[{"id":22945885,"name":"Dead Street Scrolls","trackName":"Dead Street Scrolls","artistName":"Black Market Militia","albumName":"Black Market Militia","duration":251.614625,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"(Intro: Killah Priest)\nBlack Market bitch, it's crazy, the album's here\nRight there, Black Market, Black Market\nWalk with us, yeah, the album's here now\nHappenin' now son, it's happening now, yeah\n\n(Chorus: Killah Priest, Hell Razah)\nThe dead street scrolls, we, the ones that cry\nThe dead street scrolls, we, the ones that ride\nThe dead street scrolls, we, the ones that cry\nThe dead street scrolls\n\n(Hell Razah)\nHold my hands, let's take a stroll\nIt was written like the dead street scrolls, now the truth unfolds\nThey thought I came here to empty the chrome, they envy my soul\nDiablo, off of the world, and tempt me with hoes\nMy holy blood drift from a rose, sweet Jerusalem\nMy home sweet home, where the Christ was grown\nNow it's BK where dice is thrown, here's a light\nCheck your 25 to life, over ice cream cones\nWhat you know about this microphone, royalties and the right to own\nWhen you're platinum and gold, too many followers and no leaders\nWe in the time, the young souls need us, to be our brother's keeper\nIt's Abel and Kain, way before labels and fame\nBrothers cryin' from the blood stains left in the rain\nTeardrops over open caskets, I'm just a genius in a straight jacket\nDon't have me write it backwards\n\n(Killah Priest)\nI reinvented myself, restored what was before\nThe Heavy Mental instrumentals explored\nVintage, Black Market prophets, we the heart of the projects\nSee it in a sentence, this is some trap with mob debts\nStreet fillers, from dealers to killers\nAnd I went buck, fifties across they face\nThis goes out, to hood niggaz that lost they way\nMom's flippin' at the welfare office, thought she was burned\nWe got plans to take the whole hood corporate\nDollar bills with my homey's face printed on 'em\nWe neighborhood wino's, the new prophets since Donald Goines\nPriest, the streets real, feel what I speak\nThis is more than just a hook or a Neptunes beat\nPharrell, no disrespect, but my eyes looked in the spec's\nI ain't a judge, no hidden agenda, yo, it should be 'I am a thug'\nIs love, I laugh til tears fill up my lids\nKick the rockets out the closet, and go out on my wig\nI spit the realest words, comin' from the hood\nC-4, cock bells, Market is all good\nGot the negro's written in the dead street scrolls\nPictures of gangstas with guns, in hood street clothes\nWe arm wrestle with the devil, I broke and seen whole\nWhen our others box with God, I let my heat go\nFor the people like Huey P., we the lost generation\nTil the preacher reads, our human plee\n\n(Chorus)\n\n(Tragedy Khadafi)\nI write novels like Claude Brown\nManchild in a Promised Land, all the hood children gather round\nSun Tzu gave me The Art of War\nRobert Greene gave me The 48 Laws, The Art of Seduction is nothing\nOsato told a life story, Alex Haley showed me some Roots\nMy ancestors, those who came before me\nElijah taught me how to eat to live, not to live to eat\nFrom the pig intestine, deduction of feet\nKing David gave me the book of psalms\nHuey Newton taught me how to a man, stand up and bear arms\nLearn the, the ways of the prophet, from Kalilda Brahm\nMohammed Alai Salam, from the Qu'ran\nIceberg Smith taught me how to move like a don\nWilliam Cooper showed me the pale horses\nI studied with John Bay, secret sciences and forces\nExist all around us, my soldiers never fold\nBlack Market require readin' the dead street scrolls\n\n(Chorus)\n\n(Outro: Killah Priest)\nThe desert eagles.","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Dead Street Scrolls\n  artist: Black Market Militia\n  album: Black Market Militia\n  duration_ms: 251615\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  (Intro: Killah Priest)\n  Black Market bitch, it's crazy, the album's here\n  Right there, Black Market, Black Market\n  Walk with us, yeah, the album's here now\n  Happenin' now son, it's happening now, yeah\n\n  (Chorus: Killah Priest, Hell Razah)\n  The dead street scrolls, we, the ones that cry\n  The dead street scrolls, we, the ones that ride\n  The dead street scrolls, we, the ones that cry\n  The dead street scrolls\n\n  (Hell Razah)\n  Hold my hands, let's take a stroll\n  It was written like the dead street scrolls, now the truth unfolds\n  They thought I came here to empty the chrome, they envy my soul\n  Diablo, off of the world, and tempt me with hoes\n  My holy blood drift from a rose, sweet Jerusalem\n  My home sweet home, where the Christ was grown\n  Now it's BK where dice is thrown, here's a light\n  Check your 25 to life, over ice cream cones\n  What you know about this microphone, royalties and the right to own\n  When you're platinum and gold, too many followers and no leaders\n  We in the time, the young souls need us, to be our brother's keeper\n  It's Abel and Kain, way before labels and fame\n  Brothers cryin' from the blood stains left in the rain\n  Teardrops over open caskets, I'm just a genius in a straight jacket\n  Don't have me write it backwards\n\n  (Killah Priest)\n  I reinvented myself, restored what was before\n  The Heavy Mental instrumentals explored\n  Vintage, Black Market prophets, we the heart of the projects\n  See it in a sentence, this is some trap with mob debts\n  Street fillers, from dealers to killers\n  And I went buck, fifties across they face\n  This goes out, to hood niggaz that lost they way\n  Mom's flippin' at the welfare office, thought she was burned\n  We got plans to take the whole hood corporate\n  Dollar bills with my homey's face printed on 'em\n  We neighborhood wino's, the new prophets since Donald Goines\n  Priest, the streets real, feel what I speak\n  This is more than just a hook or a Neptunes beat\n  Pharrell, no disrespect, but my eyes looked in the spec's\n  I ain't a judge, no hidden agenda, yo, it should be 'I am a thug'\n  Is love, I laugh til tears fill up my lids\n  Kick the rockets out the closet, and go out on my wig\n  I spit the realest words, comin' from the hood\n  C-4, cock bells, Market is all good\n  Got the negro's written in the dead street scrolls\n  Pictures of gangstas with guns, in hood street clothes\n  We arm wrestle with the devil, I broke and seen whole\n  When our others box with God, I let my heat go\n  For the people like Huey P., we the lost generation\n  Til the preacher reads, our human plee\n\n  (Chorus)\n\n  (Tragedy Khadafi)\n  I write novels like Claude Brown\n  Manchild in a Promised Land, all the hood children gather round\n  Sun Tzu gave me The Art of War\n  Robert Greene gave me The 48 Laws, The Art of Seduction is nothing\n  Osato told a life story, Alex Haley showed me some Roots\n  My ancestors, those who came before me\n  Elijah taught me how to eat to live, not to live to eat\n  From the pig intestine, deduction of feet\n  King David gave me the book of psalms\n  Huey Newton taught me how to a man, stand up and bear arms\n  Learn the, the ways of the prophet, from Kalilda Brahm\n  Mohammed Alai Salam, from the Qu'ran\n  Iceberg Smith taught me how to move like a don\n  William Cooper showed me the pale horses\n  I studied with John Bay, secret sciences and forces\n  Exist all around us, my soldiers never fold\n  Black Market require readin' the dead street scrolls\n\n  (Chorus)\n\n  (Outro: Killah Priest)\n  The desert eagles.\n"},{"id":31137702,"name":"Dead Street Scrolls","trackName":"Dead Street Scrolls","artistName":"Black Market Militia","albumName":"The Black Market Militia","duration":252.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"(Intro: Killah Priest)\nBlack Market bitch, it's crazy, the album's here\nRight there, Black Market, Black Market\nWalk with us, yeah, the album's here now\nHappenin' now son, it's happening now, yeah\n\n(Chorus: Killah Priest, Hell Razah)\nThe dead street scrolls, we, the ones that cry\nThe dead street scrolls, we, the ones that ride\nThe dead street scrolls, we, the ones that cry\nThe dead street scrolls\n\n(Hell Razah)\nHold my hands, let's take a stroll\nIt was written like the dead street scrolls, now the truth unfolds\nThey thought I came here to empty the chrome, they envy my soul\nDiablo, off of the world, and tempt me with hoes\nMy holy blood drift from a rose, sweet Jerusalem\nMy home sweet home, where the Christ was grown\nNow it's BK where dice is thrown, here's a light\nCheck your 25 to life, over ice cream cones\nWhat you know about this microphone, royalties and the right to own\nWhen you're platinum and gold, too many followers and no leaders\nWe in the time, the young souls need us, to be our brother's keeper\nIt's Abel and Kain, way before labels and fame\nBrothers cryin' from the blood stains left in the rain\nTeardrops over open caskets, I'm just a genius in a straight jacket\nDon't have me write it backwards\n\n(Killah Priest)\nI reinvented myself, restored what was before\nThe Heavy Mental instrumentals explored\nVintage, Black Market prophets, we the heart of the projects\nSee it in a sentence, this is some trap with mob debts\nStreet fillers, from dealers to killers\nAnd I went buck, fifties across they face\nThis goes out, to hood niggaz that lost they way\nMom's flippin' at the welfare office, thought she was burned\nWe got plans to take the whole hood corporate\nDollar bills with my homey's face printed on 'em\nWe neighborhood wino's, the new prophets since Donald Goines\nPriest, the streets real, feel what I speak\nThis is more than just a hook or a Neptunes beat\nPharrell, no disrespect, but my eyes looked in the spec's\nI ain't a judge, no hidden agenda, yo, it should be 'I am a thug'\nIs love, I laugh til tears fill up my lids\nKick the rockets out the closet, and go out on my wig\nI spit the realest words, comin' from the hood\nC-4, cock bells, Market is all good\nGot the negro's written in the dead street scrolls\nPictures of gangstas with guns, in hood street clothes\nWe arm wrestle with the devil, I broke and seen whole\nWhen our others box with God, I let my heat go\nFor the people like Huey P., we the lost generation\nTil the preacher reads, our human plee\n\n(Chorus)\n\n(Tragedy Khadafi)\nI write novels like Claude Brown\nManchild in a Promised Land, all the hood children gather round\nSun Tzu gave me The Art of War\nRobert Greene gave me The 48 Laws, The Art of Seduction is nothing\nOsato told a life story, Alex Haley showed me some Roots\nMy ancestors, those who came before me\nElijah taught me how to eat to live, not to live to eat\nFrom the pig intestine, deduction of feet\nKing David gave me the book of psalms\nHuey Newton taught me how to a man, stand up and bear arms\nLearn the, the ways of the prophet, from Kalilda Brahm\nMohammed Alai Salam, from the Qu'ran\nIceberg Smith taught me how to move like a don\nWilliam Cooper showed me the pale horses\nI studied with John Bay, secret sciences and forces\nExist all around us, my soldiers never fold\nBlack Market require readin' the dead street scrolls\n\n(Chorus)\n\n(Outro: Killah Priest)\nThe desert eagles.","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Dead Street Scrolls\n  artist: Black Market Militia\n  album: The Black Market Militia\n  duration_ms: 252000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  (Intro: Killah Priest)\n  Black Market bitch, it's crazy, the album's here\n  Right there, Black Market, Black Market\n  Walk with us, yeah, the album's here now\n  Happenin' now son, it's happening now, yeah\n\n  (Chorus: Killah Priest, Hell Razah)\n  The dead street scrolls, we, the ones that cry\n  The dead street scrolls, we, the ones that ride\n  The dead street scrolls, we, the ones that cry\n  The dead street scrolls\n\n  (Hell Razah)\n  Hold my hands, let's take a stroll\n  It was written like the dead street scrolls, now the truth unfolds\n  They thought I came here to empty the chrome, they envy my soul\n  Diablo, off of the world, and tempt me with hoes\n  My holy blood drift from a rose, sweet Jerusalem\n  My home sweet home, where the Christ was grown\n  Now it's BK where dice is thrown, here's a light\n  Check your 25 to life, over ice cream cones\n  What you know about this microphone, royalties and the right to own\n  When you're platinum and gold, too many followers and no leaders\n  We in the time, the young souls need us, to be our brother's keeper\n  It's Abel and Kain, way before labels and fame\n  Brothers cryin' from the blood stains left in the rain\n  Teardrops over open caskets, I'm just a genius in a straight jacket\n  Don't have me write it backwards\n\n  (Killah Priest)\n  I reinvented myself, restored what was before\n  The Heavy Mental instrumentals explored\n  Vintage, Black Market prophets, we the heart of the projects\n  See it in a sentence, this is some trap with mob debts\n  Street fillers, from dealers to killers\n  And I went buck, fifties across they face\n  This goes out, to hood niggaz that lost they way\n  Mom's flippin' at the welfare office, thought she was burned\n  We got plans to take the whole hood corporate\n  Dollar bills with my homey's face printed on 'em\n  We neighborhood wino's, the new prophets since Donald Goines\n  Priest, the streets real, feel what I speak\n  This is more than just a hook or a Neptunes beat\n  Pharrell, no disrespect, but my eyes looked in the spec's\n  I ain't a judge, no hidden agenda, yo, it should be 'I am a thug'\n  Is love, I laugh til tears fill up my lids\n  Kick the rockets out the closet, and go out on my wig\n  I spit the realest words, comin' from the hood\n  C-4, cock bells, Market is all good\n  Got the negro's written in the dead street scrolls\n  Pictures of gangstas with guns, in hood street clothes\n  We arm wrestle with the devil, I broke and seen whole\n  When our others box with God, I let my heat go\n  For the people like Huey P., we the lost generation\n  Til the preacher reads, our human plee\n\n  (Chorus)\n\n  (Tragedy Khadafi)\n  I write novels like Claude Brown\n  Manchild in a Promised Land, all the hood children gather round\n  Sun Tzu gave me The Art of War\n  Robert Greene gave me The 48 Laws, The Art of Seduction is nothing\n  Osato told a life story, Alex Haley showed me some Roots\n  My ancestors, those who came before me\n  Elijah taught me how to eat to live, not to live to eat\n  From the pig intestine, deduction of feet\n  King David gave me the book of psalms\n  Huey Newton taught me how to a man, stand up and bear arms\n  Learn the, the ways of the prophet, from Kalilda Brahm\n  Mohammed Alai Salam, from the Qu'ran\n  Iceberg Smith taught me how to move like a don\n  William Cooper showed me the pale horses\n  I studied with John Bay, secret sciences and forces\n  Exist all around us, my soldiers never fold\n  Black Market require readin' the dead street scrolls\n\n  (Chorus)\n\n  (Outro: Killah Priest)\n  The desert eagles.\n"},{"id":32839274,"name":"Dead Street Scrolls","trackName":"Dead Street Scrolls","artistName":"Black Market Militia","albumName":"The Black Market Militia (Explicit)","duration":252.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"(Intro: Killah Priest)\nBlack Market bitch, it's crazy, the album's here\nRight there, Black Market, Black Market\nWalk with us, yeah, the album's here now\nHappenin' now son, it's happening now, yeah\n\n(Chorus: Killah Priest, Hell Razah)\nThe dead street scrolls, we, the ones that cry\nThe dead street scrolls, we, the ones that ride\nThe dead street scrolls, we, the ones that cry\nThe dead street scrolls\n\n(Hell Razah)\nHold my hands, let's take a stroll\nIt was written like the dead street scrolls, now the truth unfolds\nThey thought I came here to empty the chrome, they envy my soul\nDiablo, off of the world, and tempt me with hoes\nMy holy blood drift from a rose, sweet Jerusalem\nMy home sweet home, where the Christ was grown\nNow it's BK where dice is thrown, here's a light\nCheck your 25 to life, over ice cream cones\nWhat you know about this microphone, royalties and the right to own\nWhen you're platinum and gold, too many followers and no leaders\nWe in the time, the young souls need us, to be our brother's keeper\nIt's Abel and Kain, way before labels and fame\nBrothers cryin' from the blood stains left in the rain\nTeardrops over open caskets, I'm just a genius in a straight jacket\nDon't have me write it backwards\n\n(Killah Priest)\nI reinvented myself, restored what was before\nThe Heavy Mental instrumentals explored\nVintage, Black Market prophets, we the heart of the projects\nSee it in a sentence, this is some trap with mob debts\nStreet fillers, from dealers to killers\nAnd I went buck, fifties across they face\nThis goes out, to hood niggaz that lost they way\nMom's flippin' at the welfare office, thought she was burned\nWe got plans to take the whole hood corporate\nDollar bills with my homey's face printed on 'em\nWe neighborhood wino's, the new prophets since Donald Goines\nPriest, the streets real, feel what I speak\nThis is more than just a hook or a Neptunes beat\nPharrell, no disrespect, but my eyes looked in the spec's\nI ain't a judge, no hidden agenda, yo, it should be 'I am a thug'\nIs love, I laugh til tears fill up my lids\nKick the rockets out the closet, and go out on my wig\nI spit the realest words, comin' from the hood\nC-4, cock bells, Market is all good\nGot the negro's written in the dead street scrolls\nPictures of gangstas with guns, in hood street clothes\nWe arm wrestle with the devil, I broke and seen whole\nWhen our others box with God, I let my heat go\nFor the people like Huey P., we the lost generation\nTil the preacher reads, our human plee\n\n(Chorus)\n\n(Tragedy Khadafi)\nI write novels like Claude Brown\nManchild in a Promised Land, all the hood children gather round\nSun Tzu gave me The Art of War\nRobert Greene gave me The 48 Laws, The Art of Seduction is nothing\nOsato told a life story, Alex Haley showed me some Roots\nMy ancestors, those who came before me\nElijah taught me how to eat to live, not to live to eat\nFrom the pig intestine, deduction of feet\nKing David gave me the book of psalms\nHuey Newton taught me how to a man, stand up and bear arms\nLearn the, the ways of the prophet, from Kalilda Brahm\nMohammed Alai Salam, from the Qu'ran\nIceberg Smith taught me how to move like a don\nWilliam Cooper showed me the pale horses\nI studied with John Bay, secret sciences and forces\nExist all around us, my soldiers never fold\nBlack Market require readin' the dead street scrolls\n\n(Chorus)\n\n(Outro: Killah Priest)\nThe desert eagles.","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Dead Street Scrolls\n  artist: Black Market Militia\n  album: The Black Market Militia (Explicit)\n  duration_ms: 252000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  (Intro: Killah Priest)\n  Black Market bitch, it's crazy, the album's here\n  Right there, Black Market, Black Market\n  Walk with us, yeah, the album's here now\n  Happenin' now son, it's happening now, yeah\n\n  (Chorus: Killah Priest, Hell Razah)\n  The dead street scrolls, we, the ones that cry\n  The dead street scrolls, we, the ones that ride\n  The dead street scrolls, we, the ones that cry\n  The dead street scrolls\n\n  (Hell Razah)\n  Hold my hands, let's take a stroll\n  It was written like the dead street scrolls, now the truth unfolds\n  They thought I came here to empty the chrome, they envy my soul\n  Diablo, off of the world, and tempt me with hoes\n  My holy blood drift from a rose, sweet Jerusalem\n  My home sweet home, where the Christ was grown\n  Now it's BK where dice is thrown, here's a light\n  Check your 25 to life, over ice cream cones\n  What you know about this microphone, royalties and the right to own\n  When you're platinum and gold, too many followers and no leaders\n  We in the time, the young souls need us, to be our brother's keeper\n  It's Abel and Kain, way before labels and fame\n  Brothers cryin' from the blood stains left in the rain\n  Teardrops over open caskets, I'm just a genius in a straight jacket\n  Don't have me write it backwards\n\n  (Killah Priest)\n  I reinvented myself, restored what was before\n  The Heavy Mental instrumentals explored\n  Vintage, Black Market prophets, we the heart of the projects\n  See it in a sentence, this is some trap with mob debts\n  Street fillers, from dealers to killers\n  And I went buck, fifties across they face\n  This goes out, to hood niggaz that lost they way\n  Mom's flippin' at the welfare office, thought she was burned\n  We got plans to take the whole hood corporate\n  Dollar bills with my homey's face printed on 'em\n  We neighborhood wino's, the new prophets since Donald Goines\n  Priest, the streets real, feel what I speak\n  This is more than just a hook or a Neptunes beat\n  Pharrell, no disrespect, but my eyes looked in the spec's\n  I ain't a judge, no hidden agenda, yo, it should be 'I am a thug'\n  Is love, I laugh til tears fill up my lids\n  Kick the rockets out the closet, and go out on my wig\n  I spit the realest words, comin' from the hood\n  C-4, cock bells, Market is all good\n  Got the negro's written in the dead street scrolls\n  Pictures of gangstas with guns, in hood street clothes\n  We arm wrestle with the devil, I broke and seen whole\n  When our others box with God, I let my heat go\n  For the people like Huey P., we the lost generation\n  Til the preacher reads, our human plee\n\n  (Chorus)\n\n  (Tragedy Khadafi)\n  I write novels like Claude Brown\n  Manchild in a Promised Land, all the hood children gather round\n  Sun Tzu gave me The Art of War\n  Robert Greene gave me The 48 Laws, The Art of Seduction is nothing\n  Osato told a life story, Alex Haley showed me some Roots\n  My ancestors, those who came before me\n  Elijah taught me how to eat to live, not to live to eat\n  From the pig intestine, deduction of feet\n  King David gave me the book of psalms\n  Huey Newton taught me how to a man, stand up and bear arms\n  Learn the, the ways of the prophet, from Kalilda Brahm\n  Mohammed Alai Salam, from the Qu'ran\n  Iceberg Smith taught me how to move like a don\n  William Cooper showed me the pale horses\n  I studied with John Bay, secret sciences and forces\n  Exist all around us, my soldiers never fold\n  Black Market require readin' the dead street scrolls\n\n  (Chorus)\n\n  (Outro: Killah Priest)\n  The desert eagles.\n"}]