[{"id":11371991,"name":"Think Differently","trackName":"Think Differently","artistName":"Casual","albumName":"Think Differently Music: Wu-Tang Meets the Indie Culture","duration":273.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"It go, gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\nI'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\nI live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\nRide on top of the car, they crush they rocks\nNiggas hop my fence, to run from cops\nSee I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\nKeep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\nYou only been involved in domestic violence\nNigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\nCatch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\nThe microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\nIt's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\nWhere the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\nNobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\nDolo, with more dough to blow though\nFor sure though, slide one deep in a four door\nI'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\nBump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n\nAnd the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\nWas written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\nStreets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\nNever flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\nMusical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\nSpit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\nCalm stop, warlock like David Geffen\nBlowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\nSeen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\nTwo gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\nTo the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\nQueens Messiah, camouflage black attire\nMagnum opus, top five, dead or alive\nThe feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\nMossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\nThen I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\nRolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\nI praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\nThis is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n\nPoverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\nBlind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\nNiggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\nBenches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\nLeather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\nGats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\nThe epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\nFor seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\nTo he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\nBig hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\nSwitch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\nUsed to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\nI stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\nGang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\nRollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\nWord to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\nYour happy meal skills is still, no frills\nCook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\nOr rocking mills, your hospital bill\nBlood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\nWhen I lick off shots, the hostages yell\nChopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n\nNinjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\nIn hoods, where hammers bark and the tenants spark\nPolice on radar, so we stay fogged up\nPuffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\nGod Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\nOnes that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and nails\nNine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\nWith Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\nReady to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\nWe like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\nTryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\nTired of bleeding, where eagles let out evil\nTown is of death, no time for weakness\nHigher heights to reach, advance the concrete\nWith iron feet...","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Think Differently\n  artist: Casual\n  album: 'Think Differently Music: Wu-Tang Meets the Indie Culture'\n  duration_ms: 273000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  It go, gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n  I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n  I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n  Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n  Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n  See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n  Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n  You only been involved in domestic violence\n  Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n  Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n  The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n  It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n  Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n  Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n  Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n  For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n  I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n  Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n\n  And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n  Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n  Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n  Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n  Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n  Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n  Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n  Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n  Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n  Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n  To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n  Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n  Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n  The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n  Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n  Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n  Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n  I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n  This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n\n  Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n  Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n  Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n  Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n  Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n  Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n  The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n  For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n  To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n  Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n  Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n  Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n  I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n  Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n  Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n  Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n  Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n  Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n  Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n  Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n  When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n  Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n\n  Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n  In hoods, where hammers bark and the tenants spark\n  Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n  Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n  God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n  Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and nails\n  Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n  With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n  Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n  We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n  Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n  Tired of bleeding, where eagles let out evil\n  Town is of death, no time for weakness\n  Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n  With iron feet...\n"},{"id":2300826,"name":"Think Differently","trackName":"Think Differently","artistName":"Casual, Rock Marciano, Vordul Mega & Tragedy Khadafi","albumName":"Think Differently Music: Wu-Tang Meets the Indie Culture","duration":273.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\nI'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\nI live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\nRide on top of the car, they crush they rocks\nNiggas hop my fence, to run from cops\nSee I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\nKeep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\nYou only been involved in domestic violence\nNigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\nCatch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\nThe microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\nIt's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\nWhere the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\nNobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\nDolo, with more dough to blow though\nFor sure though, slide one deep in a four door\nI'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\nBump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\nAnd the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\nWas written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\nStreets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\nNever flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\nMusical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\nSpit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\nCalm stop, warlock like David Geffen\nBlowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\nSeen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\nTwo gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\nTo the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\nQueens Messiah, camouflage black attire\nMagnum opus, top five, dead or alive\nThe feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\nMossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\nThen I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\nRolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\nI praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\nThis is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\nPoverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\nBlind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\nNiggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\nBenches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\nLeather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\nGats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\nThe epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\nFor seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\nTo he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\nBig hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\nSwitch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\nUsed to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\nI stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\nGang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\nRollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\nWord to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\nYour happy meal skills is still, no frills\nCook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\nOr rocking mills, your hospital bill\nBlood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\nWhen I lick off shots, the hostages yell\nChopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\nNinjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\nIn hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\nPolice on radar, so we stay fogged up\nPuffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\nGod Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\nOnes that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\nNine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\nWith Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\nReady to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\nWe like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\nTryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\nTired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\nTown is of death, no time for weakness\nHigher heights to reach, advance the concrete","syncedLyrics":"[00:33.81] It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n[00:37.09] I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n[00:39.71] I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n[00:42.63] Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n[00:45.47] Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n[00:48.25] See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n[00:51.12] Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n[00:53.82] You only been involved in domestic violence\n[00:56.68] Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n[00:59.69] Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n[01:02.50] The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n[01:05.03] It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n[01:08.07] Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n[01:11.06] Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n[01:13.89] Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n[01:16.72] For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n[01:19.68] I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n[01:22.38] Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n[01:25.36] And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n[01:28.03] Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n[01:30.83] Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n[01:33.24] Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n[01:36.17] Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n[01:38.95] Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n[01:42.09] Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n[01:44.58] Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n[01:47.43] Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n[01:50.46] Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n[01:53.00] To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n[01:55.97] Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n[01:58.78] Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n[02:01.61] The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n[02:04.47] Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n[02:07.50] Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n[02:10.15] Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n[02:12.94] I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n[02:16.35] This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n[02:20.07] Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n[02:22.27] Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n[02:24.64] Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n[02:27.47] Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n[02:30.47] Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n[02:32.88] Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n[02:35.83] The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n[02:38.73] For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n[02:41.68] To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n[02:44.66] Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n[02:47.32] Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n[02:50.37] Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n[02:53.02] I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n[02:56.16] Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n[02:58.70] Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n[03:01.27] Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n[03:04.43] Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n[03:07.06] Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n[03:09.76] Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n[03:12.41] Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n[03:15.39] When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n[03:18.43] Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n[03:21.32] Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n[03:23.77] In hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\n[03:26.72] Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n[03:29.43] Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n[03:31.94] God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n[03:35.03] Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\n[03:38.29] Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n[03:41.49] With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n[03:45.29] Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n[03:49.36] We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n[03:52.36] Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n[03:55.63] Tired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\n[03:58.44] Town is of death, no time for weakness\n[04:00.94] Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n[04:07.82] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Think Differently\n  artist: Casual, Rock Marciano, Vordul Mega & Tragedy Khadafi\n  album: 'Think Differently Music: Wu-Tang Meets the Indie Culture'\n  duration_ms: 273000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n  start_ms: 33810\n  end_ms: 37090\n- text: I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n  start_ms: 37090\n  end_ms: 39710\n- text: I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n  start_ms: 39710\n  end_ms: 42630\n- text: Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n  start_ms: 42630\n  end_ms: 45470\n- text: Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n  start_ms: 45470\n  end_ms: 48250\n- text: See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n  start_ms: 48250\n  end_ms: 51120\n- text: Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n  start_ms: 51120\n  end_ms: 53820\n- text: You only been involved in domestic violence\n  start_ms: 53820\n  end_ms: 56680\n- text: Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n  start_ms: 56680\n  end_ms: 59690\n- text: Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n  start_ms: 59690\n  end_ms: 62500\n- text: The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n  start_ms: 62500\n  end_ms: 65030\n- text: It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n  start_ms: 65030\n  end_ms: 68070\n- text: Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n  start_ms: 68070\n  end_ms: 71060\n- text: Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n  start_ms: 71060\n  end_ms: 73890\n- text: Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n  start_ms: 73890\n  end_ms: 76720\n- text: For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n  start_ms: 76720\n  end_ms: 79680\n- text: I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n  start_ms: 79680\n  end_ms: 82380\n- text: Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n  start_ms: 82380\n  end_ms: 85360\n- text: And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n  start_ms: 85360\n  end_ms: 88030\n- text: Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n  start_ms: 88030\n  end_ms: 90830\n- text: Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n  start_ms: 90830\n  end_ms: 93240\n- text: Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n  start_ms: 93240\n  end_ms: 96170\n- text: Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n  start_ms: 96170\n  end_ms: 98950\n- text: Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n  start_ms: 98950\n  end_ms: 102090\n- text: Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n  start_ms: 102090\n  end_ms: 104580\n- text: Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n  start_ms: 104580\n  end_ms: 107430\n- text: Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n  start_ms: 107430\n  end_ms: 110460\n- text: Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n  start_ms: 110460\n  end_ms: 113000\n- text: To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n  start_ms: 113000\n  end_ms: 115970\n- text: Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n  start_ms: 115970\n  end_ms: 118780\n- text: Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n  start_ms: 118780\n  end_ms: 121610\n- text: The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n  start_ms: 121610\n  end_ms: 124470\n- text: Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n  start_ms: 124470\n  end_ms: 127500\n- text: Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n  start_ms: 127500\n  end_ms: 130150\n- text: Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n  start_ms: 130150\n  end_ms: 132940\n- text: I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n  start_ms: 132940\n  end_ms: 136350\n- text: This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n  start_ms: 136350\n  end_ms: 140070\n- text: Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n  start_ms: 140070\n  end_ms: 142270\n- text: Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n  start_ms: 142270\n  end_ms: 144640\n- text: Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n  start_ms: 144640\n  end_ms: 147470\n- text: Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n  start_ms: 147470\n  end_ms: 150470\n- text: Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n  start_ms: 150470\n  end_ms: 152880\n- text: Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n  start_ms: 152880\n  end_ms: 155830\n- text: The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n  start_ms: 155830\n  end_ms: 158730\n- text: For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n  start_ms: 158730\n  end_ms: 161680\n- text: To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n  start_ms: 161680\n  end_ms: 164660\n- text: Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n  start_ms: 164660\n  end_ms: 167320\n- text: Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n  start_ms: 167320\n  end_ms: 170370\n- text: Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n  start_ms: 170370\n  end_ms: 173020\n- text: I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n  start_ms: 173020\n  end_ms: 176160\n- text: Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n  start_ms: 176160\n  end_ms: 178700\n- text: Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n  start_ms: 178700\n  end_ms: 181270\n- text: Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n  start_ms: 181270\n  end_ms: 184430\n- text: Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n  start_ms: 184430\n  end_ms: 187060\n- text: Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n  start_ms: 187060\n  end_ms: 189760\n- text: Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n  start_ms: 189760\n  end_ms: 192410\n- text: Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n  start_ms: 192410\n  end_ms: 195390\n- text: When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n  start_ms: 195390\n  end_ms: 198430\n- text: Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n  start_ms: 198430\n  end_ms: 201320\n- text: Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n  start_ms: 201320\n  end_ms: 203770\n- text: In hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\n  start_ms: 203770\n  end_ms: 206720\n- text: Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n  start_ms: 206720\n  end_ms: 209430\n- text: Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n  start_ms: 209430\n  end_ms: 211940\n- text: God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n  start_ms: 211940\n  end_ms: 215030\n- text: Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\n  start_ms: 215030\n  end_ms: 218290\n- text: Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n  start_ms: 218290\n  end_ms: 221490\n- text: With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n  start_ms: 221490\n  end_ms: 225290\n- text: Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n  start_ms: 225290\n  end_ms: 229360\n- text: We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n  start_ms: 229360\n  end_ms: 232360\n- text: Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n  start_ms: 232360\n  end_ms: 235630\n- text: Tired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\n  start_ms: 235630\n  end_ms: 238440\n- text: Town is of death, no time for weakness\n  start_ms: 238440\n  end_ms: 240940\n- text: Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n  start_ms: 240940\n  end_ms: 247820\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 247820\nplain: |-\n  It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n  I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n  I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n  Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n  Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n  See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n  Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n  You only been involved in domestic violence\n  Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n  Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n  The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n  It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n  Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n  Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n  Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n  For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n  I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n  Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n  And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n  Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n  Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n  Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n  Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n  Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n  Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n  Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n  Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n  Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n  To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n  Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n  Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n  The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n  Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n  Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n  Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n  I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n  This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n  Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n  Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n  Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n  Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n  Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n  Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n  The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n  For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n  To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n  Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n  Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n  Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n  I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n  Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n  Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n  Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n  Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n  Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n  Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n  Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n  When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n  Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n  Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n  In hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\n  Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n  Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n  God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n  Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\n  Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n  With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n  Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n  We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n  Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n  Tired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\n  Town is of death, no time for weakness\n  Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n"},{"id":9753011,"name":"Think Differently","trackName":"Think Differently","artistName":"Casual, Roc Marciano, Vordul Mega & Tragedy Khadafi","albumName":"Think Differently Music: Wu-Tang Meets the Indie Culture","duration":273.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\nI'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\nI live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\nRide on top of the car, they crush they rocks\nNiggas hop my fence, to run from cops\nSee I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\nKeep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\nYou only been involved in domestic violence\nNigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\nCatch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\nThe microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\nIt's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\nWhere the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\nNobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\nDolo, with more dough to blow though\nFor sure though, slide one deep in a four door\nI'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\nBump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\nAnd the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\nWas written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\nStreets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\nNever flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\nMusical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\nSpit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\nCalm stop, warlock like David Geffen\nBlowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\nSeen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\nTwo gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\nTo the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\nQueens Messiah, camouflage black attire\nMagnum opus, top five, dead or alive\nThe feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\nMossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\nThen I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\nRolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\nI praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\nThis is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\nPoverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\nBlind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\nNiggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\nBenches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\nLeather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\nGats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\nThe epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\nFor seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\nTo he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\nBig hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\nSwitch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\nUsed to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\nI stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\nGang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\nRollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\nWord to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\nYour happy meal skills is still, no frills\nCook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\nOr rocking mills, your hospital bill\nBlood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\nWhen I lick off shots, the hostages yell\nChopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\nNinjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\nIn hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\nPolice on radar, so we stay fogged up\nPuffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\nGod Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\nOnes that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\nNine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\nWith Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\nReady to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\nWe like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\nTryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\nTired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\nTown is of death, no time for weakness\nHigher heights to reach, advance the concrete","syncedLyrics":"[00:33.81] It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n[00:37.09] I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n[00:39.71] I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n[00:42.63] Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n[00:45.47] Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n[00:48.25] See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n[00:51.12] Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n[00:53.82] You only been involved in domestic violence\n[00:56.68] Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n[00:59.69] Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n[01:02.50] The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n[01:05.03] It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n[01:08.07] Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n[01:11.06] Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n[01:13.89] Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n[01:16.72] For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n[01:19.68] I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n[01:22.38] Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n[01:25.36] And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n[01:28.03] Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n[01:30.83] Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n[01:33.24] Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n[01:36.17] Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n[01:38.95] Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n[01:42.09] Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n[01:44.58] Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n[01:47.43] Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n[01:50.46] Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n[01:53.00] To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n[01:55.97] Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n[01:58.78] Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n[02:01.61] The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n[02:04.47] Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n[02:07.50] Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n[02:10.15] Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n[02:12.94] I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n[02:16.35] This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n[02:20.07] Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n[02:22.27] Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n[02:24.64] Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n[02:27.47] Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n[02:30.47] Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n[02:32.88] Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n[02:35.83] The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n[02:38.73] For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n[02:41.68] To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n[02:44.66] Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n[02:47.32] Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n[02:50.37] Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n[02:53.02] I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n[02:56.16] Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n[02:58.70] Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n[03:01.27] Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n[03:04.43] Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n[03:07.06] Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n[03:09.76] Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n[03:12.41] Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n[03:15.39] When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n[03:18.43] Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n[03:21.32] Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n[03:23.77] In hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\n[03:26.72] Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n[03:29.43] Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n[03:31.94] God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n[03:35.03] Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\n[03:38.29] Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n[03:41.49] With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n[03:45.29] Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n[03:49.36] We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n[03:52.36] Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n[03:55.63] Tired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\n[03:58.44] Town is of death, no time for weakness\n[04:00.94] Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n[04:07.82] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Think Differently\n  artist: Casual, Roc Marciano, Vordul Mega & Tragedy Khadafi\n  album: 'Think Differently Music: Wu-Tang Meets the Indie Culture'\n  duration_ms: 273000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n  start_ms: 33810\n  end_ms: 37090\n- text: I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n  start_ms: 37090\n  end_ms: 39710\n- text: I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n  start_ms: 39710\n  end_ms: 42630\n- text: Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n  start_ms: 42630\n  end_ms: 45470\n- text: Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n  start_ms: 45470\n  end_ms: 48250\n- text: See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n  start_ms: 48250\n  end_ms: 51120\n- text: Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n  start_ms: 51120\n  end_ms: 53820\n- text: You only been involved in domestic violence\n  start_ms: 53820\n  end_ms: 56680\n- text: Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n  start_ms: 56680\n  end_ms: 59690\n- text: Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n  start_ms: 59690\n  end_ms: 62500\n- text: The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n  start_ms: 62500\n  end_ms: 65030\n- text: It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n  start_ms: 65030\n  end_ms: 68070\n- text: Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n  start_ms: 68070\n  end_ms: 71060\n- text: Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n  start_ms: 71060\n  end_ms: 73890\n- text: Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n  start_ms: 73890\n  end_ms: 76720\n- text: For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n  start_ms: 76720\n  end_ms: 79680\n- text: I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n  start_ms: 79680\n  end_ms: 82380\n- text: Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n  start_ms: 82380\n  end_ms: 85360\n- text: And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n  start_ms: 85360\n  end_ms: 88030\n- text: Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n  start_ms: 88030\n  end_ms: 90830\n- text: Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n  start_ms: 90830\n  end_ms: 93240\n- text: Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n  start_ms: 93240\n  end_ms: 96170\n- text: Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n  start_ms: 96170\n  end_ms: 98950\n- text: Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n  start_ms: 98950\n  end_ms: 102090\n- text: Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n  start_ms: 102090\n  end_ms: 104580\n- text: Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n  start_ms: 104580\n  end_ms: 107430\n- text: Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n  start_ms: 107430\n  end_ms: 110460\n- text: Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n  start_ms: 110460\n  end_ms: 113000\n- text: To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n  start_ms: 113000\n  end_ms: 115970\n- text: Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n  start_ms: 115970\n  end_ms: 118780\n- text: Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n  start_ms: 118780\n  end_ms: 121610\n- text: The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n  start_ms: 121610\n  end_ms: 124470\n- text: Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n  start_ms: 124470\n  end_ms: 127500\n- text: Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n  start_ms: 127500\n  end_ms: 130150\n- text: Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n  start_ms: 130150\n  end_ms: 132940\n- text: I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n  start_ms: 132940\n  end_ms: 136350\n- text: This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n  start_ms: 136350\n  end_ms: 140070\n- text: Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n  start_ms: 140070\n  end_ms: 142270\n- text: Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n  start_ms: 142270\n  end_ms: 144640\n- text: Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n  start_ms: 144640\n  end_ms: 147470\n- text: Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n  start_ms: 147470\n  end_ms: 150470\n- text: Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n  start_ms: 150470\n  end_ms: 152880\n- text: Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n  start_ms: 152880\n  end_ms: 155830\n- text: The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n  start_ms: 155830\n  end_ms: 158730\n- text: For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n  start_ms: 158730\n  end_ms: 161680\n- text: To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n  start_ms: 161680\n  end_ms: 164660\n- text: Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n  start_ms: 164660\n  end_ms: 167320\n- text: Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n  start_ms: 167320\n  end_ms: 170370\n- text: Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n  start_ms: 170370\n  end_ms: 173020\n- text: I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n  start_ms: 173020\n  end_ms: 176160\n- text: Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n  start_ms: 176160\n  end_ms: 178700\n- text: Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n  start_ms: 178700\n  end_ms: 181270\n- text: Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n  start_ms: 181270\n  end_ms: 184430\n- text: Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n  start_ms: 184430\n  end_ms: 187060\n- text: Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n  start_ms: 187060\n  end_ms: 189760\n- text: Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n  start_ms: 189760\n  end_ms: 192410\n- text: Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n  start_ms: 192410\n  end_ms: 195390\n- text: When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n  start_ms: 195390\n  end_ms: 198430\n- text: Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n  start_ms: 198430\n  end_ms: 201320\n- text: Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n  start_ms: 201320\n  end_ms: 203770\n- text: In hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\n  start_ms: 203770\n  end_ms: 206720\n- text: Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n  start_ms: 206720\n  end_ms: 209430\n- text: Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n  start_ms: 209430\n  end_ms: 211940\n- text: God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n  start_ms: 211940\n  end_ms: 215030\n- text: Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\n  start_ms: 215030\n  end_ms: 218290\n- text: Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n  start_ms: 218290\n  end_ms: 221490\n- text: With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n  start_ms: 221490\n  end_ms: 225290\n- text: Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n  start_ms: 225290\n  end_ms: 229360\n- text: We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n  start_ms: 229360\n  end_ms: 232360\n- text: Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n  start_ms: 232360\n  end_ms: 235630\n- text: Tired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\n  start_ms: 235630\n  end_ms: 238440\n- text: Town is of death, no time for weakness\n  start_ms: 238440\n  end_ms: 240940\n- text: Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n  start_ms: 240940\n  end_ms: 247820\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 247820\nplain: |-\n  It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n  I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n  I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n  Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n  Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n  See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n  Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n  You only been involved in domestic violence\n  Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n  Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n  The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n  It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n  Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n  Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n  Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n  For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n  I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n  Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n  And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n  Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n  Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n  Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n  Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n  Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n  Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n  Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n  Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n  Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n  To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n  Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n  Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n  The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n  Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n  Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n  Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n  I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n  This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n  Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n  Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n  Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n  Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n  Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n  Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n  The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n  For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n  To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n  Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n  Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n  Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n  I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n  Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n  Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n  Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n  Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n  Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n  Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n  Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n  When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n  Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n  Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n  In hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\n  Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n  Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n  God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n  Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\n  Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n  With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n  Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n  We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n  Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n  Tired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\n  Town is of death, no time for weakness\n  Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n"},{"id":39256100,"name":"Think Differently","trackName":"Think Differently","artistName":"Casual, Roc Marciano, Vordul Mega & Tragedy Khadafi","albumName":"Think Differently Music∶ Wu-Tang Meets the Indie Culture","duration":273.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\nI'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\nI live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\nRide on top of the car, they crush they rocks\nNiggas hop my fence, to run from cops\nSee I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\nKeep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\nYou only been involved in domestic violence\nNigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\nCatch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\nThe microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\nIt's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\nWhere the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\nNobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\nDolo, with more dough to blow though\nFor sure though, slide one deep in a four door\nI'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\nBump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\nAnd the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\nWas written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\nStreets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\nNever flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\nMusical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\nSpit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\nCalm stop, warlock like David Geffen\nBlowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\nSeen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\nTwo gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\nTo the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\nQueens Messiah, camouflage black attire\nMagnum opus, top five, dead or alive\nThe feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\nMossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\nThen I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\nRolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\nI praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\nThis is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\nPoverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\nBlind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\nNiggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\nBenches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\nLeather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\nGats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\nThe epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\nFor seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\nTo he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\nBig hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\nSwitch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\nUsed to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\nI stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\nGang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\nRollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\nWord to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\nYour happy meal skills is still, no frills\nCook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\nOr rocking mills, your hospital bill\nBlood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\nWhen I lick off shots, the hostages yell\nChopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\nNinjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\nIn hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\nPolice on radar, so we stay fogged up\nPuffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\nGod Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\nOnes that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\nNine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\nWith Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\nReady to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\nWe like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\nTryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\nTired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\nTown is of death, no time for weakness\nHigher heights to reach, advance the concrete","syncedLyrics":"[00:33.81]It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n[00:37.09]I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n[00:39.71]I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n[00:42.63]Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n[00:45.47]Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n[00:48.25]See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n[00:51.12]Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n[00:53.82]You only been involved in domestic violence\n[00:56.68]Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n[00:59.69]Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n[01:02.50]The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n[01:05.03]It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n[01:08.07]Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n[01:11.06]Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n[01:13.89]Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n[01:16.72]For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n[01:19.68]I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n[01:22.38]Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n[01:25.36]And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n[01:28.03]Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n[01:30.83]Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n[01:33.24]Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n[01:36.17]Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n[01:38.95]Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n[01:42.09]Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n[01:44.58]Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n[01:47.43]Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n[01:50.46]Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n[01:53.00]To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n[01:55.97]Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n[01:58.78]Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n[02:01.61]The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n[02:04.47]Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n[02:07.50]Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n[02:10.15]Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n[02:12.94]I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n[02:16.35]This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n[02:20.07]Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n[02:22.27]Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n[02:24.64]Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n[02:27.47]Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n[02:30.47]Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n[02:32.88]Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n[02:35.83]The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n[02:38.73]For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n[02:41.68]To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n[02:44.66]Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n[02:47.32]Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n[02:50.37]Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n[02:53.02]I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n[02:56.16]Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n[02:58.70]Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n[03:01.27]Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n[03:04.43]Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n[03:07.06]Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n[03:09.76]Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n[03:12.41]Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n[03:15.39]When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n[03:18.43]Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n[03:21.32]Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n[03:23.77]In hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\n[03:26.72]Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n[03:29.43]Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n[03:31.94]God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n[03:35.03]Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\n[03:38.29]Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n[03:41.49]With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n[03:45.29]Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n[03:49.36]We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n[03:52.36]Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n[03:55.63]Tired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\n[03:58.44]Town is of death, no time for weakness\n[04:00.94]Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n[04:07.82]","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Think Differently\n  artist: Casual, Roc Marciano, Vordul Mega & Tragedy Khadafi\n  album: Think Differently Music∶ Wu-Tang Meets the Indie Culture\n  duration_ms: 273067\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n  start_ms: 33810\n  end_ms: 37090\n- text: I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n  start_ms: 37090\n  end_ms: 39710\n- text: I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n  start_ms: 39710\n  end_ms: 42630\n- text: Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n  start_ms: 42630\n  end_ms: 45470\n- text: Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n  start_ms: 45470\n  end_ms: 48250\n- text: See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n  start_ms: 48250\n  end_ms: 51120\n- text: Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n  start_ms: 51120\n  end_ms: 53820\n- text: You only been involved in domestic violence\n  start_ms: 53820\n  end_ms: 56680\n- text: Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n  start_ms: 56680\n  end_ms: 59690\n- text: Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n  start_ms: 59690\n  end_ms: 62500\n- text: The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n  start_ms: 62500\n  end_ms: 65030\n- text: It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n  start_ms: 65030\n  end_ms: 68070\n- text: Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n  start_ms: 68070\n  end_ms: 71060\n- text: Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n  start_ms: 71060\n  end_ms: 73890\n- text: Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n  start_ms: 73890\n  end_ms: 76720\n- text: For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n  start_ms: 76720\n  end_ms: 79680\n- text: I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n  start_ms: 79680\n  end_ms: 82380\n- text: Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n  start_ms: 82380\n  end_ms: 85360\n- text: And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n  start_ms: 85360\n  end_ms: 88030\n- text: Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n  start_ms: 88030\n  end_ms: 90830\n- text: Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n  start_ms: 90830\n  end_ms: 93240\n- text: Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n  start_ms: 93240\n  end_ms: 96170\n- text: Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n  start_ms: 96170\n  end_ms: 98950\n- text: Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n  start_ms: 98950\n  end_ms: 102090\n- text: Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n  start_ms: 102090\n  end_ms: 104580\n- text: Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n  start_ms: 104580\n  end_ms: 107430\n- text: Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n  start_ms: 107430\n  end_ms: 110460\n- text: Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n  start_ms: 110460\n  end_ms: 113000\n- text: To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n  start_ms: 113000\n  end_ms: 115970\n- text: Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n  start_ms: 115970\n  end_ms: 118780\n- text: Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n  start_ms: 118780\n  end_ms: 121610\n- text: The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n  start_ms: 121610\n  end_ms: 124470\n- text: Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n  start_ms: 124470\n  end_ms: 127500\n- text: Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n  start_ms: 127500\n  end_ms: 130150\n- text: Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n  start_ms: 130150\n  end_ms: 132940\n- text: I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n  start_ms: 132940\n  end_ms: 136350\n- text: This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n  start_ms: 136350\n  end_ms: 140070\n- text: Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n  start_ms: 140070\n  end_ms: 142270\n- text: Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n  start_ms: 142270\n  end_ms: 144640\n- text: Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n  start_ms: 144640\n  end_ms: 147470\n- text: Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n  start_ms: 147470\n  end_ms: 150470\n- text: Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n  start_ms: 150470\n  end_ms: 152880\n- text: Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n  start_ms: 152880\n  end_ms: 155830\n- text: The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n  start_ms: 155830\n  end_ms: 158730\n- text: For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n  start_ms: 158730\n  end_ms: 161680\n- text: To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n  start_ms: 161680\n  end_ms: 164660\n- text: Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n  start_ms: 164660\n  end_ms: 167320\n- text: Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n  start_ms: 167320\n  end_ms: 170370\n- text: Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n  start_ms: 170370\n  end_ms: 173020\n- text: I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n  start_ms: 173020\n  end_ms: 176160\n- text: Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n  start_ms: 176160\n  end_ms: 178700\n- text: Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n  start_ms: 178700\n  end_ms: 181270\n- text: Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n  start_ms: 181270\n  end_ms: 184430\n- text: Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n  start_ms: 184430\n  end_ms: 187060\n- text: Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n  start_ms: 187060\n  end_ms: 189760\n- text: Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n  start_ms: 189760\n  end_ms: 192410\n- text: Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n  start_ms: 192410\n  end_ms: 195390\n- text: When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n  start_ms: 195390\n  end_ms: 198430\n- text: Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n  start_ms: 198430\n  end_ms: 201320\n- text: Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n  start_ms: 201320\n  end_ms: 203770\n- text: In hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\n  start_ms: 203770\n  end_ms: 206720\n- text: Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n  start_ms: 206720\n  end_ms: 209430\n- text: Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n  start_ms: 209430\n  end_ms: 211940\n- text: God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n  start_ms: 211940\n  end_ms: 215030\n- text: Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\n  start_ms: 215030\n  end_ms: 218290\n- text: Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n  start_ms: 218290\n  end_ms: 221490\n- text: With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n  start_ms: 221490\n  end_ms: 225290\n- text: Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n  start_ms: 225290\n  end_ms: 229360\n- text: We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n  start_ms: 229360\n  end_ms: 232360\n- text: Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n  start_ms: 232360\n  end_ms: 235630\n- text: Tired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\n  start_ms: 235630\n  end_ms: 238440\n- text: Town is of death, no time for weakness\n  start_ms: 238440\n  end_ms: 240940\n- text: Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n  start_ms: 240940\n  end_ms: 247820\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 247820\nplain: |-\n  It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n  I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n  I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n  Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n  Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n  See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n  Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n  You only been involved in domestic violence\n  Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n  Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n  The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n  It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n  Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n  Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n  Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n  For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n  I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n  Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n  And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n  Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n  Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n  Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n  Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n  Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n  Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n  Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n  Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n  Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n  To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n  Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n  Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n  The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n  Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n  Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n  Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n  I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n  This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n  Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n  Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n  Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n  Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n  Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n  Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n  The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n  For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n  To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n  Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n  Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n  Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n  I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n  Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n  Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n  Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n  Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n  Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n  Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n  Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n  When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n  Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n  Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n  In hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\n  Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n  Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n  God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n  Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\n  Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n  With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n  Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n  We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n  Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n  Tired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\n  Town is of death, no time for weakness\n  Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n"},{"id":11768108,"name":"Think Differently","trackName":"Think Differently","artistName":"Casual, Roc Marciano, Vordul Mega","albumName":"Dreddy Kruger Presents… Think Differently Music: Wu-Tang Meets the Indie Culture","duration":273.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"It go, gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\nI'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\nI live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\nRide on top of the car, they crush they rocks\nNiggas hop my fence, to run from cops\nSee I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\nKeep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\nYou only been involved in domestic violence\nNigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\nCatch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\nThe microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\nIt's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\nWhere the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\nNobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\nDolo, with more dough to blow though\nFor sure though, slide one deep in a four door\nI'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\nBump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n\nAnd the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\nWas written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\nStreets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\nNever flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\nMusical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\nSpit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\nCalm stop, warlock like David Geffen\nBlowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\nSeen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\nTwo gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\nTo the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\nQueens Messiah, camouflage black attire\nMagnum opus, top five, dead or alive\nThe feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\nMossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\nThen I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\nRolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\nI praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\nThis is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n\nPoverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\nBlind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\nNiggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\nBenches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\nLeather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\nGats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\nThe epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\nFor seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\nTo he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\nBig hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\nSwitch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\nUsed to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\nI stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\nGang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\nRollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\nWord to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\nYour happy meal skills is still, no frills\nCook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\nOr rocking mills, your hospital bill\nBlood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\nWhen I lick off shots, the hostages yell\nChopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n\nNinjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\nIn hoods, where hammers bark and the tenants spark\nPolice on radar, so we stay fogged up\nPuffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\nGod Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\nOnes that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and nails\nNine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\nWith Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\nReady to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\nWe like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\nTryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\nTired of bleeding, where eagles let out evil\nTown is of death, no time for weakness\nHigher heights to reach, advance the concrete\nWith iron feet...","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Think Differently\n  artist: Casual, Roc Marciano, Vordul Mega\n  album: 'Dreddy Kruger Presents… Think Differently Music: Wu-Tang Meets the Indie Culture'\n  duration_ms: 273000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  It go, gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n  I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n  I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n  Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n  Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n  See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n  Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n  You only been involved in domestic violence\n  Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n  Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n  The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n  It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n  Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n  Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n  Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n  For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n  I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n  Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n\n  And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n  Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n  Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n  Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n  Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n  Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n  Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n  Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n  Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n  Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n  To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n  Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n  Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n  The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n  Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n  Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n  Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n  I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n  This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n\n  Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n  Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n  Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n  Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n  Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n  Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n  The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n  For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n  To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n  Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n  Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n  Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n  I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n  Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n  Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n  Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n  Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n  Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n  Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n  Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n  When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n  Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n\n  Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n  In hoods, where hammers bark and the tenants spark\n  Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n  Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n  God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n  Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and nails\n  Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n  With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n  Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n  We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n  Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n  Tired of bleeding, where eagles let out evil\n  Town is of death, no time for weakness\n  Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n  With iron feet...\n"},{"id":20029665,"name":"Think Differently","trackName":"Think Differently","artistName":"Casual, Rock Marciano, Vordual Mega, & Tragedy Khadafi","albumName":"Think Differently Music Presents-Wu-Tang Meets The Indie Culture","duration":273.110204,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\nI'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\nI live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\nRide on top of the car, they crush they rocks\nNiggas hop my fence, to run from cops\nSee I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\nKeep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\nYou only been involved in domestic violence\nNigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\nCatch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\nThe microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\nIt's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\nWhere the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\nNobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\nDolo, with more dough to blow though\nFor sure though, slide one deep in a four door\nI'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\nBump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\nAnd the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\nWas written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\nStreets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\nNever flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\nMusical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\nSpit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\nCalm stop, warlock like David Geffen\nBlowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\nSeen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\nTwo gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\nTo the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\nQueens Messiah, camouflage black attire\nMagnum opus, top five, dead or alive\nThe feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\nMossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\nThen I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\nRolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\nI praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\nThis is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\nPoverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\nBlind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\nNiggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\nBenches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\nLeather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\nGats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\nThe epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\nFor seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\nTo he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\nBig hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\nSwitch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\nUsed to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\nI stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\nGang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\nRollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\nWord to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\nYour happy meal skills is still, no frills\nCook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\nOr rocking mills, your hospital bill\nBlood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\nWhen I lick off shots, the hostages yell\nChopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\nNinjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\nIn hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\nPolice on radar, so we stay fogged up\nPuffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\nGod Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\nOnes that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\nNine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\nWith Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\nReady to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\nWe like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\nTryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\nTired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\nTown is of death, no time for weakness\nHigher heights to reach, advance the concrete","syncedLyrics":"[00:33.81] It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n[00:37.09] I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n[00:39.71] I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n[00:42.63] Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n[00:45.47] Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n[00:48.25] See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n[00:51.12] Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n[00:53.82] You only been involved in domestic violence\n[00:56.68] Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n[00:59.69] Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n[01:02.50] The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n[01:05.03] It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n[01:08.07] Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n[01:11.06] Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n[01:13.89] Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n[01:16.72] For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n[01:19.68] I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n[01:22.38] Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n[01:25.36] And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n[01:28.03] Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n[01:30.83] Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n[01:33.24] Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n[01:36.17] Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n[01:38.95] Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n[01:42.09] Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n[01:44.58] Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n[01:47.43] Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n[01:50.46] Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n[01:53.00] To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n[01:55.97] Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n[01:58.78] Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n[02:01.61] The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n[02:04.47] Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n[02:07.50] Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n[02:10.15] Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n[02:12.94] I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n[02:16.35] This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n[02:20.07] Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n[02:22.27] Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n[02:24.64] Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n[02:27.47] Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n[02:30.47] Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n[02:32.88] Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n[02:35.83] The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n[02:38.73] For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n[02:41.68] To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n[02:44.66] Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n[02:47.32] Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n[02:50.37] Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n[02:53.02] I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n[02:56.16] Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n[02:58.70] Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n[03:01.27] Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n[03:04.43] Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n[03:07.06] Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n[03:09.76] Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n[03:12.41] Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n[03:15.39] When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n[03:18.43] Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n[03:21.32] Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n[03:23.77] In hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\n[03:26.72] Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n[03:29.43] Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n[03:31.94] God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n[03:35.03] Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\n[03:38.29] Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n[03:41.49] With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n[03:45.29] Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n[03:49.36] We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n[03:52.36] Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n[03:55.63] Tired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\n[03:58.44] Town is of death, no time for weakness\n[04:00.94] Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n[04:07.82] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Think Differently\n  artist: Casual, Rock Marciano, Vordual Mega, & Tragedy Khadafi\n  album: Think Differently Music Presents-Wu-Tang Meets The Indie Culture\n  duration_ms: 273110\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n  start_ms: 33810\n  end_ms: 37090\n- text: I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n  start_ms: 37090\n  end_ms: 39710\n- text: I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n  start_ms: 39710\n  end_ms: 42630\n- text: Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n  start_ms: 42630\n  end_ms: 45470\n- text: Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n  start_ms: 45470\n  end_ms: 48250\n- text: See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n  start_ms: 48250\n  end_ms: 51120\n- text: Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n  start_ms: 51120\n  end_ms: 53820\n- text: You only been involved in domestic violence\n  start_ms: 53820\n  end_ms: 56680\n- text: Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n  start_ms: 56680\n  end_ms: 59690\n- text: Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n  start_ms: 59690\n  end_ms: 62500\n- text: The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n  start_ms: 62500\n  end_ms: 65030\n- text: It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n  start_ms: 65030\n  end_ms: 68070\n- text: Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n  start_ms: 68070\n  end_ms: 71060\n- text: Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n  start_ms: 71060\n  end_ms: 73890\n- text: Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n  start_ms: 73890\n  end_ms: 76720\n- text: For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n  start_ms: 76720\n  end_ms: 79680\n- text: I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n  start_ms: 79680\n  end_ms: 82380\n- text: Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n  start_ms: 82380\n  end_ms: 85360\n- text: And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n  start_ms: 85360\n  end_ms: 88030\n- text: Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n  start_ms: 88030\n  end_ms: 90830\n- text: Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n  start_ms: 90830\n  end_ms: 93240\n- text: Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n  start_ms: 93240\n  end_ms: 96170\n- text: Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n  start_ms: 96170\n  end_ms: 98950\n- text: Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n  start_ms: 98950\n  end_ms: 102090\n- text: Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n  start_ms: 102090\n  end_ms: 104580\n- text: Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n  start_ms: 104580\n  end_ms: 107430\n- text: Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n  start_ms: 107430\n  end_ms: 110460\n- text: Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n  start_ms: 110460\n  end_ms: 113000\n- text: To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n  start_ms: 113000\n  end_ms: 115970\n- text: Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n  start_ms: 115970\n  end_ms: 118780\n- text: Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n  start_ms: 118780\n  end_ms: 121610\n- text: The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n  start_ms: 121610\n  end_ms: 124470\n- text: Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n  start_ms: 124470\n  end_ms: 127500\n- text: Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n  start_ms: 127500\n  end_ms: 130150\n- text: Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n  start_ms: 130150\n  end_ms: 132940\n- text: I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n  start_ms: 132940\n  end_ms: 136350\n- text: This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n  start_ms: 136350\n  end_ms: 140070\n- text: Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n  start_ms: 140070\n  end_ms: 142270\n- text: Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n  start_ms: 142270\n  end_ms: 144640\n- text: Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n  start_ms: 144640\n  end_ms: 147470\n- text: Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n  start_ms: 147470\n  end_ms: 150470\n- text: Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n  start_ms: 150470\n  end_ms: 152880\n- text: Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n  start_ms: 152880\n  end_ms: 155830\n- text: The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n  start_ms: 155830\n  end_ms: 158730\n- text: For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n  start_ms: 158730\n  end_ms: 161680\n- text: To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n  start_ms: 161680\n  end_ms: 164660\n- text: Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n  start_ms: 164660\n  end_ms: 167320\n- text: Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n  start_ms: 167320\n  end_ms: 170370\n- text: Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n  start_ms: 170370\n  end_ms: 173020\n- text: I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n  start_ms: 173020\n  end_ms: 176160\n- text: Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n  start_ms: 176160\n  end_ms: 178700\n- text: Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n  start_ms: 178700\n  end_ms: 181270\n- text: Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n  start_ms: 181270\n  end_ms: 184430\n- text: Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n  start_ms: 184430\n  end_ms: 187060\n- text: Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n  start_ms: 187060\n  end_ms: 189760\n- text: Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n  start_ms: 189760\n  end_ms: 192410\n- text: Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n  start_ms: 192410\n  end_ms: 195390\n- text: When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n  start_ms: 195390\n  end_ms: 198430\n- text: Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n  start_ms: 198430\n  end_ms: 201320\n- text: Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n  start_ms: 201320\n  end_ms: 203770\n- text: In hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\n  start_ms: 203770\n  end_ms: 206720\n- text: Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n  start_ms: 206720\n  end_ms: 209430\n- text: Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n  start_ms: 209430\n  end_ms: 211940\n- text: God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n  start_ms: 211940\n  end_ms: 215030\n- text: Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\n  start_ms: 215030\n  end_ms: 218290\n- text: Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n  start_ms: 218290\n  end_ms: 221490\n- text: With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n  start_ms: 221490\n  end_ms: 225290\n- text: Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n  start_ms: 225290\n  end_ms: 229360\n- text: We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n  start_ms: 229360\n  end_ms: 232360\n- text: Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n  start_ms: 232360\n  end_ms: 235630\n- text: Tired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\n  start_ms: 235630\n  end_ms: 238440\n- text: Town is of death, no time for weakness\n  start_ms: 238440\n  end_ms: 240940\n- text: Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n  start_ms: 240940\n  end_ms: 247820\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 247820\nplain: |-\n  It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n  I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n  I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n  Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n  Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n  See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n  Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n  You only been involved in domestic violence\n  Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n  Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n  The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n  It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n  Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n  Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n  Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n  For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n  I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n  Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n  And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n  Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n  Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n  Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n  Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n  Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n  Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n  Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n  Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n  Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n  To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n  Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n  Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n  The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n  Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n  Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n  Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n  I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n  This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n  Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n  Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n  Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n  Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n  Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n  Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n  The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n  For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n  To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n  Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n  Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n  Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n  I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n  Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n  Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n  Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n  Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n  Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n  Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n  Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n  When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n  Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n  Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n  In hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\n  Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n  Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n  God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n  Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\n  Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n  With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n  Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n  We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n  Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n  Tired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\n  Town is of death, no time for weakness\n  Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n"},{"id":19292001,"name":"Think Differently","trackName":"Think Differently","artistName":"Casual, Rock Marciano, Vordul Mega, & Tragedy Khadafi","albumName":"Dreddy Kruger Presents...Think Differently Music - Wu-Tang Meets The Indie Culture","duration":273.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\nI'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\nI live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\nRide on top of the car, they crush they rocks\nNiggas hop my fence, to run from cops\nSee I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\nKeep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\nYou only been involved in domestic violence\nNigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\nCatch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\nThe microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\nIt's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\nWhere the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\nNobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\nDolo, with more dough to blow though\nFor sure though, slide one deep in a four door\nI'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\nBump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\nAnd the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\nWas written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\nStreets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\nNever flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\nMusical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\nSpit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\nCalm stop, warlock like David Geffen\nBlowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\nSeen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\nTwo gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\nTo the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\nQueens Messiah, camouflage black attire\nMagnum opus, top five, dead or alive\nThe feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\nMossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\nThen I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\nRolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\nI praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\nThis is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\nPoverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\nBlind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\nNiggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\nBenches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\nLeather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\nGats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\nThe epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\nFor seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\nTo he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\nBig hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\nSwitch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\nUsed to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\nI stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\nGang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\nRollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\nWord to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\nYour happy meal skills is still, no frills\nCook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\nOr rocking mills, your hospital bill\nBlood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\nWhen I lick off shots, the hostages yell\nChopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\nNinjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\nIn hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\nPolice on radar, so we stay fogged up\nPuffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\nGod Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\nOnes that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\nNine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\nWith Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\nReady to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\nWe like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\nTryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\nTired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\nTown is of death, no time for weakness\nHigher heights to reach, advance the concrete","syncedLyrics":"[00:33.81] It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n[00:37.09] I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n[00:39.71] I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n[00:42.63] Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n[00:45.47] Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n[00:48.25] See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n[00:51.12] Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n[00:53.82] You only been involved in domestic violence\n[00:56.68] Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n[00:59.69] Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n[01:02.50] The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n[01:05.03] It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n[01:08.07] Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n[01:11.06] Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n[01:13.89] Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n[01:16.72] For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n[01:19.68] I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n[01:22.38] Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n[01:25.36] And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n[01:28.03] Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n[01:30.83] Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n[01:33.24] Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n[01:36.17] Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n[01:38.95] Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n[01:42.09] Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n[01:44.58] Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n[01:47.43] Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n[01:50.46] Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n[01:53.00] To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n[01:55.97] Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n[01:58.78] Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n[02:01.61] The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n[02:04.47] Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n[02:07.50] Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n[02:10.15] Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n[02:12.94] I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n[02:16.35] This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n[02:20.07] Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n[02:22.27] Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n[02:24.64] Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n[02:27.47] Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n[02:30.47] Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n[02:32.88] Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n[02:35.83] The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n[02:38.73] For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n[02:41.68] To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n[02:44.66] Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n[02:47.32] Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n[02:50.37] Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n[02:53.02] I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n[02:56.16] Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n[02:58.70] Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n[03:01.27] Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n[03:04.43] Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n[03:07.06] Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n[03:09.76] Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n[03:12.41] Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n[03:15.39] When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n[03:18.43] Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n[03:21.32] Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n[03:23.77] In hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\n[03:26.72] Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n[03:29.43] Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n[03:31.94] God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n[03:35.03] Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\n[03:38.29] Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n[03:41.49] With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n[03:45.29] Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n[03:49.36] We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n[03:52.36] Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n[03:55.63] Tired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\n[03:58.44] Town is of death, no time for weakness\n[04:00.94] Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n[04:07.82] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Think Differently\n  artist: Casual, Rock Marciano, Vordul Mega, & Tragedy Khadafi\n  album: Dreddy Kruger Presents...Think Differently Music - Wu-Tang Meets The Indie Culture\n  duration_ms: 273000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n  start_ms: 33810\n  end_ms: 37090\n- text: I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n  start_ms: 37090\n  end_ms: 39710\n- text: I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n  start_ms: 39710\n  end_ms: 42630\n- text: Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n  start_ms: 42630\n  end_ms: 45470\n- text: Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n  start_ms: 45470\n  end_ms: 48250\n- text: See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n  start_ms: 48250\n  end_ms: 51120\n- text: Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n  start_ms: 51120\n  end_ms: 53820\n- text: You only been involved in domestic violence\n  start_ms: 53820\n  end_ms: 56680\n- text: Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n  start_ms: 56680\n  end_ms: 59690\n- text: Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n  start_ms: 59690\n  end_ms: 62500\n- text: The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n  start_ms: 62500\n  end_ms: 65030\n- text: It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n  start_ms: 65030\n  end_ms: 68070\n- text: Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n  start_ms: 68070\n  end_ms: 71060\n- text: Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n  start_ms: 71060\n  end_ms: 73890\n- text: Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n  start_ms: 73890\n  end_ms: 76720\n- text: For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n  start_ms: 76720\n  end_ms: 79680\n- text: I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n  start_ms: 79680\n  end_ms: 82380\n- text: Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n  start_ms: 82380\n  end_ms: 85360\n- text: And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n  start_ms: 85360\n  end_ms: 88030\n- text: Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n  start_ms: 88030\n  end_ms: 90830\n- text: Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n  start_ms: 90830\n  end_ms: 93240\n- text: Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n  start_ms: 93240\n  end_ms: 96170\n- text: Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n  start_ms: 96170\n  end_ms: 98950\n- text: Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n  start_ms: 98950\n  end_ms: 102090\n- text: Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n  start_ms: 102090\n  end_ms: 104580\n- text: Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n  start_ms: 104580\n  end_ms: 107430\n- text: Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n  start_ms: 107430\n  end_ms: 110460\n- text: Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n  start_ms: 110460\n  end_ms: 113000\n- text: To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n  start_ms: 113000\n  end_ms: 115970\n- text: Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n  start_ms: 115970\n  end_ms: 118780\n- text: Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n  start_ms: 118780\n  end_ms: 121610\n- text: The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n  start_ms: 121610\n  end_ms: 124470\n- text: Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n  start_ms: 124470\n  end_ms: 127500\n- text: Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n  start_ms: 127500\n  end_ms: 130150\n- text: Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n  start_ms: 130150\n  end_ms: 132940\n- text: I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n  start_ms: 132940\n  end_ms: 136350\n- text: This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n  start_ms: 136350\n  end_ms: 140070\n- text: Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n  start_ms: 140070\n  end_ms: 142270\n- text: Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n  start_ms: 142270\n  end_ms: 144640\n- text: Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n  start_ms: 144640\n  end_ms: 147470\n- text: Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n  start_ms: 147470\n  end_ms: 150470\n- text: Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n  start_ms: 150470\n  end_ms: 152880\n- text: Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n  start_ms: 152880\n  end_ms: 155830\n- text: The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n  start_ms: 155830\n  end_ms: 158730\n- text: For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n  start_ms: 158730\n  end_ms: 161680\n- text: To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n  start_ms: 161680\n  end_ms: 164660\n- text: Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n  start_ms: 164660\n  end_ms: 167320\n- text: Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n  start_ms: 167320\n  end_ms: 170370\n- text: Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n  start_ms: 170370\n  end_ms: 173020\n- text: I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n  start_ms: 173020\n  end_ms: 176160\n- text: Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n  start_ms: 176160\n  end_ms: 178700\n- text: Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n  start_ms: 178700\n  end_ms: 181270\n- text: Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n  start_ms: 181270\n  end_ms: 184430\n- text: Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n  start_ms: 184430\n  end_ms: 187060\n- text: Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n  start_ms: 187060\n  end_ms: 189760\n- text: Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n  start_ms: 189760\n  end_ms: 192410\n- text: Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n  start_ms: 192410\n  end_ms: 195390\n- text: When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n  start_ms: 195390\n  end_ms: 198430\n- text: Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n  start_ms: 198430\n  end_ms: 201320\n- text: Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n  start_ms: 201320\n  end_ms: 203770\n- text: In hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\n  start_ms: 203770\n  end_ms: 206720\n- text: Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n  start_ms: 206720\n  end_ms: 209430\n- text: Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n  start_ms: 209430\n  end_ms: 211940\n- text: God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n  start_ms: 211940\n  end_ms: 215030\n- text: Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\n  start_ms: 215030\n  end_ms: 218290\n- text: Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n  start_ms: 218290\n  end_ms: 221490\n- text: With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n  start_ms: 221490\n  end_ms: 225290\n- text: Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n  start_ms: 225290\n  end_ms: 229360\n- text: We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n  start_ms: 229360\n  end_ms: 232360\n- text: Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n  start_ms: 232360\n  end_ms: 235630\n- text: Tired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\n  start_ms: 235630\n  end_ms: 238440\n- text: Town is of death, no time for weakness\n  start_ms: 238440\n  end_ms: 240940\n- text: Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n  start_ms: 240940\n  end_ms: 247820\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 247820\nplain: |-\n  It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n  I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n  I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n  Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n  Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n  See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n  Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n  You only been involved in domestic violence\n  Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n  Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n  The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n  It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n  Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n  Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n  Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n  For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n  I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n  Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n  And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n  Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n  Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n  Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n  Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n  Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n  Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n  Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n  Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n  Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n  To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n  Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n  Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n  The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n  Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n  Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n  Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n  I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n  This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n  Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n  Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n  Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n  Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n  Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n  Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n  The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n  For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n  To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n  Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n  Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n  Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n  I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n  Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n  Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n  Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n  Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n  Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n  Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n  Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n  When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n  Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n  Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n  In hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\n  Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n  Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n  God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n  Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\n  Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n  With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n  Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n  We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n  Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n  Tired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\n  Town is of death, no time for weakness\n  Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n"},{"id":24572031,"name":"Think Differently","trackName":"Think Differently","artistName":"Casual, Rock Marciano, Vordul Mega & Tragedy Khadafi","albumName":"Dreddy Kruger Presents… Think Differently Music: Wu-Tang Meets the Indie Culture","duration":273.066667,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\nI'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\nI live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\nRide on top of the car, they crush they rocks\nNiggas hop my fence, to run from cops\nSee I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\nKeep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\nYou only been involved in domestic violence\nNigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\nCatch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\nThe microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\nIt's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\nWhere the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\nNobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\nDolo, with more dough to blow though\nFor sure though, slide one deep in a four door\nI'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\nBump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\nAnd the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\nWas written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\nStreets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\nNever flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\nMusical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\nSpit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\nCalm stop, warlock like David Geffen\nBlowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\nSeen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\nTwo gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\nTo the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\nQueens Messiah, camouflage black attire\nMagnum opus, top five, dead or alive\nThe feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\nMossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\nThen I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\nRolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\nI praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\nThis is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\nPoverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\nBlind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\nNiggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\nBenches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\nLeather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\nGats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\nThe epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\nFor seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\nTo he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\nBig hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\nSwitch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\nUsed to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\nI stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\nGang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\nRollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\nWord to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\nYour happy meal skills is still, no frills\nCook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\nOr rocking mills, your hospital bill\nBlood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\nWhen I lick off shots, the hostages yell\nChopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\nNinjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\nIn hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\nPolice on radar, so we stay fogged up\nPuffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\nGod Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\nOnes that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\nNine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\nWith Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\nReady to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\nWe like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\nTryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\nTired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\nTown is of death, no time for weakness\nHigher heights to reach, advance the concrete","syncedLyrics":"[00:33.81] It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n[00:37.09] I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n[00:39.71] I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n[00:42.63] Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n[00:45.47] Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n[00:48.25] See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n[00:51.12] Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n[00:53.82] You only been involved in domestic violence\n[00:56.68] Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n[00:59.69] Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n[01:02.50] The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n[01:05.03] It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n[01:08.07] Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n[01:11.06] Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n[01:13.89] Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n[01:16.72] For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n[01:19.68] I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n[01:22.38] Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n[01:25.36] And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n[01:28.03] Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n[01:30.83] Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n[01:33.24] Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n[01:36.17] Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n[01:38.95] Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n[01:42.09] Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n[01:44.58] Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n[01:47.43] Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n[01:50.46] Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n[01:53.00] To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n[01:55.97] Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n[01:58.78] Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n[02:01.61] The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n[02:04.47] Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n[02:07.50] Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n[02:10.15] Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n[02:12.94] I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n[02:16.35] This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n[02:20.07] Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n[02:22.27] Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n[02:24.64] Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n[02:27.47] Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n[02:30.47] Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n[02:32.88] Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n[02:35.83] The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n[02:38.73] For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n[02:41.68] To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n[02:44.66] Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n[02:47.32] Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n[02:50.37] Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n[02:53.02] I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n[02:56.16] Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n[02:58.70] Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n[03:01.27] Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n[03:04.43] Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n[03:07.06] Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n[03:09.76] Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n[03:12.41] Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n[03:15.39] When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n[03:18.43] Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n[03:21.32] Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n[03:23.77] In hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\n[03:26.72] Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n[03:29.43] Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n[03:31.94] God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n[03:35.03] Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\n[03:38.29] Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n[03:41.49] With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n[03:45.29] Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n[03:49.36] We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n[03:52.36] Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n[03:55.63] Tired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\n[03:58.44] Town is of death, no time for weakness\n[04:00.94] Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n[04:07.82] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Think Differently\n  artist: Casual, Rock Marciano, Vordul Mega & Tragedy Khadafi\n  album: 'Dreddy Kruger Presents… Think Differently Music: Wu-Tang Meets the Indie Culture'\n  duration_ms: 273067\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n  start_ms: 33810\n  end_ms: 37090\n- text: I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n  start_ms: 37090\n  end_ms: 39710\n- text: I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n  start_ms: 39710\n  end_ms: 42630\n- text: Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n  start_ms: 42630\n  end_ms: 45470\n- text: Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n  start_ms: 45470\n  end_ms: 48250\n- text: See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n  start_ms: 48250\n  end_ms: 51120\n- text: Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n  start_ms: 51120\n  end_ms: 53820\n- text: You only been involved in domestic violence\n  start_ms: 53820\n  end_ms: 56680\n- text: Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n  start_ms: 56680\n  end_ms: 59690\n- text: Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n  start_ms: 59690\n  end_ms: 62500\n- text: The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n  start_ms: 62500\n  end_ms: 65030\n- text: It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n  start_ms: 65030\n  end_ms: 68070\n- text: Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n  start_ms: 68070\n  end_ms: 71060\n- text: Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n  start_ms: 71060\n  end_ms: 73890\n- text: Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n  start_ms: 73890\n  end_ms: 76720\n- text: For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n  start_ms: 76720\n  end_ms: 79680\n- text: I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n  start_ms: 79680\n  end_ms: 82380\n- text: Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n  start_ms: 82380\n  end_ms: 85360\n- text: And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n  start_ms: 85360\n  end_ms: 88030\n- text: Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n  start_ms: 88030\n  end_ms: 90830\n- text: Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n  start_ms: 90830\n  end_ms: 93240\n- text: Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n  start_ms: 93240\n  end_ms: 96170\n- text: Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n  start_ms: 96170\n  end_ms: 98950\n- text: Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n  start_ms: 98950\n  end_ms: 102090\n- text: Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n  start_ms: 102090\n  end_ms: 104580\n- text: Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n  start_ms: 104580\n  end_ms: 107430\n- text: Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n  start_ms: 107430\n  end_ms: 110460\n- text: Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n  start_ms: 110460\n  end_ms: 113000\n- text: To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n  start_ms: 113000\n  end_ms: 115970\n- text: Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n  start_ms: 115970\n  end_ms: 118780\n- text: Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n  start_ms: 118780\n  end_ms: 121610\n- text: The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n  start_ms: 121610\n  end_ms: 124470\n- text: Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n  start_ms: 124470\n  end_ms: 127500\n- text: Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n  start_ms: 127500\n  end_ms: 130150\n- text: Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n  start_ms: 130150\n  end_ms: 132940\n- text: I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n  start_ms: 132940\n  end_ms: 136350\n- text: This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n  start_ms: 136350\n  end_ms: 140070\n- text: Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n  start_ms: 140070\n  end_ms: 142270\n- text: Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n  start_ms: 142270\n  end_ms: 144640\n- text: Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n  start_ms: 144640\n  end_ms: 147470\n- text: Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n  start_ms: 147470\n  end_ms: 150470\n- text: Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n  start_ms: 150470\n  end_ms: 152880\n- text: Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n  start_ms: 152880\n  end_ms: 155830\n- text: The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n  start_ms: 155830\n  end_ms: 158730\n- text: For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n  start_ms: 158730\n  end_ms: 161680\n- text: To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n  start_ms: 161680\n  end_ms: 164660\n- text: Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n  start_ms: 164660\n  end_ms: 167320\n- text: Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n  start_ms: 167320\n  end_ms: 170370\n- text: Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n  start_ms: 170370\n  end_ms: 173020\n- text: I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n  start_ms: 173020\n  end_ms: 176160\n- text: Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n  start_ms: 176160\n  end_ms: 178700\n- text: Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n  start_ms: 178700\n  end_ms: 181270\n- text: Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n  start_ms: 181270\n  end_ms: 184430\n- text: Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n  start_ms: 184430\n  end_ms: 187060\n- text: Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n  start_ms: 187060\n  end_ms: 189760\n- text: Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n  start_ms: 189760\n  end_ms: 192410\n- text: Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n  start_ms: 192410\n  end_ms: 195390\n- text: When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n  start_ms: 195390\n  end_ms: 198430\n- text: Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n  start_ms: 198430\n  end_ms: 201320\n- text: Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n  start_ms: 201320\n  end_ms: 203770\n- text: In hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\n  start_ms: 203770\n  end_ms: 206720\n- text: Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n  start_ms: 206720\n  end_ms: 209430\n- text: Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n  start_ms: 209430\n  end_ms: 211940\n- text: God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n  start_ms: 211940\n  end_ms: 215030\n- text: Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\n  start_ms: 215030\n  end_ms: 218290\n- text: Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n  start_ms: 218290\n  end_ms: 221490\n- text: With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n  start_ms: 221490\n  end_ms: 225290\n- text: Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n  start_ms: 225290\n  end_ms: 229360\n- text: We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n  start_ms: 229360\n  end_ms: 232360\n- text: Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n  start_ms: 232360\n  end_ms: 235630\n- text: Tired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\n  start_ms: 235630\n  end_ms: 238440\n- text: Town is of death, no time for weakness\n  start_ms: 238440\n  end_ms: 240940\n- text: Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n  start_ms: 240940\n  end_ms: 247820\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 247820\nplain: |-\n  It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n  I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n  I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n  Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n  Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n  See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n  Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n  You only been involved in domestic violence\n  Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n  Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n  The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n  It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n  Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n  Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n  Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n  For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n  I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n  Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n  And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n  Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n  Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n  Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n  Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n  Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n  Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n  Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n  Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n  Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n  To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n  Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n  Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n  The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n  Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n  Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n  Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n  I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n  This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n  Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n  Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n  Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n  Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n  Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n  Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n  The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n  For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n  To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n  Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n  Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n  Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n  I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n  Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n  Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n  Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n  Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n  Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n  Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n  Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n  When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n  Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n  Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n  In hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\n  Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n  Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n  God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n  Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\n  Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n  With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n  Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n  We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n  Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n  Tired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\n  Town is of death, no time for weakness\n  Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n"},{"id":11768107,"name":"Think Differently","trackName":"Think Differently","artistName":"Casual, Roc Marciano, Vordul Mega & Tragedy Khadafi","albumName":"Dreddy Kruger Presents… Think Differently Music: Wu-Tang Meets the Indie Culture","duration":273.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\nI'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\nI live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\nRide on top of the car, they crush they rocks\nNiggas hop my fence, to run from cops\nSee I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\nKeep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\nYou only been involved in domestic violence\nNigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\nCatch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\nThe microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\nIt's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\nWhere the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\nNobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\nDolo, with more dough to blow though\nFor sure though, slide one deep in a four door\nI'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\nBump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\nAnd the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\nWas written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\nStreets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\nNever flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\nMusical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\nSpit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\nCalm stop, warlock like David Geffen\nBlowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\nSeen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\nTwo gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\nTo the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\nQueens Messiah, camouflage black attire\nMagnum opus, top five, dead or alive\nThe feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\nMossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\nThen I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\nRolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\nI praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\nThis is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\nPoverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\nBlind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\nNiggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\nBenches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\nLeather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\nGats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\nThe epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\nFor seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\nTo he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\nBig hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\nSwitch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\nUsed to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\nI stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\nGang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\nRollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\nWord to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\nYour happy meal skills is still, no frills\nCook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\nOr rocking mills, your hospital bill\nBlood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\nWhen I lick off shots, the hostages yell\nChopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\nNinjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\nIn hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\nPolice on radar, so we stay fogged up\nPuffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\nGod Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\nOnes that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\nNine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\nWith Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\nReady to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\nWe like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\nTryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\nTired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\nTown is of death, no time for weakness\nHigher heights to reach, advance the concrete","syncedLyrics":"[00:33.81] It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n[00:37.09] I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n[00:39.71] I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n[00:42.63] Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n[00:45.47] Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n[00:48.25] See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n[00:51.12] Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n[00:53.82] You only been involved in domestic violence\n[00:56.68] Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n[00:59.69] Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n[01:02.50] The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n[01:05.03] It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n[01:08.07] Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n[01:11.06] Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n[01:13.89] Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n[01:16.72] For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n[01:19.68] I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n[01:22.38] Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n[01:25.36] And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n[01:28.03] Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n[01:30.83] Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n[01:33.24] Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n[01:36.17] Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n[01:38.95] Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n[01:42.09] Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n[01:44.58] Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n[01:47.43] Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n[01:50.46] Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n[01:53.00] To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n[01:55.97] Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n[01:58.78] Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n[02:01.61] The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n[02:04.47] Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n[02:07.50] Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n[02:10.15] Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n[02:12.94] I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n[02:16.35] This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n[02:20.07] Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n[02:22.27] Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n[02:24.64] Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n[02:27.47] Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n[02:30.47] Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n[02:32.88] Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n[02:35.83] The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n[02:38.73] For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n[02:41.68] To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n[02:44.66] Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n[02:47.32] Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n[02:50.37] Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n[02:53.02] I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n[02:56.16] Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n[02:58.70] Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n[03:01.27] Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n[03:04.43] Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n[03:07.06] Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n[03:09.76] Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n[03:12.41] Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n[03:15.39] When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n[03:18.43] Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n[03:21.32] Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n[03:23.77] In hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\n[03:26.72] Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n[03:29.43] Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n[03:31.94] God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n[03:35.03] Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\n[03:38.29] Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n[03:41.49] With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n[03:45.29] Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n[03:49.36] We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n[03:52.36] Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n[03:55.63] Tired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\n[03:58.44] Town is of death, no time for weakness\n[04:00.94] Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n[04:07.82] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Think Differently\n  artist: Casual, Roc Marciano, Vordul Mega & Tragedy Khadafi\n  album: 'Dreddy Kruger Presents… Think Differently Music: Wu-Tang Meets the Indie Culture'\n  duration_ms: 273000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n  start_ms: 33810\n  end_ms: 37090\n- text: I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n  start_ms: 37090\n  end_ms: 39710\n- text: I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n  start_ms: 39710\n  end_ms: 42630\n- text: Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n  start_ms: 42630\n  end_ms: 45470\n- text: Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n  start_ms: 45470\n  end_ms: 48250\n- text: See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n  start_ms: 48250\n  end_ms: 51120\n- text: Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n  start_ms: 51120\n  end_ms: 53820\n- text: You only been involved in domestic violence\n  start_ms: 53820\n  end_ms: 56680\n- text: Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n  start_ms: 56680\n  end_ms: 59690\n- text: Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n  start_ms: 59690\n  end_ms: 62500\n- text: The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n  start_ms: 62500\n  end_ms: 65030\n- text: It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n  start_ms: 65030\n  end_ms: 68070\n- text: Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n  start_ms: 68070\n  end_ms: 71060\n- text: Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n  start_ms: 71060\n  end_ms: 73890\n- text: Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n  start_ms: 73890\n  end_ms: 76720\n- text: For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n  start_ms: 76720\n  end_ms: 79680\n- text: I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n  start_ms: 79680\n  end_ms: 82380\n- text: Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n  start_ms: 82380\n  end_ms: 85360\n- text: And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n  start_ms: 85360\n  end_ms: 88030\n- text: Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n  start_ms: 88030\n  end_ms: 90830\n- text: Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n  start_ms: 90830\n  end_ms: 93240\n- text: Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n  start_ms: 93240\n  end_ms: 96170\n- text: Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n  start_ms: 96170\n  end_ms: 98950\n- text: Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n  start_ms: 98950\n  end_ms: 102090\n- text: Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n  start_ms: 102090\n  end_ms: 104580\n- text: Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n  start_ms: 104580\n  end_ms: 107430\n- text: Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n  start_ms: 107430\n  end_ms: 110460\n- text: Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n  start_ms: 110460\n  end_ms: 113000\n- text: To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n  start_ms: 113000\n  end_ms: 115970\n- text: Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n  start_ms: 115970\n  end_ms: 118780\n- text: Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n  start_ms: 118780\n  end_ms: 121610\n- text: The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n  start_ms: 121610\n  end_ms: 124470\n- text: Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n  start_ms: 124470\n  end_ms: 127500\n- text: Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n  start_ms: 127500\n  end_ms: 130150\n- text: Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n  start_ms: 130150\n  end_ms: 132940\n- text: I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n  start_ms: 132940\n  end_ms: 136350\n- text: This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n  start_ms: 136350\n  end_ms: 140070\n- text: Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n  start_ms: 140070\n  end_ms: 142270\n- text: Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n  start_ms: 142270\n  end_ms: 144640\n- text: Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n  start_ms: 144640\n  end_ms: 147470\n- text: Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n  start_ms: 147470\n  end_ms: 150470\n- text: Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n  start_ms: 150470\n  end_ms: 152880\n- text: Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n  start_ms: 152880\n  end_ms: 155830\n- text: The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n  start_ms: 155830\n  end_ms: 158730\n- text: For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n  start_ms: 158730\n  end_ms: 161680\n- text: To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n  start_ms: 161680\n  end_ms: 164660\n- text: Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n  start_ms: 164660\n  end_ms: 167320\n- text: Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n  start_ms: 167320\n  end_ms: 170370\n- text: Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n  start_ms: 170370\n  end_ms: 173020\n- text: I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n  start_ms: 173020\n  end_ms: 176160\n- text: Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n  start_ms: 176160\n  end_ms: 178700\n- text: Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n  start_ms: 178700\n  end_ms: 181270\n- text: Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n  start_ms: 181270\n  end_ms: 184430\n- text: Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n  start_ms: 184430\n  end_ms: 187060\n- text: Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n  start_ms: 187060\n  end_ms: 189760\n- text: Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n  start_ms: 189760\n  end_ms: 192410\n- text: Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n  start_ms: 192410\n  end_ms: 195390\n- text: When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n  start_ms: 195390\n  end_ms: 198430\n- text: Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n  start_ms: 198430\n  end_ms: 201320\n- text: Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n  start_ms: 201320\n  end_ms: 203770\n- text: In hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\n  start_ms: 203770\n  end_ms: 206720\n- text: Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n  start_ms: 206720\n  end_ms: 209430\n- text: Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n  start_ms: 209430\n  end_ms: 211940\n- text: God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n  start_ms: 211940\n  end_ms: 215030\n- text: Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\n  start_ms: 215030\n  end_ms: 218290\n- text: Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n  start_ms: 218290\n  end_ms: 221490\n- text: With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n  start_ms: 221490\n  end_ms: 225290\n- text: Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n  start_ms: 225290\n  end_ms: 229360\n- text: We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n  start_ms: 229360\n  end_ms: 232360\n- text: Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n  start_ms: 232360\n  end_ms: 235630\n- text: Tired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\n  start_ms: 235630\n  end_ms: 238440\n- text: Town is of death, no time for weakness\n  start_ms: 238440\n  end_ms: 240940\n- text: Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n  start_ms: 240940\n  end_ms: 247820\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 247820\nplain: |-\n  It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n  I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n  I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n  Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n  Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n  See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n  Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n  You only been involved in domestic violence\n  Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n  Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n  The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n  It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n  Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n  Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n  Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n  For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n  I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n  Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n  And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n  Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n  Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n  Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n  Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n  Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n  Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n  Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n  Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n  Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n  To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n  Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n  Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n  The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n  Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n  Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n  Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n  I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n  This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n  Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n  Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n  Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n  Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n  Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n  Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n  The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n  For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n  To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n  Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n  Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n  Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n  I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n  Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n  Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n  Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n  Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n  Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n  Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n  Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n  When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n  Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n  Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n  In hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\n  Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n  Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n  God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n  Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\n  Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n  With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n  Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n  We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n  Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n  Tired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\n  Town is of death, no time for weakness\n  Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n"},{"id":11768112,"name":"Think Differently","trackName":"Think Differently","artistName":"Casual, Marciano, Roc, Vordul Mega & Tragedy Khadafi","albumName":"Dreddy Kruger Presents… Think Differently Music: Wu-Tang Meets the Indie Culture","duration":273.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"It go, gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\nI'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\nI live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\nRide on top of the car, they crush they rocks\nNiggas hop my fence, to run from cops\nSee I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\nKeep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\nYou only been involved in domestic violence\nNigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\nCatch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\nThe microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\nIt's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\nWhere the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\nNobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\nDolo, with more dough to blow though\nFor sure though, slide one deep in a four door\nI'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\nBump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n\nAnd the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\nWas written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\nStreets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\nNever flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\nMusical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\nSpit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\nCalm stop, warlock like David Geffen\nBlowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\nSeen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\nTwo gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\nTo the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\nQueens Messiah, camouflage black attire\nMagnum opus, top five, dead or alive\nThe feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\nMossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\nThen I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\nRolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\nI praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\nThis is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n\nPoverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\nBlind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\nNiggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\nBenches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\nLeather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\nGats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\nThe epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\nFor seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\nTo he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\nBig hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\nSwitch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\nUsed to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\nI stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\nGang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\nRollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\nWord to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\nYour happy meal skills is still, no frills\nCook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\nOr rocking mills, your hospital bill\nBlood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\nWhen I lick off shots, the hostages yell\nChopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n\nNinjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\nIn hoods, where hammers bark and the tenants spark\nPolice on radar, so we stay fogged up\nPuffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\nGod Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\nOnes that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and nails\nNine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\nWith Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\nReady to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\nWe like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\nTryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\nTired of bleeding, where eagles let out evil\nTown is of death, no time for weakness\nHigher heights to reach, advance the concrete\nWith iron feet...","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Think Differently\n  artist: Casual, Marciano, Roc, Vordul Mega & Tragedy Khadafi\n  album: 'Dreddy Kruger Presents… Think Differently Music: Wu-Tang Meets the Indie Culture'\n  duration_ms: 273000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  It go, gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n  I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n  I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n  Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n  Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n  See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n  Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n  You only been involved in domestic violence\n  Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n  Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n  The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n  It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n  Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n  Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n  Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n  For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n  I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n  Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n\n  And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n  Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n  Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n  Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n  Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n  Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n  Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n  Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n  Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n  Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n  To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n  Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n  Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n  The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n  Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n  Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n  Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n  I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n  This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n\n  Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n  Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n  Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n  Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n  Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n  Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n  The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n  For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n  To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n  Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n  Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n  Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n  I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n  Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n  Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n  Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n  Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n  Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n  Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n  Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n  When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n  Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n\n  Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n  In hoods, where hammers bark and the tenants spark\n  Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n  Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n  God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n  Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and nails\n  Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n  With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n  Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n  We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n  Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n  Tired of bleeding, where eagles let out evil\n  Town is of death, no time for weakness\n  Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n  With iron feet...\n"},{"id":31833269,"name":"Think Differently (feat. Rock Marciano, Vordul Mega & Tragedy Khadafi)","trackName":"Think Differently (feat. Rock Marciano, Vordul Mega & Tragedy Khadafi)","artistName":"Casual","albumName":"Think Differently Music: Wu-Tang Meets The Indie Culture","duration":273.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\nI'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\nI live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\nRide on top of the car, they crush they rocks\nNiggas hop my fence, to run from cops\nSee I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\nKeep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\nYou only been involved in domestic violence\nNigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\nCatch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\nThe microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\nIt's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\nWhere the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\nNobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\nDolo, with more dough to blow though\nFor sure though, slide one deep in a four door\nI'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\nBump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\nAnd the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\nWas written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\nStreets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\nNever flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\nMusical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\nSpit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\nCalm stop, warlock like David Geffen\nBlowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\nSeen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\nTwo gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\nTo the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\nQueens Messiah, camouflage black attire\nMagnum opus, top five, dead or alive\nThe feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\nMossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\nThen I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\nRolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\nI praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\nThis is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\nPoverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\nBlind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\nNiggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\nBenches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\nLeather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\nGats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\nThe epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\nFor seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\nTo he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\nBig hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\nSwitch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\nUsed to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\nI stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\nGang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\nRollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\nWord to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\nYour happy meal skills is still, no frills\nCook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\nOr rocking mills, your hospital bill\nBlood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\nWhen I lick off shots, the hostages yell\nChopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\nNinjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\nIn hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\nPolice on radar, so we stay fogged up\nPuffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\nGod Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\nOnes that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\nNine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\nWith Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\nReady to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\nWe like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\nTryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\nTired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\nTown is of death, no time for weakness\nHigher heights to reach, advance the concrete","syncedLyrics":"[00:33.81] It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n[00:37.09] I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n[00:39.71] I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n[00:42.63] Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n[00:45.47] Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n[00:48.25] See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n[00:51.12] Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n[00:53.82] You only been involved in domestic violence\n[00:56.68] Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n[00:59.69] Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n[01:02.50] The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n[01:05.03] It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n[01:08.07] Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n[01:11.06] Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n[01:13.89] Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n[01:16.72] For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n[01:19.68] I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n[01:22.38] Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n[01:25.36] And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n[01:28.03] Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n[01:30.83] Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n[01:33.24] Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n[01:36.17] Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n[01:38.95] Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n[01:42.09] Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n[01:44.58] Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n[01:47.43] Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n[01:50.46] Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n[01:53.00] To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n[01:55.97] Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n[01:58.78] Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n[02:01.61] The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n[02:04.47] Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n[02:07.50] Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n[02:10.15] Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n[02:12.94] I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n[02:16.35] This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n[02:20.07] Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n[02:22.27] Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n[02:24.64] Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n[02:27.47] Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n[02:30.47] Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n[02:32.88] Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n[02:35.83] The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n[02:38.73] For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n[02:41.68] To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n[02:44.66] Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n[02:47.32] Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n[02:50.37] Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n[02:53.02] I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n[02:56.16] Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n[02:58.70] Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n[03:01.27] Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n[03:04.43] Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n[03:07.06] Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n[03:09.76] Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n[03:12.41] Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n[03:15.39] When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n[03:18.43] Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n[03:21.32] Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n[03:23.77] In hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\n[03:26.72] Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n[03:29.43] Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n[03:31.94] God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n[03:35.03] Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\n[03:38.29] Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n[03:41.49] With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n[03:45.29] Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n[03:49.36] We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n[03:52.36] Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n[03:55.63] Tired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\n[03:58.44] Town is of death, no time for weakness\n[04:00.94] Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n[04:07.82] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Think Differently (feat. Rock Marciano, Vordul Mega & Tragedy Khadafi)\n  artist: Casual\n  album: 'Think Differently Music: Wu-Tang Meets The Indie Culture'\n  duration_ms: 273000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n  start_ms: 33810\n  end_ms: 37090\n- text: I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n  start_ms: 37090\n  end_ms: 39710\n- text: I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n  start_ms: 39710\n  end_ms: 42630\n- text: Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n  start_ms: 42630\n  end_ms: 45470\n- text: Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n  start_ms: 45470\n  end_ms: 48250\n- text: See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n  start_ms: 48250\n  end_ms: 51120\n- text: Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n  start_ms: 51120\n  end_ms: 53820\n- text: You only been involved in domestic violence\n  start_ms: 53820\n  end_ms: 56680\n- text: Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n  start_ms: 56680\n  end_ms: 59690\n- text: Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n  start_ms: 59690\n  end_ms: 62500\n- text: The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n  start_ms: 62500\n  end_ms: 65030\n- text: It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n  start_ms: 65030\n  end_ms: 68070\n- text: Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n  start_ms: 68070\n  end_ms: 71060\n- text: Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n  start_ms: 71060\n  end_ms: 73890\n- text: Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n  start_ms: 73890\n  end_ms: 76720\n- text: For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n  start_ms: 76720\n  end_ms: 79680\n- text: I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n  start_ms: 79680\n  end_ms: 82380\n- text: Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n  start_ms: 82380\n  end_ms: 85360\n- text: And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n  start_ms: 85360\n  end_ms: 88030\n- text: Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n  start_ms: 88030\n  end_ms: 90830\n- text: Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n  start_ms: 90830\n  end_ms: 93240\n- text: Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n  start_ms: 93240\n  end_ms: 96170\n- text: Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n  start_ms: 96170\n  end_ms: 98950\n- text: Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n  start_ms: 98950\n  end_ms: 102090\n- text: Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n  start_ms: 102090\n  end_ms: 104580\n- text: Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n  start_ms: 104580\n  end_ms: 107430\n- text: Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n  start_ms: 107430\n  end_ms: 110460\n- text: Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n  start_ms: 110460\n  end_ms: 113000\n- text: To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n  start_ms: 113000\n  end_ms: 115970\n- text: Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n  start_ms: 115970\n  end_ms: 118780\n- text: Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n  start_ms: 118780\n  end_ms: 121610\n- text: The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n  start_ms: 121610\n  end_ms: 124470\n- text: Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n  start_ms: 124470\n  end_ms: 127500\n- text: Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n  start_ms: 127500\n  end_ms: 130150\n- text: Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n  start_ms: 130150\n  end_ms: 132940\n- text: I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n  start_ms: 132940\n  end_ms: 136350\n- text: This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n  start_ms: 136350\n  end_ms: 140070\n- text: Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n  start_ms: 140070\n  end_ms: 142270\n- text: Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n  start_ms: 142270\n  end_ms: 144640\n- text: Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n  start_ms: 144640\n  end_ms: 147470\n- text: Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n  start_ms: 147470\n  end_ms: 150470\n- text: Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n  start_ms: 150470\n  end_ms: 152880\n- text: Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n  start_ms: 152880\n  end_ms: 155830\n- text: The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n  start_ms: 155830\n  end_ms: 158730\n- text: For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n  start_ms: 158730\n  end_ms: 161680\n- text: To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n  start_ms: 161680\n  end_ms: 164660\n- text: Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n  start_ms: 164660\n  end_ms: 167320\n- text: Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n  start_ms: 167320\n  end_ms: 170370\n- text: Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n  start_ms: 170370\n  end_ms: 173020\n- text: I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n  start_ms: 173020\n  end_ms: 176160\n- text: Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n  start_ms: 176160\n  end_ms: 178700\n- text: Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n  start_ms: 178700\n  end_ms: 181270\n- text: Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n  start_ms: 181270\n  end_ms: 184430\n- text: Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n  start_ms: 184430\n  end_ms: 187060\n- text: Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n  start_ms: 187060\n  end_ms: 189760\n- text: Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n  start_ms: 189760\n  end_ms: 192410\n- text: Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n  start_ms: 192410\n  end_ms: 195390\n- text: When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n  start_ms: 195390\n  end_ms: 198430\n- text: Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n  start_ms: 198430\n  end_ms: 201320\n- text: Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n  start_ms: 201320\n  end_ms: 203770\n- text: In hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\n  start_ms: 203770\n  end_ms: 206720\n- text: Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n  start_ms: 206720\n  end_ms: 209430\n- text: Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n  start_ms: 209430\n  end_ms: 211940\n- text: God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n  start_ms: 211940\n  end_ms: 215030\n- text: Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\n  start_ms: 215030\n  end_ms: 218290\n- text: Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n  start_ms: 218290\n  end_ms: 221490\n- text: With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n  start_ms: 221490\n  end_ms: 225290\n- text: Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n  start_ms: 225290\n  end_ms: 229360\n- text: We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n  start_ms: 229360\n  end_ms: 232360\n- text: Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n  start_ms: 232360\n  end_ms: 235630\n- text: Tired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\n  start_ms: 235630\n  end_ms: 238440\n- text: Town is of death, no time for weakness\n  start_ms: 238440\n  end_ms: 240940\n- text: Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n  start_ms: 240940\n  end_ms: 247820\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 247820\nplain: |-\n  It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n  I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n  I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n  Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n  Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n  See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n  Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n  You only been involved in domestic violence\n  Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n  Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n  The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n  It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n  Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n  Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n  Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n  For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n  I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n  Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n  And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n  Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n  Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n  Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n  Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n  Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n  Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n  Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n  Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n  Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n  To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n  Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n  Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n  The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n  Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n  Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n  Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n  I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n  This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n  Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n  Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n  Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n  Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n  Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n  Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n  The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n  For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n  To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n  Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n  Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n  Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n  I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n  Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n  Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n  Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n  Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n  Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n  Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n  Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n  When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n  Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n  Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n  In hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\n  Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n  Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n  God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n  Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\n  Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n  With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n  Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n  We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n  Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n  Tired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\n  Town is of death, no time for weakness\n  Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n"},{"id":31511344,"name":"Think Differently","trackName":"Think Differently","artistName":"Casual","albumName":"Lyrical Swords (feat. GZA & Ras Kass) [12\"]","duration":275.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"It go, gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\nI'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\nI live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\nRide on top of the car, they crush they rocks\nNiggas hop my fence, to run from cops\nSee I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\nKeep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\nYou only been involved in domestic violence\nNigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\nCatch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\nThe microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\nIt's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\nWhere the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\nNobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\nDolo, with more dough to blow though\nFor sure though, slide one deep in a four door\nI'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\nBump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n\nAnd the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\nWas written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\nStreets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\nNever flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\nMusical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\nSpit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\nCalm stop, warlock like David Geffen\nBlowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\nSeen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\nTwo gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\nTo the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\nQueens Messiah, camouflage black attire\nMagnum opus, top five, dead or alive\nThe feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\nMossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\nThen I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\nRolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\nI praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\nThis is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n\nPoverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\nBlind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\nNiggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\nBenches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\nLeather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\nGats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\nThe epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\nFor seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\nTo he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\nBig hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\nSwitch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\nUsed to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\nI stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\nGang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\nRollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\nWord to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\nYour happy meal skills is still, no frills\nCook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\nOr rocking mills, your hospital bill\nBlood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\nWhen I lick off shots, the hostages yell\nChopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n\nNinjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\nIn hoods, where hammers bark and the tenants spark\nPolice on radar, so we stay fogged up\nPuffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\nGod Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\nOnes that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and nails\nNine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\nWith Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\nReady to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\nWe like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\nTryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\nTired of bleeding, where eagles let out evil\nTown is of death, no time for weakness\nHigher heights to reach, advance the concrete\nWith iron feet...","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Think Differently\n  artist: Casual\n  album: Lyrical Swords (feat. GZA & Ras Kass) [12\"]\n  duration_ms: 275000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  It go, gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n  I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n  I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n  Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n  Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n  See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n  Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n  You only been involved in domestic violence\n  Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n  Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n  The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n  It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n  Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n  Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n  Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n  For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n  I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n  Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n\n  And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n  Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n  Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n  Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n  Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n  Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n  Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n  Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n  Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n  Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n  To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n  Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n  Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n  The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n  Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n  Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n  Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n  I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n  This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n\n  Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n  Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n  Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n  Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n  Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n  Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n  The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n  For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n  To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n  Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n  Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n  Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n  I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n  Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n  Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n  Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n  Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n  Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n  Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n  Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n  When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n  Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n\n  Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n  In hoods, where hammers bark and the tenants spark\n  Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n  Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n  God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n  Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and nails\n  Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n  With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n  Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n  We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n  Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n  Tired of bleeding, where eagles let out evil\n  Town is of death, no time for weakness\n  Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n  With iron feet...\n"},{"id":31511304,"name":"Think Differently","trackName":"Think Differently","artistName":"Casual","albumName":"Lyrical Swords (feat. GZA & Ras Kass) [12\"]","duration":273.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"It go, gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\nI'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\nI live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\nRide on top of the car, they crush they rocks\nNiggas hop my fence, to run from cops\nSee I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\nKeep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\nYou only been involved in domestic violence\nNigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\nCatch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\nThe microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\nIt's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\nWhere the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\nNobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\nDolo, with more dough to blow though\nFor sure though, slide one deep in a four door\nI'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\nBump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n\nAnd the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\nWas written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\nStreets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\nNever flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\nMusical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\nSpit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\nCalm stop, warlock like David Geffen\nBlowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\nSeen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\nTwo gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\nTo the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\nQueens Messiah, camouflage black attire\nMagnum opus, top five, dead or alive\nThe feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\nMossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\nThen I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\nRolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\nI praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\nThis is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n\nPoverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\nBlind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\nNiggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\nBenches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\nLeather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\nGats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\nThe epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\nFor seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\nTo he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\nBig hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\nSwitch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\nUsed to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\nI stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\nGang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\nRollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\nWord to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\nYour happy meal skills is still, no frills\nCook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\nOr rocking mills, your hospital bill\nBlood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\nWhen I lick off shots, the hostages yell\nChopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n\nNinjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\nIn hoods, where hammers bark and the tenants spark\nPolice on radar, so we stay fogged up\nPuffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\nGod Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\nOnes that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and nails\nNine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\nWith Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\nReady to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\nWe like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\nTryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\nTired of bleeding, where eagles let out evil\nTown is of death, no time for weakness\nHigher heights to reach, advance the concrete\nWith iron feet...","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Think Differently\n  artist: Casual\n  album: Lyrical Swords (feat. GZA & Ras Kass) [12\"]\n  duration_ms: 273000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  It go, gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n  I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n  I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n  Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n  Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n  See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n  Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n  You only been involved in domestic violence\n  Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n  Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n  The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n  It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n  Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n  Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n  Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n  For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n  I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n  Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n\n  And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n  Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n  Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n  Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n  Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n  Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n  Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n  Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n  Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n  Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n  To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n  Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n  Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n  The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n  Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n  Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n  Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n  I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n  This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n\n  Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n  Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n  Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n  Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n  Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n  Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n  The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n  For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n  To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n  Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n  Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n  Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n  I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n  Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n  Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n  Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n  Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n  Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n  Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n  Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n  When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n  Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n\n  Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n  In hoods, where hammers bark and the tenants spark\n  Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n  Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n  God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n  Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and nails\n  Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n  With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n  Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n  We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n  Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n  Tired of bleeding, where eagles let out evil\n  Town is of death, no time for weakness\n  Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n  With iron feet...\n"},{"id":20451974,"name":"Think Differently","trackName":"Think Differently","artistName":"Casual","albumName":"Wu-Tang Meets the Indie Culture Vol. 2: Enter the Dubstep","duration":255.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"It go, gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\nI'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\nI live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\nRide on top of the car, they crush they rocks\nNiggas hop my fence, to run from cops\nSee I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\nKeep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\nYou only been involved in domestic violence\nNigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\nCatch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\nThe microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\nIt's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\nWhere the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\nNobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\nDolo, with more dough to blow though\nFor sure though, slide one deep in a four door\nI'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\nBump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n\nAnd the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\nWas written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\nStreets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\nNever flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\nMusical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\nSpit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\nCalm stop, warlock like David Geffen\nBlowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\nSeen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\nTwo gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\nTo the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\nQueens Messiah, camouflage black attire\nMagnum opus, top five, dead or alive\nThe feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\nMossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\nThen I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\nRolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\nI praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\nThis is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n\nPoverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\nBlind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\nNiggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\nBenches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\nLeather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\nGats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\nThe epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\nFor seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\nTo he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\nBig hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\nSwitch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\nUsed to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\nI stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\nGang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\nRollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\nWord to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\nYour happy meal skills is still, no frills\nCook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\nOr rocking mills, your hospital bill\nBlood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\nWhen I lick off shots, the hostages yell\nChopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n\nNinjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\nIn hoods, where hammers bark and the tenants spark\nPolice on radar, so we stay fogged up\nPuffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\nGod Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\nOnes that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and nails\nNine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\nWith Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\nReady to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\nWe like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\nTryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\nTired of bleeding, where eagles let out evil\nTown is of death, no time for weakness\nHigher heights to reach, advance the concrete\nWith iron feet...","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Think Differently\n  artist: Casual\n  album: 'Wu-Tang Meets the Indie Culture Vol. 2: Enter the Dubstep'\n  duration_ms: 255000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  It go, gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n  I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n  I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n  Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n  Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n  See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n  Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n  You only been involved in domestic violence\n  Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n  Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n  The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n  It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n  Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n  Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n  Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n  For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n  I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n  Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n\n  And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n  Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n  Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n  Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n  Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n  Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n  Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n  Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n  Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n  Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n  To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n  Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n  Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n  The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n  Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n  Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n  Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n  I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n  This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n\n  Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n  Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n  Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n  Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n  Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n  Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n  The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n  For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n  To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n  Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n  Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n  Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n  I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n  Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n  Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n  Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n  Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n  Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n  Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n  Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n  When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n  Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n\n  Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n  In hoods, where hammers bark and the tenants spark\n  Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n  Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n  God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n  Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and nails\n  Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n  With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n  Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n  We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n  Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n  Tired of bleeding, where eagles let out evil\n  Town is of death, no time for weakness\n  Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n  With iron feet...\n"},{"id":9432227,"name":"Think Differently","trackName":"Think Differently","artistName":"Casual","albumName":"Wu-Tang Meets The Indie Culture","duration":273.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"It go, gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\nI'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\nI live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\nRide on top of the car, they crush they rocks\nNiggas hop my fence, to run from cops\nSee I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\nKeep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\nYou only been involved in domestic violence\nNigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\nCatch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\nThe microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\nIt's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\nWhere the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\nNobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\nDolo, with more dough to blow though\nFor sure though, slide one deep in a four door\nI'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\nBump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n\nAnd the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\nWas written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\nStreets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\nNever flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\nMusical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\nSpit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\nCalm stop, warlock like David Geffen\nBlowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\nSeen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\nTwo gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\nTo the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\nQueens Messiah, camouflage black attire\nMagnum opus, top five, dead or alive\nThe feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\nMossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\nThen I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\nRolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\nI praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\nThis is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n\nPoverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\nBlind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\nNiggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\nBenches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\nLeather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\nGats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\nThe epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\nFor seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\nTo he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\nBig hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\nSwitch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\nUsed to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\nI stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\nGang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\nRollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\nWord to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\nYour happy meal skills is still, no frills\nCook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\nOr rocking mills, your hospital bill\nBlood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\nWhen I lick off shots, the hostages yell\nChopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n\nNinjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\nIn hoods, where hammers bark and the tenants spark\nPolice on radar, so we stay fogged up\nPuffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\nGod Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\nOnes that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and nails\nNine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\nWith Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\nReady to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\nWe like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\nTryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\nTired of bleeding, where eagles let out evil\nTown is of death, no time for weakness\nHigher heights to reach, advance the concrete\nWith iron feet...","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Think Differently\n  artist: Casual\n  album: Wu-Tang Meets The Indie Culture\n  duration_ms: 273000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  It go, gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n  I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n  I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n  Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n  Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n  See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n  Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n  You only been involved in domestic violence\n  Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n  Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n  The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n  It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n  Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n  Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n  Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n  For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n  I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n  Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n\n  And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n  Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n  Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n  Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n  Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n  Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n  Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n  Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n  Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n  Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n  To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n  Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n  Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n  The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n  Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n  Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n  Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n  I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n  This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n\n  Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n  Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n  Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n  Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n  Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n  Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n  The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n  For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n  To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n  Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n  Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n  Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n  I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n  Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n  Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n  Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n  Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n  Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n  Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n  Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n  When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n  Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n\n  Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n  In hoods, where hammers bark and the tenants spark\n  Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n  Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n  God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n  Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and nails\n  Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n  With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n  Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n  We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n  Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n  Tired of bleeding, where eagles let out evil\n  Town is of death, no time for weakness\n  Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n  With iron feet...\n"},{"id":10577841,"name":"Think Differently","trackName":"Think Differently","artistName":"Casual, Roc Marciano, Vordul Mega","albumName":"Wu-Tang Meets The Indie Culture","duration":273.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"It go, gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\nI'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\nI live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\nRide on top of the car, they crush they rocks\nNiggas hop my fence, to run from cops\nSee I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\nKeep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\nYou only been involved in domestic violence\nNigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\nCatch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\nThe microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\nIt's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\nWhere the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\nNobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\nDolo, with more dough to blow though\nFor sure though, slide one deep in a four door\nI'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\nBump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n\nAnd the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\nWas written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\nStreets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\nNever flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\nMusical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\nSpit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\nCalm stop, warlock like David Geffen\nBlowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\nSeen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\nTwo gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\nTo the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\nQueens Messiah, camouflage black attire\nMagnum opus, top five, dead or alive\nThe feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\nMossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\nThen I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\nRolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\nI praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\nThis is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n\nPoverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\nBlind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\nNiggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\nBenches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\nLeather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\nGats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\nThe epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\nFor seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\nTo he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\nBig hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\nSwitch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\nUsed to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\nI stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\nGang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\nRollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\nWord to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\nYour happy meal skills is still, no frills\nCook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\nOr rocking mills, your hospital bill\nBlood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\nWhen I lick off shots, the hostages yell\nChopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n\nNinjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\nIn hoods, where hammers bark and the tenants spark\nPolice on radar, so we stay fogged up\nPuffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\nGod Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\nOnes that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and nails\nNine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\nWith Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\nReady to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\nWe like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\nTryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\nTired of bleeding, where eagles let out evil\nTown is of death, no time for weakness\nHigher heights to reach, advance the concrete\nWith iron feet...","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Think Differently\n  artist: Casual, Roc Marciano, Vordul Mega\n  album: Wu-Tang Meets The Indie Culture\n  duration_ms: 273000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  It go, gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n  I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n  I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n  Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n  Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n  See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n  Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n  You only been involved in domestic violence\n  Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n  Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n  The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n  It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n  Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n  Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n  Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n  For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n  I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n  Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n\n  And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n  Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n  Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n  Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n  Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n  Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n  Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n  Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n  Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n  Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n  To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n  Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n  Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n  The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n  Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n  Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n  Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n  I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n  This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n\n  Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n  Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n  Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n  Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n  Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n  Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n  The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n  For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n  To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n  Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n  Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n  Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n  I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n  Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n  Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n  Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n  Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n  Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n  Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n  Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n  When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n  Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n\n  Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n  In hoods, where hammers bark and the tenants spark\n  Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n  Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n  God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n  Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and nails\n  Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n  With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n  Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n  We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n  Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n  Tired of bleeding, where eagles let out evil\n  Town is of death, no time for weakness\n  Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n  With iron feet...\n"},{"id":15408234,"name":"Think Differently","trackName":"Think Differently","artistName":"Casual, Rock Marciano, Tragedy Khadafi, Vordul Mega","albumName":"Lyrical Swords (feat. GZA & Ras Kass) [12\"]","duration":273.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"It go, gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\nI'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\nI live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\nRide on top of the car, they crush they rocks\nNiggas hop my fence, to run from cops\nSee I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\nKeep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\nYou only been involved in domestic violence\nNigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\nCatch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\nThe microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\nIt's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\nWhere the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\nNobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\nDolo, with more dough to blow though\nFor sure though, slide one deep in a four door\nI'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\nBump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n\nAnd the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\nWas written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\nStreets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\nNever flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\nMusical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\nSpit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\nCalm stop, warlock like David Geffen\nBlowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\nSeen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\nTwo gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\nTo the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\nQueens Messiah, camouflage black attire\nMagnum opus, top five, dead or alive\nThe feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\nMossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\nThen I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\nRolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\nI praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\nThis is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n\nPoverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\nBlind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\nNiggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\nBenches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\nLeather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\nGats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\nThe epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\nFor seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\nTo he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\nBig hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\nSwitch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\nUsed to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\nI stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\nGang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\nRollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\nWord to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\nYour happy meal skills is still, no frills\nCook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\nOr rocking mills, your hospital bill\nBlood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\nWhen I lick off shots, the hostages yell\nChopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n\nNinjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\nIn hoods, where hammers bark and the tenants spark\nPolice on radar, so we stay fogged up\nPuffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\nGod Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\nOnes that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and nails\nNine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\nWith Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\nReady to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\nWe like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\nTryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\nTired of bleeding, where eagles let out evil\nTown is of death, no time for weakness\nHigher heights to reach, advance the concrete\nWith iron feet...","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Think Differently\n  artist: Casual, Rock Marciano, Tragedy Khadafi, Vordul Mega\n  album: Lyrical Swords (feat. GZA & Ras Kass) [12\"]\n  duration_ms: 273000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  It go, gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n  I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n  I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n  Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n  Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n  See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n  Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n  You only been involved in domestic violence\n  Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n  Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n  The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n  It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n  Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n  Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n  Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n  For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n  I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n  Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n\n  And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n  Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n  Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n  Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n  Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n  Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n  Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n  Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n  Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n  Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n  To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n  Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n  Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n  The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n  Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n  Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n  Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n  I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n  This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n\n  Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n  Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n  Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n  Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n  Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n  Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n  The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n  For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n  To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n  Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n  Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n  Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n  I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n  Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n  Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n  Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n  Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n  Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n  Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n  Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n  When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n  Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n\n  Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n  In hoods, where hammers bark and the tenants spark\n  Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n  Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n  God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n  Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and nails\n  Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n  With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n  Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n  We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n  Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n  Tired of bleeding, where eagles let out evil\n  Town is of death, no time for weakness\n  Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n  With iron feet...\n"},{"id":22600905,"name":"Think Differently","trackName":"Think Differently","artistName":"Casual/Tragedy Khadafi/Vordul Mega/Rock Marciano","albumName":"Lyrical Swords (feat. GZA & Ras Kass) [12\"]","duration":273.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\nI'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\nI live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\nRide on top of the car, they crush they rocks\nNiggas hop my fence, to run from cops\nSee I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\nKeep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\nYou only been involved in domestic violence\nNigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\nCatch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\nThe microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\nIt's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\nWhere the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\nNobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\nDolo, with more dough to blow though\nFor sure though, slide one deep in a four door\nI'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\nBump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\nAnd the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\nWas written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\nStreets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\nNever flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\nMusical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\nSpit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\nCalm stop, warlock like David Geffen\nBlowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\nSeen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\nTwo gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\nTo the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\nQueens Messiah, camouflage black attire\nMagnum opus, top five, dead or alive\nThe feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\nMossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\nThen I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\nRolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\nI praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\nThis is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\nPoverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\nBlind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\nNiggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\nBenches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\nLeather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\nGats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\nThe epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\nFor seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\nTo he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\nBig hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\nSwitch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\nUsed to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\nI stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\nGang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\nRollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\nWord to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\nYour happy meal skills is still, no frills\nCook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\nOr rocking mills, your hospital bill\nBlood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\nWhen I lick off shots, the hostages yell\nChopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\nNinjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\nIn hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\nPolice on radar, so we stay fogged up\nPuffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\nGod Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\nOnes that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\nNine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\nWith Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\nReady to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\nWe like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\nTryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\nTired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\nTown is of death, no time for weakness\nHigher heights to reach, advance the concrete","syncedLyrics":"[00:33.81] It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n[00:37.09] I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n[00:39.71] I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n[00:42.63] Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n[00:45.47] Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n[00:48.25] See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n[00:51.12] Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n[00:53.82] You only been involved in domestic violence\n[00:56.68] Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n[00:59.69] Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n[01:02.50] The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n[01:05.03] It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n[01:08.07] Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n[01:11.06] Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n[01:13.89] Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n[01:16.72] For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n[01:19.68] I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n[01:22.38] Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n[01:25.36] And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n[01:28.03] Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n[01:30.83] Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n[01:33.24] Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n[01:36.17] Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n[01:38.95] Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n[01:42.09] Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n[01:44.58] Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n[01:47.43] Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n[01:50.46] Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n[01:53.00] To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n[01:55.97] Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n[01:58.78] Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n[02:01.61] The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n[02:04.47] Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n[02:07.50] Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n[02:10.15] Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n[02:12.94] I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n[02:16.35] This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n[02:20.07] Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n[02:22.27] Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n[02:24.64] Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n[02:27.47] Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n[02:30.47] Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n[02:32.88] Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n[02:35.83] The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n[02:38.73] For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n[02:41.68] To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n[02:44.66] Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n[02:47.32] Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n[02:50.37] Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n[02:53.02] I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n[02:56.16] Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n[02:58.70] Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n[03:01.27] Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n[03:04.43] Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n[03:07.06] Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n[03:09.76] Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n[03:12.41] Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n[03:15.39] When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n[03:18.43] Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n[03:21.32] Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n[03:23.77] In hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\n[03:26.72] Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n[03:29.43] Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n[03:31.94] God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n[03:35.03] Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\n[03:38.29] Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n[03:41.49] With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n[03:45.29] Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n[03:49.36] We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n[03:52.36] Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n[03:55.63] Tired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\n[03:58.44] Town is of death, no time for weakness\n[04:00.94] Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n[04:07.82] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Think Differently\n  artist: Casual/Tragedy Khadafi/Vordul Mega/Rock Marciano\n  album: Lyrical Swords (feat. GZA & Ras Kass) [12\"]\n  duration_ms: 273000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n  start_ms: 33810\n  end_ms: 37090\n- text: I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n  start_ms: 37090\n  end_ms: 39710\n- text: I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n  start_ms: 39710\n  end_ms: 42630\n- text: Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n  start_ms: 42630\n  end_ms: 45470\n- text: Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n  start_ms: 45470\n  end_ms: 48250\n- text: See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n  start_ms: 48250\n  end_ms: 51120\n- text: Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n  start_ms: 51120\n  end_ms: 53820\n- text: You only been involved in domestic violence\n  start_ms: 53820\n  end_ms: 56680\n- text: Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n  start_ms: 56680\n  end_ms: 59690\n- text: Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n  start_ms: 59690\n  end_ms: 62500\n- text: The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n  start_ms: 62500\n  end_ms: 65030\n- text: It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n  start_ms: 65030\n  end_ms: 68070\n- text: Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n  start_ms: 68070\n  end_ms: 71060\n- text: Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n  start_ms: 71060\n  end_ms: 73890\n- text: Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n  start_ms: 73890\n  end_ms: 76720\n- text: For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n  start_ms: 76720\n  end_ms: 79680\n- text: I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n  start_ms: 79680\n  end_ms: 82380\n- text: Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n  start_ms: 82380\n  end_ms: 85360\n- text: And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n  start_ms: 85360\n  end_ms: 88030\n- text: Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n  start_ms: 88030\n  end_ms: 90830\n- text: Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n  start_ms: 90830\n  end_ms: 93240\n- text: Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n  start_ms: 93240\n  end_ms: 96170\n- text: Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n  start_ms: 96170\n  end_ms: 98950\n- text: Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n  start_ms: 98950\n  end_ms: 102090\n- text: Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n  start_ms: 102090\n  end_ms: 104580\n- text: Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n  start_ms: 104580\n  end_ms: 107430\n- text: Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n  start_ms: 107430\n  end_ms: 110460\n- text: Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n  start_ms: 110460\n  end_ms: 113000\n- text: To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n  start_ms: 113000\n  end_ms: 115970\n- text: Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n  start_ms: 115970\n  end_ms: 118780\n- text: Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n  start_ms: 118780\n  end_ms: 121610\n- text: The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n  start_ms: 121610\n  end_ms: 124470\n- text: Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n  start_ms: 124470\n  end_ms: 127500\n- text: Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n  start_ms: 127500\n  end_ms: 130150\n- text: Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n  start_ms: 130150\n  end_ms: 132940\n- text: I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n  start_ms: 132940\n  end_ms: 136350\n- text: This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n  start_ms: 136350\n  end_ms: 140070\n- text: Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n  start_ms: 140070\n  end_ms: 142270\n- text: Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n  start_ms: 142270\n  end_ms: 144640\n- text: Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n  start_ms: 144640\n  end_ms: 147470\n- text: Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n  start_ms: 147470\n  end_ms: 150470\n- text: Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n  start_ms: 150470\n  end_ms: 152880\n- text: Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n  start_ms: 152880\n  end_ms: 155830\n- text: The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n  start_ms: 155830\n  end_ms: 158730\n- text: For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n  start_ms: 158730\n  end_ms: 161680\n- text: To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n  start_ms: 161680\n  end_ms: 164660\n- text: Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n  start_ms: 164660\n  end_ms: 167320\n- text: Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n  start_ms: 167320\n  end_ms: 170370\n- text: Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n  start_ms: 170370\n  end_ms: 173020\n- text: I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n  start_ms: 173020\n  end_ms: 176160\n- text: Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n  start_ms: 176160\n  end_ms: 178700\n- text: Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n  start_ms: 178700\n  end_ms: 181270\n- text: Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n  start_ms: 181270\n  end_ms: 184430\n- text: Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n  start_ms: 184430\n  end_ms: 187060\n- text: Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n  start_ms: 187060\n  end_ms: 189760\n- text: Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n  start_ms: 189760\n  end_ms: 192410\n- text: Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n  start_ms: 192410\n  end_ms: 195390\n- text: When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n  start_ms: 195390\n  end_ms: 198430\n- text: Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n  start_ms: 198430\n  end_ms: 201320\n- text: Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n  start_ms: 201320\n  end_ms: 203770\n- text: In hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\n  start_ms: 203770\n  end_ms: 206720\n- text: Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n  start_ms: 206720\n  end_ms: 209430\n- text: Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n  start_ms: 209430\n  end_ms: 211940\n- text: God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n  start_ms: 211940\n  end_ms: 215030\n- text: Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\n  start_ms: 215030\n  end_ms: 218290\n- text: Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n  start_ms: 218290\n  end_ms: 221490\n- text: With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n  start_ms: 221490\n  end_ms: 225290\n- text: Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n  start_ms: 225290\n  end_ms: 229360\n- text: We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n  start_ms: 229360\n  end_ms: 232360\n- text: Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n  start_ms: 232360\n  end_ms: 235630\n- text: Tired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\n  start_ms: 235630\n  end_ms: 238440\n- text: Town is of death, no time for weakness\n  start_ms: 238440\n  end_ms: 240940\n- text: Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n  start_ms: 240940\n  end_ms: 247820\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 247820\nplain: |-\n  It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n  I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n  I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n  Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n  Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n  See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n  Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n  You only been involved in domestic violence\n  Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n  Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n  The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n  It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n  Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n  Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n  Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n  For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n  I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n  Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n  And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n  Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n  Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n  Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n  Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n  Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n  Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n  Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n  Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n  Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n  To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n  Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n  Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n  The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n  Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n  Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n  Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n  I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n  This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n  Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n  Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n  Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n  Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n  Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n  Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n  The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n  For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n  To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n  Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n  Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n  Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n  I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n  Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n  Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n  Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n  Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n  Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n  Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n  Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n  When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n  Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n  Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n  In hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\n  Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n  Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n  God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n  Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\n  Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n  With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n  Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n  We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n  Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n  Tired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\n  Town is of death, no time for weakness\n  Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n"},{"id":10577840,"name":"Think Differently","trackName":"Think Differently","artistName":"Casual, Marciano, Roc, Vordul Mega & Tragedy Khadafi","albumName":"Wu-Tang Meets The Indie Culture","duration":273.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"It go, gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\nI'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\nI live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\nRide on top of the car, they crush they rocks\nNiggas hop my fence, to run from cops\nSee I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\nKeep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\nYou only been involved in domestic violence\nNigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\nCatch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\nThe microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\nIt's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\nWhere the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\nNobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\nDolo, with more dough to blow though\nFor sure though, slide one deep in a four door\nI'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\nBump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n\nAnd the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\nWas written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\nStreets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\nNever flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\nMusical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\nSpit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\nCalm stop, warlock like David Geffen\nBlowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\nSeen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\nTwo gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\nTo the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\nQueens Messiah, camouflage black attire\nMagnum opus, top five, dead or alive\nThe feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\nMossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\nThen I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\nRolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\nI praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\nThis is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n\nPoverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\nBlind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\nNiggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\nBenches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\nLeather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\nGats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\nThe epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\nFor seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\nTo he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\nBig hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\nSwitch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\nUsed to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\nI stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\nGang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\nRollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\nWord to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\nYour happy meal skills is still, no frills\nCook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\nOr rocking mills, your hospital bill\nBlood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\nWhen I lick off shots, the hostages yell\nChopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n\nNinjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\nIn hoods, where hammers bark and the tenants spark\nPolice on radar, so we stay fogged up\nPuffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\nGod Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\nOnes that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and nails\nNine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\nWith Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\nReady to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\nWe like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\nTryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\nTired of bleeding, where eagles let out evil\nTown is of death, no time for weakness\nHigher heights to reach, advance the concrete\nWith iron feet...","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Think Differently\n  artist: Casual, Marciano, Roc, Vordul Mega & Tragedy Khadafi\n  album: Wu-Tang Meets The Indie Culture\n  duration_ms: 273000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  It go, gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n  I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n  I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n  Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n  Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n  See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n  Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n  You only been involved in domestic violence\n  Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n  Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n  The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n  It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n  Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n  Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n  Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n  For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n  I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n  Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n\n  And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n  Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n  Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n  Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n  Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n  Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n  Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n  Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n  Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n  Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n  To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n  Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n  Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n  The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n  Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n  Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n  Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n  I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n  This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n\n  Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n  Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n  Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n  Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n  Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n  Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n  The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n  For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n  To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n  Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n  Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n  Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n  I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n  Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n  Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n  Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n  Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n  Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n  Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n  Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n  When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n  Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n\n  Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n  In hoods, where hammers bark and the tenants spark\n  Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n  Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n  God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n  Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and nails\n  Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n  With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n  Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n  We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n  Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n  Tired of bleeding, where eagles let out evil\n  Town is of death, no time for weakness\n  Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n  With iron feet...\n"},{"id":10577839,"name":"Think Differently","trackName":"Think Differently","artistName":"Casual, Roc Marciano, Vordul Mega & Tragedy Khadafi","albumName":"Wu-Tang Meets The Indie Culture","duration":273.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\nI'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\nI live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\nRide on top of the car, they crush they rocks\nNiggas hop my fence, to run from cops\nSee I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\nKeep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\nYou only been involved in domestic violence\nNigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\nCatch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\nThe microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\nIt's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\nWhere the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\nNobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\nDolo, with more dough to blow though\nFor sure though, slide one deep in a four door\nI'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\nBump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\nAnd the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\nWas written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\nStreets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\nNever flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\nMusical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\nSpit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\nCalm stop, warlock like David Geffen\nBlowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\nSeen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\nTwo gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\nTo the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\nQueens Messiah, camouflage black attire\nMagnum opus, top five, dead or alive\nThe feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\nMossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\nThen I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\nRolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\nI praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\nThis is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\nPoverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\nBlind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\nNiggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\nBenches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\nLeather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\nGats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\nThe epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\nFor seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\nTo he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\nBig hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\nSwitch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\nUsed to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\nI stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\nGang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\nRollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\nWord to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\nYour happy meal skills is still, no frills\nCook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\nOr rocking mills, your hospital bill\nBlood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\nWhen I lick off shots, the hostages yell\nChopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\nNinjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\nIn hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\nPolice on radar, so we stay fogged up\nPuffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\nGod Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\nOnes that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\nNine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\nWith Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\nReady to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\nWe like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\nTryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\nTired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\nTown is of death, no time for weakness\nHigher heights to reach, advance the concrete","syncedLyrics":"[00:33.81] It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n[00:37.09] I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n[00:39.71] I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n[00:42.63] Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n[00:45.47] Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n[00:48.25] See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n[00:51.12] Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n[00:53.82] You only been involved in domestic violence\n[00:56.68] Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n[00:59.69] Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n[01:02.50] The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n[01:05.03] It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n[01:08.07] Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n[01:11.06] Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n[01:13.89] Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n[01:16.72] For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n[01:19.68] I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n[01:22.38] Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n[01:25.36] And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n[01:28.03] Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n[01:30.83] Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n[01:33.24] Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n[01:36.17] Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n[01:38.95] Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n[01:42.09] Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n[01:44.58] Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n[01:47.43] Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n[01:50.46] Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n[01:53.00] To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n[01:55.97] Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n[01:58.78] Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n[02:01.61] The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n[02:04.47] Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n[02:07.50] Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n[02:10.15] Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n[02:12.94] I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n[02:16.35] This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n[02:20.07] Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n[02:22.27] Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n[02:24.64] Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n[02:27.47] Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n[02:30.47] Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n[02:32.88] Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n[02:35.83] The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n[02:38.73] For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n[02:41.68] To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n[02:44.66] Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n[02:47.32] Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n[02:50.37] Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n[02:53.02] I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n[02:56.16] Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n[02:58.70] Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n[03:01.27] Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n[03:04.43] Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n[03:07.06] Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n[03:09.76] Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n[03:12.41] Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n[03:15.39] When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n[03:18.43] Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n[03:21.32] Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n[03:23.77] In hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\n[03:26.72] Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n[03:29.43] Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n[03:31.94] God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n[03:35.03] Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\n[03:38.29] Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n[03:41.49] With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n[03:45.29] Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n[03:49.36] We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n[03:52.36] Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n[03:55.63] Tired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\n[03:58.44] Town is of death, no time for weakness\n[04:00.94] Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n[04:07.82] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Think Differently\n  artist: Casual, Roc Marciano, Vordul Mega & Tragedy Khadafi\n  album: Wu-Tang Meets The Indie Culture\n  duration_ms: 273000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n  start_ms: 33810\n  end_ms: 37090\n- text: I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n  start_ms: 37090\n  end_ms: 39710\n- text: I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n  start_ms: 39710\n  end_ms: 42630\n- text: Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n  start_ms: 42630\n  end_ms: 45470\n- text: Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n  start_ms: 45470\n  end_ms: 48250\n- text: See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n  start_ms: 48250\n  end_ms: 51120\n- text: Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n  start_ms: 51120\n  end_ms: 53820\n- text: You only been involved in domestic violence\n  start_ms: 53820\n  end_ms: 56680\n- text: Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n  start_ms: 56680\n  end_ms: 59690\n- text: Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n  start_ms: 59690\n  end_ms: 62500\n- text: The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n  start_ms: 62500\n  end_ms: 65030\n- text: It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n  start_ms: 65030\n  end_ms: 68070\n- text: Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n  start_ms: 68070\n  end_ms: 71060\n- text: Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n  start_ms: 71060\n  end_ms: 73890\n- text: Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n  start_ms: 73890\n  end_ms: 76720\n- text: For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n  start_ms: 76720\n  end_ms: 79680\n- text: I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n  start_ms: 79680\n  end_ms: 82380\n- text: Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n  start_ms: 82380\n  end_ms: 85360\n- text: And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n  start_ms: 85360\n  end_ms: 88030\n- text: Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n  start_ms: 88030\n  end_ms: 90830\n- text: Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n  start_ms: 90830\n  end_ms: 93240\n- text: Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n  start_ms: 93240\n  end_ms: 96170\n- text: Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n  start_ms: 96170\n  end_ms: 98950\n- text: Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n  start_ms: 98950\n  end_ms: 102090\n- text: Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n  start_ms: 102090\n  end_ms: 104580\n- text: Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n  start_ms: 104580\n  end_ms: 107430\n- text: Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n  start_ms: 107430\n  end_ms: 110460\n- text: Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n  start_ms: 110460\n  end_ms: 113000\n- text: To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n  start_ms: 113000\n  end_ms: 115970\n- text: Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n  start_ms: 115970\n  end_ms: 118780\n- text: Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n  start_ms: 118780\n  end_ms: 121610\n- text: The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n  start_ms: 121610\n  end_ms: 124470\n- text: Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n  start_ms: 124470\n  end_ms: 127500\n- text: Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n  start_ms: 127500\n  end_ms: 130150\n- text: Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n  start_ms: 130150\n  end_ms: 132940\n- text: I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n  start_ms: 132940\n  end_ms: 136350\n- text: This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n  start_ms: 136350\n  end_ms: 140070\n- text: Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n  start_ms: 140070\n  end_ms: 142270\n- text: Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n  start_ms: 142270\n  end_ms: 144640\n- text: Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n  start_ms: 144640\n  end_ms: 147470\n- text: Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n  start_ms: 147470\n  end_ms: 150470\n- text: Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n  start_ms: 150470\n  end_ms: 152880\n- text: Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n  start_ms: 152880\n  end_ms: 155830\n- text: The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n  start_ms: 155830\n  end_ms: 158730\n- text: For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n  start_ms: 158730\n  end_ms: 161680\n- text: To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n  start_ms: 161680\n  end_ms: 164660\n- text: Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n  start_ms: 164660\n  end_ms: 167320\n- text: Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n  start_ms: 167320\n  end_ms: 170370\n- text: Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n  start_ms: 170370\n  end_ms: 173020\n- text: I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n  start_ms: 173020\n  end_ms: 176160\n- text: Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n  start_ms: 176160\n  end_ms: 178700\n- text: Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n  start_ms: 178700\n  end_ms: 181270\n- text: Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n  start_ms: 181270\n  end_ms: 184430\n- text: Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n  start_ms: 184430\n  end_ms: 187060\n- text: Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n  start_ms: 187060\n  end_ms: 189760\n- text: Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n  start_ms: 189760\n  end_ms: 192410\n- text: Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n  start_ms: 192410\n  end_ms: 195390\n- text: When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n  start_ms: 195390\n  end_ms: 198430\n- text: Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n  start_ms: 198430\n  end_ms: 201320\n- text: Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n  start_ms: 201320\n  end_ms: 203770\n- text: In hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\n  start_ms: 203770\n  end_ms: 206720\n- text: Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n  start_ms: 206720\n  end_ms: 209430\n- text: Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n  start_ms: 209430\n  end_ms: 211940\n- text: God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n  start_ms: 211940\n  end_ms: 215030\n- text: Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\n  start_ms: 215030\n  end_ms: 218290\n- text: Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n  start_ms: 218290\n  end_ms: 221490\n- text: With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n  start_ms: 221490\n  end_ms: 225290\n- text: Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n  start_ms: 225290\n  end_ms: 229360\n- text: We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n  start_ms: 229360\n  end_ms: 232360\n- text: Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n  start_ms: 232360\n  end_ms: 235630\n- text: Tired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\n  start_ms: 235630\n  end_ms: 238440\n- text: Town is of death, no time for weakness\n  start_ms: 238440\n  end_ms: 240940\n- text: Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n  start_ms: 240940\n  end_ms: 247820\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 247820\nplain: |-\n  It go; gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa\n  I'm the black panther that shot the drug dealer\n  I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks\n  Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks\n  Niggas hop my fence, to run from cops\n  See I'm a nigga too, so I know how niggas do\n  Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence\n  You only been involved in domestic violence\n  Nigga, I chase Remis with Long Islands\n  Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling\n  The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler\n  It's so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed\n  Where the party is? Round trip, flight to LaGuardia\n  Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience\n  Dolo, with more dough to blow though\n  For sure though, slide one deep in a four door\n  I'm poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo\n  Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload\n  And the Pope can't save your soul, what I unfold\n  Was written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll\n  Streets I've been in, from the beginning I'm a legend\n  Never flee up from my enemies, shots I'm sending\n  Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning\n  Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping\n  Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen\n  Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils\n  Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die\n  Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride\n  To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire\n  Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire\n  Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive\n  The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus\n  Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it\n  Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers\n  Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders\n  I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east\n  This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently\n  Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking\n  Blind visions from the mind's wisdom, in this crime religion\n  Niggas listen, what I'm spitting is hard as prison\n  Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers\n  Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless\n  Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it\n  The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted\n  For seven digits, it's just business, no disrespect intended\n  To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented\n  Big hit it, the game I'm deep in it, until my Yankee fitted\n  Switch three, be hanging niggas, squeeze three eighty triggers\n  Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz'\n  I stand alone, cause I'm grown, for me to crush the Walkman\n  Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I'm New York\n  Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro\n  Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo\n  Your happy meal skills is still, no frills\n  Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel\n  Or rocking mills, your hospital bill\n  Blood from your nostril spill, it's not looking well\n  When I lick off shots, the hostages yell\n  Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic's swell\n  Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves\n  In hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark\n  Police on radar, so we stay fogged up\n  Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage\n  God Damn it's hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino's\n  Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles\n  Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build\n  With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it's hard to relax\n  Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast\n  We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash\n  Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom\n  Tired of bleeding, where ego's let out of evil\n  Town is of death, no time for weakness\n  Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete\n"}]