tip of my dick on ice, and that's intense\n  Imagine if I had already came twice, ain't that some shit\n  Pass the swisher nigga, fill your cup with liquor nigga\n  Fly your kite till you're gone till November nigga\n  Show 'em you remember nigga\n  Pour some Hennessy and Crown for your homie six feet underground\n  Smoke an ounce and turn that frown upside down\n  Like the triangle in the panties of my gal\n  When Mike Jack made \"Raining in Moscow\" I had no style\n  Tommy Boy stocking on my scalp\n  And that was like ninety-five, now it's twenty-ten\n  Two years away from when they say the world's expected to end\n  And I ain't even begin\n  That's more ironic than a bum asking for 50 Cent from \"Many Men\", one\n\n  Too many relays for DJs to replay\n  I do the reject while I eject your new singlay\n  Hot enough to sit in hell, then unveil in heatwave\n  Piss on a demon with ice water\n  And if I lose my voice then I'm probably calling out to all P.A\n  Systems to assist in with the word I'm tryna spread\n  Like county jail bread or the legs of a hoochie\n  And that's off top like a to\n"},{"id":10670732,"name":"12 - Rapper Shit (Feat Ab-Soul)","trackName":"12 - Rapper Shit (Feat Ab-Soul)","artistName":"Kendrick Lamar","albumName":"Compton State Of Mind","duration":373.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"My back against the wall, I can see y'all fronting\nDrowning in your own spit and ain't coming up with nothing\nI call this shit \"Rapper Shit\" cause I ain't a rapper\nBut if I was, this ain't some shit that I could rap after\nCaught up in the rapture, you call yourself a factor\nYou're lame, paving away, Bob the Buil' factor\nI'm a real master, real massive, you just real average\nI see your chain, it's strange, they wore those in the Middle Passage\nAnd it's harder to play me than to fiddle backwards\nDon't act like you knew my tactics\nCause when it hits the fan, you know I stand last\nI see through your true colors like stained glass\nI see the fear in your eyes when we arrive\nAnd what's the odds of even thinking you coincide\nWhen every time a nigga open a door you go inside\nJust to realize, either you're weak or someone lied\nSee, you spend more time boasting about what you do than you do\nSo by the time your shit is due it's doo-doo\nAnd who knew that too cool fool who used to sit in the back\nWould slip through the crack, like dudes who went to rehab\nAb-Soul, Abstract Asshole\nBlack Lip Bastard, et cetera for forever\nI follow no ruler, even if I'm under a drastic measure\nBut whatever\n\nThey say pressure bust pipes\nAnd I ain't never had to deal with plumbing in my life, now that's a bar\nSparring with me like blasphemy to cathedral\nOr colliding with the diesel with your baby in your arms\nYou would test me but you know better\nIt's inadequate to go against the Jesus of Nazareth\nOf the rap game, and guess what, I got no cheddar\nBut my mind is like a wizard\nI defy the laws of gravity every time I get high and write a sentence\nBack teeth never been in agony, but I got wisdom\nI have risen from the wicked to jump on the competition, scorch ya\nThird degree burns next to their sideburns, all sorts of\nCombustible flows, firemen on speed dial\nFree the leaders of the free world with a freestyle\nFree the teachers, black activists get up off your feet now\nAnd feed off my feelings as I control my wheel\nLike new power steering, so sincere\nTryna duck court hearings but I got big ears\nRap peers, used to study them wishing they would fuck with me\nNow they can't fuck with him, I'm wishing good luck to them\nReluctantly these critics loving me and I don't blame 'em\nThey say, Kendrick you gunning for these niggas\nSo when I pull my weapon out, I give 'em the pleasure to see me aim it\nAnd watch these bullets run into these niggas, clear the set\nI got now, I got next, give you nouns, give you verbs\nGive you adjectives while proposing an agitated threat\nI am most debated in barber shops all because they slept on me\nBig homie fear young, buck cause when I buck I make more than a buck\nDollars come quick like a fucking nun fucking for the first time\nPut me in Alaska for six months in the dark, in my heart I know sun/son still shine\nStill got a skill to be found in a gold mine\n\nI got an appetite for habitual liars on the mic\nWho with pliers couldn't get a grip on life\nI spit like I sat the tip of my dick on ice, and that's intense\nImagine if I had already came twice, ain't that some shit\nPass the swisher nigga, fill your cup with liquor nigga\nFly your kite till you're gone till November nigga\nShow 'em you remember nigga\nPour some Hennessy and Crown for your homie six feet underground\nSmoke an ounce and turn that frown upside down\nLike the triangle in the panties of my gal\nWhen Mike Jack made \"Raining in Moscow\" I had no style\nTommy Boy stocking on my scalp\nAnd that was like ninety-five, now it's twenty-ten\nTwo years away from when they say the world's expected to end\nAnd I ain't even begin\nThat's more ironic than a bum asking for 50 Cent from \"Many Men\", one\n\nToo many relays for DJs to replay\nI do the reject while I eject your new singlay\nHot enough to sit in hell, then unveil in heatwave\nPiss on a demon with ice water\nAnd if I lose my voice then I'm probably calling out to all P.A\nSystems to assist in with the word I'm tryna spread\nLike county jail bread or the legs of a hoochie\nAnd that's off top like a to","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: 12 - Rapper Shit (Feat Ab-Soul)\n  artist: Kendrick Lamar\n  album: Compton State Of Mind\n  duration_ms: 373000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  My back against the wall, I can see y'all fronting\n  Drowning in your own spit and ain't coming up with nothing\n  I call this shit \"Rapper Shit\" cause I ain't a rapper\n  But if I was, this ain't some shit that I could rap after\n  Caught up in the rapture, you call yourself a factor\n  You're lame, paving away, Bob the Buil' factor\n  I'm a real master, real massive, you just real average\n  I see your chain, it's strange, they wore those in the Middle Passage\n  And it's harder to play me than to fiddle backwards\n  Don't act like you knew my tactics\n  Cause when it hits the fan, you know I stand last\n  I see through your true colors like stained glass\n  I see the fear in your eyes when we arrive\n  And what's the odds of even thinking you coincide\n  When every time a nigga open a door you go inside\n  Just to realize, either you're weak or someone lied\n  See, you spend more time boasting about what you do than you do\n  So by the time your shit is due it's doo-doo\n  And who knew that too cool fool who used to sit in the back\n  Would slip through the crack, like dudes who went to rehab\n  Ab-Soul, Abstract Asshole\n  Black Lip Bastard, et cetera for forever\n  I follow no ruler, even if I'm under a drastic measure\n  But whatever\n\n  They say pressure bust pipes\n  And I ain't never had to deal with plumbing in my life, now that's a bar\n  Sparring with me like blasphemy to cathedral\n  Or colliding with the diesel with your baby in your arms\n  You would test me but you know better\n  It's inadequate to go against the Jesus of Nazareth\n  Of the rap game, and guess what, I got no cheddar\n  But my mind is like a wizard\n  I defy the laws of gravity every time I get high and write a sentence\n  Back teeth never been in agony, but I got wisdom\n  I have risen from the wicked to jump on the competition, scorch ya\n  Third degree burns next to their sideburns, all sorts of\n  Combustible flows, firemen on speed dial\n  Free the leaders of the free world with a freestyle\n  Free the teachers, black activists get up off your feet now\n  And feed off my feelings as I control my wheel\n  Like new power steering, so sincere\n  Tryna duck court hearings but I got big ears\n  Rap peers, used to study them wishing they would fuck with me\n  Now they can't fuck with him, I'm wishing good luck to them\n  Reluctantly these critics loving me and I don't blame 'em\n  They say, Kendrick you gunning for these niggas\n  So when I pull my weapon out, I give 'em the pleasure to see me aim it\n  And watch these bullets run into these niggas, clear the set\n  I got now, I got next, give you nouns, give you verbs\n  Give you adjectives while proposing an agitated threat\n  I am most debated in barber shops all because they slept on me\n  Big homie fear young, buck cause when I buck I make more than a buck\n  Dollars come quick like a fucking nun fucking for the first time\n  Put me in Alaska for six months in the dark, in my heart I know sun/son still shine\n  Still got a skill to be found in a gold mine\n\n  I got an appetite for habitual liars on the mic\n  Who with pliers couldn't get a grip on life\n  I spit like I sat the tip of my dick on ice, and that's intense\n  Imagine if I had already came twice, ain't that some shit\n  Pass the swisher nigga, fill your cup with liquor nigga\n  Fly your kite till you're gone till November nigga\n  Show 'em you remember nigga\n  Pour some Hennessy and Crown for your homie six feet underground\n  Smoke an ounce and turn that frown upside down\n  Like the triangle in the panties of my gal\n  When Mike Jack made \"Raining in Moscow\" I had no style\n  Tommy Boy stocking on my scalp\n  And that was like ninety-five, now it's twenty-ten\n  Two years away from when they say the world's expected to end\n  And I ain't even begin\n  That's more ironic than a bum asking for 50 Cent from \"Many Men\", one\n\n  Too many relays for DJs to replay\n  I do the reject while I eject your new singlay\n  Hot enough to sit in hell, then unveil in heatwave\n  Piss on a demon with ice water\n  And if I lose my voice then I'm probably calling out to all P.A\n  Systems to assist in with the word I'm tryna spread\n  Like county jail bread or the legs of a hoochie\n  And that's off top like a to\n"}]