[{"id":9395413,"name":"Countdown","trackName":"Countdown","artistName":"Def Squad","albumName":"El Niño","duration":237.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"[erick sermon]\nFor she's perhaps quite clever\nOn the mic, I'm wizard, call me chris webber\nScary, wise, I'm way past terror\nI make like jay-z, then roc-a-fella\nRock 'em out the club\nThen buy 'em a bottle of champagne\nFrom the bar compliments of e-dub\nI be the one to cause the confusion\nTwist your mind to pieces\nMake ya think I'm losin'\nYeah, niggaz try to provoke me\nBut, I'm a tower god\nSo, there ain't no hope\nBitches like dope e\nSo, I resume, if they step\nI buck-a-shot like I'm black moon\nLet me ask you's, y'all feel that like erykah\nControl the states and make a def america\nMy styles legit, peep the steez a bit\nIt's official, like a licensed .45 pistol\nWord to the preacher's wife\nI got the power to annoy ya\nAnd keep them shiesty folks on point\nI'm the butler, servin' mc's\nBecause I love to\nN-o, quote, you're a customer\n\n[redman]\nI put you in your right mind and frame\nI de-rail tracks and rappers like doc designed the train\nAll aboard with the def squad, if you can hang\nMy name be precise range, when I aim, I flame\nF**k a gun, when I was twelve, I was bustin' 'em\nYoung, just wanna have fun, like little just' and 'em\nBut, doc never trusted them hoes, double crossed me\nFoes, I take it to the nigga, started you hustlin'\nWhether it be weed, dope or coke\nMy athlete flow make doc show, soak his toes\nMake niggaz bow down, when I'm drunk off gold crown\nPull out the pound, bust off my ro-ro-ro-round\nJump out a tree, land on your neck\nFrom the moment you start pumpin' redman in your deck\nYou be like damn, that's what I ride for\nIf I apply more pressure, it'll snow on july fourth\nSon spark the spliff, bark the fifth\nThe tracks make acrobats lose their arch and shit\nIf you came to brawl, we love to get involved\nMy squad lickin' hard for all white people to jawl\n\n[chorus x2: pmd]\nMc's it's the final countdown\nYou look tired can you go the round\nIf you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\nIf not, I'll turn around and say forget it\n\n[keith murray]\nYeah, nobody rock harder than this\nClosed jaw, stoned face, mic extremist\nAnd, I doubt it\nYou could kiss my ass and make a love song about it\nCause, I'm 'bout it and their livin' without it\nYeah, wantin' to battle with me, as hard as it gets\nGet niggaz in jail watchin' soul train\nTurn off the tv, lyrical vet\nFlippin' twenty-six letters of the alphabet\nYou talk shit, you deserve what you get\nI'm heart-throb, leave you dead as a door-knob\nNot a hip-hop cop and not down with the mobb\nCapable of handlin' multiple responsibilities\nSimultaneously, with communication capabilities\nFrom high-class to mid-class to low and greedy\nI will instantaneously bust an mc\nThe non-forgetter, hit you with the one hitter, quitter\nAnd make you exercise your shit up, nigga\n\n[jamal]\nThese niggaz is ridin' dick like rodeo, their homos\nWho wanna toe-to-toe, f**k the studio flow\nDef squad click, a thug nigga, chug a lot of liquor\n.45 slug sender, half spreader, cash getter\nRepresent for the real gangsters and drug dealers\nKnow half your little rap and I'm cappin' and slappin' niggaz\nSame niggaz takin' this squad shit for a joke\nPull the pistol 'bout to smoke, they choke, blood spill at the pope\nTheir cowards, gettin' rained on like a shower\nLive form nyc, e, red keepin' me, mally g\nMaster the ceremonial, off the meat rack\nCall you weak, keep gats, pandemonium\nPhony tough tony ones, we dip dip die in the place\nHouse, that was some hardcore rap\nRealer than black, black baseball bats and black gats\n'bout to black out on all you wack cats\n\n[chorus x2: pmd]\nMc's it's the final countdown\nYou look tired can you go the round\nIf you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\nIf not, I'll turn around and say forget it","syncedLyrics":"[00:01.71] [erick sermon]\n[00:01.92] For she's perhaps quite clever\n[00:03.23] On the mic, I'm wizard, call me chris webber\n[00:05.99] Scary, wise, I'm way past terror\n[00:08.58] I make like jay-z, then roc-a-fella\n[00:11.17] Rock 'em out the club\n[00:12.95] Then buy 'em a bottle of champagne\n[00:14.50] From the bar compliments of e-dub\n[00:16.03] I be the one to cause the confusion\n[00:19.45] Twist your mind to pieces\n[00:21.16] Make ya think I'm losin'\n[00:22.69] Yeah, niggaz try to provoke me\n[00:24.18] But, I'm a tower god\n[00:25.80] So, there ain't no hope\n[00:27.39] Bitches like dope e\n[00:28.96] So, I resume, if they step\n[00:30.74] I buck-a-shot like I'm black moon\n[00:32.69] Let me ask you's, y'all feel that like erykah\n[00:35.20] Control the states and make a def america\n[00:37.63] My styles legit, peep the steez a bit\n[00:40.60] It's official, like a licensed .45 pistol\n[00:43.56] Word to the preacher's wife\n[00:45.19] I got the power to annoy ya\n[00:46.97] And keep them shiesty folks on point\n[00:48.89] I'm the butler, servin' mc's\n[00:50.94] Because I love to\n[00:52.90] N-o, quote, you're a customer\n[00:54.21] [redman]\n[00:54.79] I put you in your right mind and frame\n[00:55.91] I de-rail tracks and rappers like doc designed the train\n[00:58.62] All aboard with the def squad, if you can hang\n[01:01.50] My name be precise range, when I aim, I flame\n[01:04.33] F**k a gun, when I was twelve, I was bustin' 'em\n[01:07.65] Young, just wanna have fun, like little just' and 'em\n[01:09.60] But, doc never trusted them hoes, double crossed me\n[01:12.52] Foes, I take it to the nigga, started you hustlin'\n[01:15.12] Whether it be weed, dope or coke\n[01:18.05] My athlete flow make doc show, soak his toes\n[01:21.72] Make niggaz bow down, when I'm drunk off gold crown\n[01:23.26] Pull out the pound, bust off my ro-ro-ro-round\n[01:26.10] Jump out a tree, land on your neck\n[01:28.39] From the moment you start pumpin' redman in your deck\n[01:31.15] You be like damn, that's what I ride for\n[01:33.28] If I apply more pressure, it'll snow on july fourth\n[01:36.59] Son spark the spliff, bark the fifth\n[01:39.05] The tracks make acrobats lose their arch and shit\n[01:42.84] If you came to brawl, we love to get involved\n[01:44.64] My squad lickin' hard for all white people to jawl\n[01:47.64] [chorus x2: pmd]\n[02:09.54] Mc's it's the final countdown\n[02:11.08] You look tired can you go the round\n[02:11.34] If you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\n[02:12.61] If not, I'll turn around and say forget it\n[02:13.47] [keith murray]\n[02:13.63] Yeah, nobody rock harder than this\n[02:14.42] Closed jaw, stoned face, mic extremist\n[02:14.95] And, I doubt it\n[02:15.56] You could kiss my ass and make a love song about it\n[02:17.37] Cause, I'm 'bout it and their livin' without it\n[02:19.29] Yeah, wantin' to battle with me, as hard as it gets\n[02:21.58] Get niggaz in jail watchin' soul train\n[02:23.72] Turn off the tv, lyrical vet\n[02:25.72] Flippin' twenty-six letters of the alphabet\n[02:28.08] You talk shit, you deserve what you get\n[02:30.49] I'm heart-throb, leave you dead as a door-knob\n[02:32.20] Not a hip-hop cop and not down with the mobb\n[02:34.60] Capable of handlin' multiple responsibilities\n[02:37.96] Simultaneously, with communication capabilities\n[02:41.33] From high-class to mid-class to low and greedy\n[02:43.76] I will instantaneously bust an mc\n[02:46.02] The non-forgetter, hit you with the one hitter, quitter\n[02:48.95] And make you exercise your shit up, nigga\n[02:50.85] [jamal]\n[02:51.58] These niggaz is ridin' dick like rodeo, their homos\n[02:53.87] Who wanna toe-to-toe, f**k the studio flow\n[02:56.26] Def squad click, a thug nigga, chug a lot of liquor\n[02:59.17] .45 slug sender, half spreader, cash getter\n[03:01.96] Represent for the real gangsters and drug dealers\n[03:04.32] Know half your little rap and I'm cappin' and slappin' niggaz\n[03:06.91] Same niggaz takin' this squad shit for a joke\n[03:10.05] Pull the pistol 'bout to smoke, they choke, blood spill at the pope\n[03:12.44] Their cowards, gettin' rained on like a shower\n[03:15.08] Live form nyc, e, red keepin' me, mally g\n[03:19.35] Master the ceremonial, off the meat rack\n[03:21.49] Call you weak, keep gats, pandemonium\n[03:23.72] Phony tough tony ones, we dip dip die in the place\n[03:26.28] House, that was some hardcore rap\n[03:28.63] Realer than black, black baseball bats and black gats\n[03:31.88] 'bout to black out on all you wack cats\n[03:33.85] [chorus x2: pmd]\n[03:34.73] Mc's it's the final countdown\n[03:36.77] You look tired can you go the round\n[03:39.07] If you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\n[03:42.05] If not, I'll turn around and say forget it\n[03:44.36] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Countdown\n  artist: Def Squad\n  album: El Niño\n  duration_ms: 237000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: '[erick sermon]'\n  start_ms: 1710\n  end_ms: 1920\n- text: For she's perhaps quite clever\n  start_ms: 1920\n  end_ms: 3230\n- text: On the mic, I'm wizard, call me chris webber\n  start_ms: 3230\n  end_ms: 5990\n- text: Scary, wise, I'm way past terror\n  start_ms: 5990\n  end_ms: 8580\n- text: I make like jay-z, then roc-a-fella\n  start_ms: 8580\n  end_ms: 11170\n- text: Rock 'em out the club\n  start_ms: 11170\n  end_ms: 12950\n- text: Then buy 'em a bottle of champagne\n  start_ms: 12950\n  end_ms: 14500\n- text: From the bar compliments of e-dub\n  start_ms: 14500\n  end_ms: 16030\n- text: I be the one to cause the confusion\n  start_ms: 16030\n  end_ms: 19450\n- text: Twist your mind to pieces\n  start_ms: 19450\n  end_ms: 21160\n- text: Make ya think I'm losin'\n  start_ms: 21160\n  end_ms: 22690\n- text: Yeah, niggaz try to provoke me\n  start_ms: 22690\n  end_ms: 24180\n- text: But, I'm a tower god\n  start_ms: 24180\n  end_ms: 25800\n- text: So, there ain't no hope\n  start_ms: 25800\n  end_ms: 27390\n- text: Bitches like dope e\n  start_ms: 27390\n  end_ms: 28960\n- text: So, I resume, if they step\n  start_ms: 28960\n  end_ms: 30740\n- text: I buck-a-shot like I'm black moon\n  start_ms: 30740\n  end_ms: 32690\n- text: Let me ask you's, y'all feel that like erykah\n  start_ms: 32690\n  end_ms: 35200\n- text: Control the states and make a def america\n  start_ms: 35200\n  end_ms: 37630\n- text: My styles legit, peep the steez a bit\n  start_ms: 37630\n  end_ms: 40600\n- text: It's official, like a licensed .45 pistol\n  start_ms: 40600\n  end_ms: 43560\n- text: Word to the preacher's wife\n  start_ms: 43560\n  end_ms: 45190\n- text: I got the power to annoy ya\n  start_ms: 45190\n  end_ms: 46970\n- text: And keep them shiesty folks on point\n  start_ms: 46970\n  end_ms: 48890\n- text: I'm the butler, servin' mc's\n  start_ms: 48890\n  end_ms: 50940\n- text: Because I love to\n  start_ms: 50940\n  end_ms: 52900\n- text: N-o, quote, you're a customer\n  start_ms: 52900\n  end_ms: 54210\n- text: '[redman]'\n  start_ms: 54210\n  end_ms: 54790\n- text: I put you in your right mind and frame\n  start_ms: 54790\n  end_ms: 55910\n- text: I de-rail tracks and rappers like doc designed the train\n  start_ms: 55910\n  end_ms: 58620\n- text: All aboard with the def squad, if you can hang\n  start_ms: 58620\n  end_ms: 61500\n- text: My name be precise range, when I aim, I flame\n  start_ms: 61500\n  end_ms: 64330\n- text: F**k a gun, when I was twelve, I was bustin' 'em\n  start_ms: 64330\n  end_ms: 67650\n- text: Young, just wanna have fun, like little just' and 'em\n  start_ms: 67650\n  end_ms: 69600\n- text: But, doc never trusted them hoes, double crossed me\n  start_ms: 69600\n  end_ms: 72520\n- text: Foes, I take it to the nigga, started you hustlin'\n  start_ms: 72520\n  end_ms: 75120\n- text: Whether it be weed, dope or coke\n  start_ms: 75120\n  end_ms: 78050\n- text: My athlete flow make doc show, soak his toes\n  start_ms: 78050\n  end_ms: 81720\n- text: Make niggaz bow down, when I'm drunk off gold crown\n  start_ms: 81720\n  end_ms: 83260\n- text: Pull out the pound, bust off my ro-ro-ro-round\n  start_ms: 83260\n  end_ms: 86100\n- text: Jump out a tree, land on your neck\n  start_ms: 86100\n  end_ms: 88390\n- text: From the moment you start pumpin' redman in your deck\n  start_ms: 88390\n  end_ms: 91150\n- text: You be like damn, that's what I ride for\n  start_ms: 91150\n  end_ms: 93280\n- text: If I apply more pressure, it'll snow on july fourth\n  start_ms: 93280\n  end_ms: 96590\n- text: Son spark the spliff, bark the fifth\n  start_ms: 96590\n  end_ms: 99050\n- text: The tracks make acrobats lose their arch and shit\n  start_ms: 99050\n  end_ms: 102840\n- text: If you came to brawl, we love to get involved\n  start_ms: 102840\n  end_ms: 104640\n- text: My squad lickin' hard for all white people to jawl\n  start_ms: 104640\n  end_ms: 107640\n- text: '[chorus x2: pmd]'\n  start_ms: 107640\n  end_ms: 129540\n- text: Mc's it's the final countdown\n  start_ms: 129540\n  end_ms: 131080\n- text: You look tired can you go the round\n  start_ms: 131080\n  end_ms: 131340\n- text: If you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\n  start_ms: 131340\n  end_ms: 132610\n- text: If not, I'll turn around and say forget it\n  start_ms: 132610\n  end_ms: 133470\n- text: '[keith murray]'\n  start_ms: 133470\n  end_ms: 133630\n- text: Yeah, nobody rock harder than this\n  start_ms: 133630\n  end_ms: 134420\n- text: Closed jaw, stoned face, mic extremist\n  start_ms: 134420\n  end_ms: 134950\n- text: And, I doubt it\n  start_ms: 134950\n  end_ms: 135560\n- text: You could kiss my ass and make a love song about it\n  start_ms: 135560\n  end_ms: 137370\n- text: Cause, I'm 'bout it and their livin' without it\n  start_ms: 137370\n  end_ms: 139290\n- text: Yeah, wantin' to battle with me, as hard as it gets\n  start_ms: 139290\n  end_ms: 141580\n- text: Get niggaz in jail watchin' soul train\n  start_ms: 141580\n  end_ms: 143720\n- text: Turn off the tv, lyrical vet\n  start_ms: 143720\n  end_ms: 145720\n- text: Flippin' twenty-six letters of the alphabet\n  start_ms: 145720\n  end_ms: 148080\n- text: You talk shit, you deserve what you get\n  start_ms: 148080\n  end_ms: 150490\n- text: I'm heart-throb, leave you dead as a door-knob\n  start_ms: 150490\n  end_ms: 152200\n- text: Not a hip-hop cop and not down with the mobb\n  start_ms: 152200\n  end_ms: 154600\n- text: Capable of handlin' multiple responsibilities\n  start_ms: 154600\n  end_ms: 157960\n- text: Simultaneously, with communication capabilities\n  start_ms: 157960\n  end_ms: 161330\n- text: From high-class to mid-class to low and greedy\n  start_ms: 161330\n  end_ms: 163760\n- text: I will instantaneously bust an mc\n  start_ms: 163760\n  end_ms: 166020\n- text: The non-forgetter, hit you with the one hitter, quitter\n  start_ms: 166020\n  end_ms: 168950\n- text: And make you exercise your shit up, nigga\n  start_ms: 168950\n  end_ms: 170850\n- text: '[jamal]'\n  start_ms: 170850\n  end_ms: 171580\n- text: These niggaz is ridin' dick like rodeo, their homos\n  start_ms: 171580\n  end_ms: 173870\n- text: Who wanna toe-to-toe, f**k the studio flow\n  start_ms: 173870\n  end_ms: 176260\n- text: Def squad click, a thug nigga, chug a lot of liquor\n  start_ms: 176260\n  end_ms: 179170\n- text: .45 slug sender, half spreader, cash getter\n  start_ms: 179170\n  end_ms: 181960\n- text: Represent for the real gangsters and drug dealers\n  start_ms: 181960\n  end_ms: 184320\n- text: Know half your little rap and I'm cappin' and slappin' niggaz\n  start_ms: 184320\n  end_ms: 186910\n- text: Same niggaz takin' this squad shit for a joke\n  start_ms: 186910\n  end_ms: 190050\n- text: Pull the pistol 'bout to smoke, they choke, blood spill at the pope\n  start_ms: 190050\n  end_ms: 192440\n- text: Their cowards, gettin' rained on like a shower\n  start_ms: 192440\n  end_ms: 195080\n- text: Live form nyc, e, red keepin' me, mally g\n  start_ms: 195080\n  end_ms: 199350\n- text: Master the ceremonial, off the meat rack\n  start_ms: 199350\n  end_ms: 201490\n- text: Call you weak, keep gats, pandemonium\n  start_ms: 201490\n  end_ms: 203720\n- text: Phony tough tony ones, we dip dip die in the place\n  start_ms: 203720\n  end_ms: 206280\n- text: House, that was some hardcore rap\n  start_ms: 206280\n  end_ms: 208630\n- text: Realer than black, black baseball bats and black gats\n  start_ms: 208630\n  end_ms: 211880\n- text: '''bout to black out on all you wack cats'\n  start_ms: 211880\n  end_ms: 213850\n- text: '[chorus x2: pmd]'\n  start_ms: 213850\n  end_ms: 214730\n- text: Mc's it's the final countdown\n  start_ms: 214730\n  end_ms: 216770\n- text: You look tired can you go the round\n  start_ms: 216770\n  end_ms: 219070\n- text: If you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\n  start_ms: 219070\n  end_ms: 222050\n- text: If not, I'll turn around and say forget it\n  start_ms: 222050\n  end_ms: 224360\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 224360\nplain: |-\n  [erick sermon]\n  For she's perhaps quite clever\n  On the mic, I'm wizard, call me chris webber\n  Scary, wise, I'm way past terror\n  I make like jay-z, then roc-a-fella\n  Rock 'em out the club\n  Then buy 'em a bottle of champagne\n  From the bar compliments of e-dub\n  I be the one to cause the confusion\n  Twist your mind to pieces\n  Make ya think I'm losin'\n  Yeah, niggaz try to provoke me\n  But, I'm a tower god\n  So, there ain't no hope\n  Bitches like dope e\n  So, I resume, if they step\n  I buck-a-shot like I'm black moon\n  Let me ask you's, y'all feel that like erykah\n  Control the states and make a def america\n  My styles legit, peep the steez a bit\n  It's official, like a licensed .45 pistol\n  Word to the preacher's wife\n  I got the power to annoy ya\n  And keep them shiesty folks on point\n  I'm the butler, servin' mc's\n  Because I love to\n  N-o, quote, you're a customer\n\n  [redman]\n  I put you in your right mind and frame\n  I de-rail tracks and rappers like doc designed the train\n  All aboard with the def squad, if you can hang\n  My name be precise range, when I aim, I flame\n  F**k a gun, when I was twelve, I was bustin' 'em\n  Young, just wanna have fun, like little just' and 'em\n  But, doc never trusted them hoes, double crossed me\n  Foes, I take it to the nigga, started you hustlin'\n  Whether it be weed, dope or coke\n  My athlete flow make doc show, soak his toes\n  Make niggaz bow down, when I'm drunk off gold crown\n  Pull out the pound, bust off my ro-ro-ro-round\n  Jump out a tree, land on your neck\n  From the moment you start pumpin' redman in your deck\n  You be like damn, that's what I ride for\n  If I apply more pressure, it'll snow on july fourth\n  Son spark the spliff, bark the fifth\n  The tracks make acrobats lose their arch and shit\n  If you came to brawl, we love to get involved\n  My squad lickin' hard for all white people to jawl\n\n  [chorus x2: pmd]\n  Mc's it's the final countdown\n  You look tired can you go the round\n  If you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\n  If not, I'll turn around and say forget it\n\n  [keith murray]\n  Yeah, nobody rock harder than this\n  Closed jaw, stoned face, mic extremist\n  And, I doubt it\n  You could kiss my ass and make a love song about it\n  Cause, I'm 'bout it and their livin' without it\n  Yeah, wantin' to battle with me, as hard as it gets\n  Get niggaz in jail watchin' soul train\n  Turn off the tv, lyrical vet\n  Flippin' twenty-six letters of the alphabet\n  You talk shit, you deserve what you get\n  I'm heart-throb, leave you dead as a door-knob\n  Not a hip-hop cop and not down with the mobb\n  Capable of handlin' multiple responsibilities\n  Simultaneously, with communication capabilities\n  From high-class to mid-class to low and greedy\n  I will instantaneously bust an mc\n  The non-forgetter, hit you with the one hitter, quitter\n  And make you exercise your shit up, nigga\n\n  [jamal]\n  These niggaz is ridin' dick like rodeo, their homos\n  Who wanna toe-to-toe, f**k the studio flow\n  Def squad click, a thug nigga, chug a lot of liquor\n  .45 slug sender, half spreader, cash getter\n  Represent for the real gangsters and drug dealers\n  Know half your little rap and I'm cappin' and slappin' niggaz\n  Same niggaz takin' this squad shit for a joke\n  Pull the pistol 'bout to smoke, they choke, blood spill at the pope\n  Their cowards, gettin' rained on like a shower\n  Live form nyc, e, red keepin' me, mally g\n  Master the ceremonial, off the meat rack\n  Call you weak, keep gats, pandemonium\n  Phony tough tony ones, we dip dip die in the place\n  House, that was some hardcore rap\n  Realer than black, black baseball bats and black gats\n  'bout to black out on all you wack cats\n\n  [chorus x2: pmd]\n  Mc's it's the final countdown\n  You look tired can you go the round\n  If you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\n  If not, I'll turn around and say forget it\n"},{"id":36323295,"name":"Countdown","trackName":"Countdown","artistName":"Def Squad Jamal","albumName":"El Niño","duration":237.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"[erick sermon]\nFor she's perhaps quite clever\nOn the mic, I'm wizard, call me chris webber\nScary, wise, I'm way past terror\nI make like jay-z, then roc-a-fella\nRock 'em out the club\nThen buy 'em a bottle of champagne\nFrom the bar compliments of e-dub\nI be the one to cause the confusion\nTwist your mind to pieces\nMake ya think I'm losin'\nYeah, niggaz try to provoke me\nBut, I'm a tower god\nSo, there ain't no hope\nBitches like dope e\nSo, I resume, if they step\nI buck-a-shot like I'm black moon\nLet me ask you's, y'all feel that like erykah\nControl the states and make a def america\nMy styles legit, peep the steez a bit\nIt's official, like a licensed .45 pistol\nWord to the preacher's wife\nI got the power to annoy ya\nAnd keep them shiesty folks on point\nI'm the butler, servin' mc's\nBecause I love to\nN-o, quote, you're a customer\n\n[redman]\nI put you in your right mind and frame\nI de-rail tracks and rappers like doc designed the train\nAll aboard with the def squad, if you can hang\nMy name be precise range, when I aim, I flame\nFuck a gun, when I was twelve, I was bustin' 'em\nYoung, just wanna have fun, like little just' and 'em\nBut, doc never trusted them hoes, double crossed me\nFoes, I take it to the nigga, started you hustlin'\nWhether it be weed, dope or coke\nMy athlete flow make doc show, soak his toes\nMake niggaz bow down, when I'm drunk off gold crown\nPull out the pound, bust off my ro-ro-ro-round\nJump out a tree, land on your neck\nFrom the moment you start pumpin' redman in your deck\nYou be like damn, that's what I ride for\nIf I apply more pressure, it'll snow on july fourth\nSon spark the spliff, bark the fifth\nThe tracks make acrobats lose their arch and shit\nIf you came to brawl, we love to get involved\nMy squad lickin' hard for all white people to jawl\n\n[chorus x2: pmd]\nMc's it's the final countdown\nYou look tired can you go the round\nIf you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\nIf not, I'll turn around and say forget it\n\n[keith murray]\nYeah, nobody rock harder than this\nClosed jaw, stoned face, mic extremist\nAnd, I doubt it\nYou could kiss my ass and make a love song about it\nCause, I'm 'bout it and their livin' without it\nYeah, wantin' to battle with me, as hard as it gets\nGet niggaz in jail watchin' soul train\nTurn off the tv, lyrical vet\nFlippin' twenty-six letters of the alphabet\nYou talk shit, you deserve what you get\nI'm heart-throb, leave you dead as a door-knob\nNot a hip-hop cop and not down with the mobb\nCapable of handlin' multiple responsibilities\nSimultaneously, with communication capabilities\nFrom high-class to mid-class to low and greedy\nI will instantaneously bust an mc\nThe non-forgetter, hit you with the one hitter, quitter\nAnd make you exercise your shit up, nigga\n\n[jamal]\nThese niggaz is ridin' dick like rodeo, their homos\nWho wanna toe-to-toe, fuck the studio flow\nDef squad click, a thug nigga, chug a lot of liquor\n.45 slug sender, half spreader, cash getter\nRepresent for the real gangsters and drug dealers\nKnow half your little rap and I'm cappin' and slappin' niggaz\nSame niggaz takin' this squad shit for a joke\nPull the pistol 'bout to smoke, they choke, blood spill at the pope\nTheir cowards, gettin' rained on like a shower\nLive form nyc, e, red keepin' me, mally g\nMaster the ceremonial, off the meat rack\nCall you weak, keep gats, pandemonium\nPhony tough tony ones, we dip dip die in the place\nHouse, that was some hardcore rap\nRealer than black, black baseball bats and black gats\n'bout to black out on all you wack cats\n\n[chorus x2: pmd]\nMc's it's the final countdown\nYou look tired can you go the round\nIf you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\nIf not, I'll turn around and say forget it","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Countdown\n  artist: Def Squad Jamal\n  album: El Niño\n  duration_ms: 237000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  [erick sermon]\n  For she's perhaps quite clever\n  On the mic, I'm wizard, call me chris webber\n  Scary, wise, I'm way past terror\n  I make like jay-z, then roc-a-fella\n  Rock 'em out the club\n  Then buy 'em a bottle of champagne\n  From the bar compliments of e-dub\n  I be the one to cause the confusion\n  Twist your mind to pieces\n  Make ya think I'm losin'\n  Yeah, niggaz try to provoke me\n  But, I'm a tower god\n  So, there ain't no hope\n  Bitches like dope e\n  So, I resume, if they step\n  I buck-a-shot like I'm black moon\n  Let me ask you's, y'all feel that like erykah\n  Control the states and make a def america\n  My styles legit, peep the steez a bit\n  It's official, like a licensed .45 pistol\n  Word to the preacher's wife\n  I got the power to annoy ya\n  And keep them shiesty folks on point\n  I'm the butler, servin' mc's\n  Because I love to\n  N-o, quote, you're a customer\n\n  [redman]\n  I put you in your right mind and frame\n  I de-rail tracks and rappers like doc designed the train\n  All aboard with the def squad, if you can hang\n  My name be precise range, when I aim, I flame\n  Fuck a gun, when I was twelve, I was bustin' 'em\n  Young, just wanna have fun, like little just' and 'em\n  But, doc never trusted them hoes, double crossed me\n  Foes, I take it to the nigga, started you hustlin'\n  Whether it be weed, dope or coke\n  My athlete flow make doc show, soak his toes\n  Make niggaz bow down, when I'm drunk off gold crown\n  Pull out the pound, bust off my ro-ro-ro-round\n  Jump out a tree, land on your neck\n  From the moment you start pumpin' redman in your deck\n  You be like damn, that's what I ride for\n  If I apply more pressure, it'll snow on july fourth\n  Son spark the spliff, bark the fifth\n  The tracks make acrobats lose their arch and shit\n  If you came to brawl, we love to get involved\n  My squad lickin' hard for all white people to jawl\n\n  [chorus x2: pmd]\n  Mc's it's the final countdown\n  You look tired can you go the round\n  If you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\n  If not, I'll turn around and say forget it\n\n  [keith murray]\n  Yeah, nobody rock harder than this\n  Closed jaw, stoned face, mic extremist\n  And, I doubt it\n  You could kiss my ass and make a love song about it\n  Cause, I'm 'bout it and their livin' without it\n  Yeah, wantin' to battle with me, as hard as it gets\n  Get niggaz in jail watchin' soul train\n  Turn off the tv, lyrical vet\n  Flippin' twenty-six letters of the alphabet\n  You talk shit, you deserve what you get\n  I'm heart-throb, leave you dead as a door-knob\n  Not a hip-hop cop and not down with the mobb\n  Capable of handlin' multiple responsibilities\n  Simultaneously, with communication capabilities\n  From high-class to mid-class to low and greedy\n  I will instantaneously bust an mc\n  The non-forgetter, hit you with the one hitter, quitter\n  And make you exercise your shit up, nigga\n\n  [jamal]\n  These niggaz is ridin' dick like rodeo, their homos\n  Who wanna toe-to-toe, fuck the studio flow\n  Def squad click, a thug nigga, chug a lot of liquor\n  .45 slug sender, half spreader, cash getter\n  Represent for the real gangsters and drug dealers\n  Know half your little rap and I'm cappin' and slappin' niggaz\n  Same niggaz takin' this squad shit for a joke\n  Pull the pistol 'bout to smoke, they choke, blood spill at the pope\n  Their cowards, gettin' rained on like a shower\n  Live form nyc, e, red keepin' me, mally g\n  Master the ceremonial, off the meat rack\n  Call you weak, keep gats, pandemonium\n  Phony tough tony ones, we dip dip die in the place\n  House, that was some hardcore rap\n  Realer than black, black baseball bats and black gats\n  'bout to black out on all you wack cats\n\n  [chorus x2: pmd]\n  Mc's it's the final countdown\n  You look tired can you go the round\n  If you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\n  If not, I'll turn around and say forget it\n"},{"id":9523136,"name":"countdown (feat. jamal)","trackName":"countdown (feat. jamal)","artistName":"def squad","albumName":"el niño","duration":236.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"[erick sermon]\nFor she's perhaps quite clever\nOn the mic, I'm wizard, call me chris webber\nScary, wise, I'm way past terror\nI make like jay-z, then roc-a-fella\nRock 'em out the club\nThen buy 'em a bottle of champagne\nFrom the bar compliments of e-dub\nI be the one to cause the confusion\nTwist your mind to pieces\nMake ya think I'm losin'\nYeah, niggaz try to provoke me\nBut, I'm a tower god\nSo, there ain't no hope\nBitches like dope e\nSo, I resume, if they step\nI buck-a-shot like I'm black moon\nLet me ask you's, y'all feel that like erykah\nControl the states and make a def america\nMy styles legit, peep the steez a bit\nIt's official, like a licensed .45 pistol\nWord to the preacher's wife\nI got the power to annoy ya\nAnd keep them shiesty folks on point\nI'm the butler, servin' mc's\nBecause I love to\nN-o, quote, you're a customer\n\n[redman]\nI put you in your right mind and frame\nI de-rail tracks and rappers like doc designed the train\nAll aboard with the def squad, if you can hang\nMy name be precise range, when I aim, I flame\nFuck a gun, when I was twelve, I was bustin' 'em\nYoung, just wanna have fun, like little just' and 'em\nBut, doc never trusted them hoes, double crossed me\nFoes, I take it to the nigga, started you hustlin'\nWhether it be weed, dope or coke\nMy athlete flow make doc show, soak his toes\nMake niggaz bow down, when I'm drunk off gold crown\nPull out the pound, bust off my ro-ro-ro-round\nJump out a tree, land on your neck\nFrom the moment you start pumpin' redman in your deck\nYou be like damn, that's what I ride for\nIf I apply more pressure, it'll snow on july fourth\nSon spark the spliff, bark the fifth\nThe tracks make acrobats lose their arch and shit\nIf you came to brawl, we love to get involved\nMy squad lickin' hard for all white people to jawl\n\n[chorus x2: pmd]\nMc's it's the final countdown\nYou look tired can you go the round\nIf you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\nIf not, I'll turn around and say forget it\n\n[keith murray]\nYeah, nobody rock harder than this\nClosed jaw, stoned face, mic extremist\nAnd, I doubt it\nYou could kiss my ass and make a love song about it\nCause, I'm 'bout it and their livin' without it\nYeah, wantin' to battle with me, as hard as it gets\nGet niggaz in jail watchin' soul train\nTurn off the tv, lyrical vet\nFlippin' twenty-six letters of the alphabet\nYou talk shit, you deserve what you get\nI'm heart-throb, leave you dead as a door-knob\nNot a hip-hop cop and not down with the mobb\nCapable of handlin' multiple responsibilities\nSimultaneously, with communication capabilities\nFrom high-class to mid-class to low and greedy\nI will instantaneously bust an mc\nThe non-forgetter, hit you with the one hitter, quitter\nAnd make you exercise your shit up, nigga\n\n[jamal]\nThese niggaz is ridin' dick like rodeo, their homos\nWho wanna toe-to-toe, fuck the studio flow\nDef squad click, a thug nigga, chug a lot of liquor\n.45 slug sender, half spreader, cash getter\nRepresent for the real gangsters and drug dealers\nKnow half your little rap and I'm cappin' and slappin' niggaz\nSame niggaz takin' this squad shit for a joke\nPull the pistol 'bout to smoke, they choke, blood spill at the pope\nTheir cowards, gettin' rained on like a shower\nLive form nyc, e, red keepin' me, mally g\nMaster the ceremonial, off the meat rack\nCall you weak, keep gats, pandemonium\nPhony tough tony ones, we dip dip die in the place\nHouse, that was some hardcore rap\nRealer than black, black baseball bats and black gats\n'bout to black out on all you wack cats\n\n[chorus x2: pmd]\nMc's it's the final countdown\nYou look tired can you go the round\nIf you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\nIf not, I'll turn around and say forget it","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: countdown (feat. jamal)\n  artist: def squad\n  album: el niño\n  duration_ms: 236000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  [erick sermon]\n  For she's perhaps quite clever\n  On the mic, I'm wizard, call me chris webber\n  Scary, wise, I'm way past terror\n  I make like jay-z, then roc-a-fella\n  Rock 'em out the club\n  Then buy 'em a bottle of champagne\n  From the bar compliments of e-dub\n  I be the one to cause the confusion\n  Twist your mind to pieces\n  Make ya think I'm losin'\n  Yeah, niggaz try to provoke me\n  But, I'm a tower god\n  So, there ain't no hope\n  Bitches like dope e\n  So, I resume, if they step\n  I buck-a-shot like I'm black moon\n  Let me ask you's, y'all feel that like erykah\n  Control the states and make a def america\n  My styles legit, peep the steez a bit\n  It's official, like a licensed .45 pistol\n  Word to the preacher's wife\n  I got the power to annoy ya\n  And keep them shiesty folks on point\n  I'm the butler, servin' mc's\n  Because I love to\n  N-o, quote, you're a customer\n\n  [redman]\n  I put you in your right mind and frame\n  I de-rail tracks and rappers like doc designed the train\n  All aboard with the def squad, if you can hang\n  My name be precise range, when I aim, I flame\n  Fuck a gun, when I was twelve, I was bustin' 'em\n  Young, just wanna have fun, like little just' and 'em\n  But, doc never trusted them hoes, double crossed me\n  Foes, I take it to the nigga, started you hustlin'\n  Whether it be weed, dope or coke\n  My athlete flow make doc show, soak his toes\n  Make niggaz bow down, when I'm drunk off gold crown\n  Pull out the pound, bust off my ro-ro-ro-round\n  Jump out a tree, land on your neck\n  From the moment you start pumpin' redman in your deck\n  You be like damn, that's what I ride for\n  If I apply more pressure, it'll snow on july fourth\n  Son spark the spliff, bark the fifth\n  The tracks make acrobats lose their arch and shit\n  If you came to brawl, we love to get involved\n  My squad lickin' hard for all white people to jawl\n\n  [chorus x2: pmd]\n  Mc's it's the final countdown\n  You look tired can you go the round\n  If you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\n  If not, I'll turn around and say forget it\n\n  [keith murray]\n  Yeah, nobody rock harder than this\n  Closed jaw, stoned face, mic extremist\n  And, I doubt it\n  You could kiss my ass and make a love song about it\n  Cause, I'm 'bout it and their livin' without it\n  Yeah, wantin' to battle with me, as hard as it gets\n  Get niggaz in jail watchin' soul train\n  Turn off the tv, lyrical vet\n  Flippin' twenty-six letters of the alphabet\n  You talk shit, you deserve what you get\n  I'm heart-throb, leave you dead as a door-knob\n  Not a hip-hop cop and not down with the mobb\n  Capable of handlin' multiple responsibilities\n  Simultaneously, with communication capabilities\n  From high-class to mid-class to low and greedy\n  I will instantaneously bust an mc\n  The non-forgetter, hit you with the one hitter, quitter\n  And make you exercise your shit up, nigga\n\n  [jamal]\n  These niggaz is ridin' dick like rodeo, their homos\n  Who wanna toe-to-toe, fuck the studio flow\n  Def squad click, a thug nigga, chug a lot of liquor\n  .45 slug sender, half spreader, cash getter\n  Represent for the real gangsters and drug dealers\n  Know half your little rap and I'm cappin' and slappin' niggaz\n  Same niggaz takin' this squad shit for a joke\n  Pull the pistol 'bout to smoke, they choke, blood spill at the pope\n  Their cowards, gettin' rained on like a shower\n  Live form nyc, e, red keepin' me, mally g\n  Master the ceremonial, off the meat rack\n  Call you weak, keep gats, pandemonium\n  Phony tough tony ones, we dip dip die in the place\n  House, that was some hardcore rap\n  Realer than black, black baseball bats and black gats\n  'bout to black out on all you wack cats\n\n  [chorus x2: pmd]\n  Mc's it's the final countdown\n  You look tired can you go the round\n  If you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\n  If not, I'll turn around and say forget it\n"},{"id":29113354,"name":"Countdown (feat. Lil' Jamal)","trackName":"Countdown (feat. Lil' Jamal)","artistName":"Def Squad","albumName":"El Nino","duration":238.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"[erick sermon]\nFor she's perhaps quite clever\nOn the mic, I'm wizard, call me chris webber\nScary, wise, I'm way past terror\nI make like jay-z, then roc-a-fella\nRock 'em out the club\nThen buy 'em a bottle of champagne\nFrom the bar compliments of e-dub\nI be the one to cause the confusion\nTwist your mind to pieces\nMake ya think I'm losin'\nYeah, niggaz try to provoke me\nBut, I'm a tower god\nSo, there ain't no hope\nBitches like dope e\nSo, I resume, if they step\nI buck-a-shot like I'm black moon\nLet me ask you's, y'all feel that like erykah\nControl the states and make a def america\nMy styles legit, peep the steez a bit\nIt's official, like a licensed .45 pistol\nWord to the preacher's wife\nI got the power to annoy ya\nAnd keep them shiesty folks on point\nI'm the butler, servin' mc's\nBecause I love to\nN-o, quote, you're a customer\n\n[redman]\nI put you in your right mind and frame\nI de-rail tracks and rappers like doc designed the train\nAll aboard with the def squad, if you can hang\nMy name be precise range, when I aim, I flame\nFuck a gun, when I was twelve, I was bustin' 'em\nYoung, just wanna have fun, like little just' and 'em\nBut, doc never trusted them hoes, double crossed me\nFoes, I take it to the nigga, started you hustlin'\nWhether it be weed, dope or coke\nMy athlete flow make doc show, soak his toes\nMake niggaz bow down, when I'm drunk off gold crown\nPull out the pound, bust off my ro-ro-ro-round\nJump out a tree, land on your neck\nFrom the moment you start pumpin' redman in your deck\nYou be like damn, that's what I ride for\nIf I apply more pressure, it'll snow on july fourth\nSon spark the spliff, bark the fifth\nThe tracks make acrobats lose their arch and shit\nIf you came to brawl, we love to get involved\nMy squad lickin' hard for all white people to jawl\n\n[chorus x2: pmd]\nMc's it's the final countdown\nYou look tired can you go the round\nIf you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\nIf not, I'll turn around and say forget it\n\n[keith murray]\nYeah, nobody rock harder than this\nClosed jaw, stoned face, mic extremist\nAnd, I doubt it\nYou could kiss my ass and make a love song about it\nCause, I'm 'bout it and their livin' without it\nYeah, wantin' to battle with me, as hard as it gets\nGet niggaz in jail watchin' soul train\nTurn off the tv, lyrical vet\nFlippin' twenty-six letters of the alphabet\nYou talk shit, you deserve what you get\nI'm heart-throb, leave you dead as a door-knob\nNot a hip-hop cop and not down with the mobb\nCapable of handlin' multiple responsibilities\nSimultaneously, with communication capabilities\nFrom high-class to mid-class to low and greedy\nI will instantaneously bust an mc\nThe non-forgetter, hit you with the one hitter, quitter\nAnd make you exercise your shit up, nigga\n\n[jamal]\nThese niggaz is ridin' dick like rodeo, their homos\nWho wanna toe-to-toe, fuck the studio flow\nDef squad click, a thug nigga, chug a lot of liquor\n.45 slug sender, half spreader, cash getter\nRepresent for the real gangsters and drug dealers\nKnow half your little rap and I'm cappin' and slappin' niggaz\nSame niggaz takin' this squad shit for a joke\nPull the pistol 'bout to smoke, they choke, blood spill at the pope\nTheir cowards, gettin' rained on like a shower\nLive form nyc, e, red keepin' me, mally g\nMaster the ceremonial, off the meat rack\nCall you weak, keep gats, pandemonium\nPhony tough tony ones, we dip dip die in the place\nHouse, that was some hardcore rap\nRealer than black, black baseball bats and black gats\n'bout to black out on all you wack cats\n\n[chorus x2: pmd]\nMc's it's the final countdown\nYou look tired can you go the round\nIf you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\nIf not, I'll turn around and say forget it","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Countdown (feat. Lil' Jamal)\n  artist: Def Squad\n  album: El Nino\n  duration_ms: 238000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  [erick sermon]\n  For she's perhaps quite clever\n  On the mic, I'm wizard, call me chris webber\n  Scary, wise, I'm way past terror\n  I make like jay-z, then roc-a-fella\n  Rock 'em out the club\n  Then buy 'em a bottle of champagne\n  From the bar compliments of e-dub\n  I be the one to cause the confusion\n  Twist your mind to pieces\n  Make ya think I'm losin'\n  Yeah, niggaz try to provoke me\n  But, I'm a tower god\n  So, there ain't no hope\n  Bitches like dope e\n  So, I resume, if they step\n  I buck-a-shot like I'm black moon\n  Let me ask you's, y'all feel that like erykah\n  Control the states and make a def america\n  My styles legit, peep the steez a bit\n  It's official, like a licensed .45 pistol\n  Word to the preacher's wife\n  I got the power to annoy ya\n  And keep them shiesty folks on point\n  I'm the butler, servin' mc's\n  Because I love to\n  N-o, quote, you're a customer\n\n  [redman]\n  I put you in your right mind and frame\n  I de-rail tracks and rappers like doc designed the train\n  All aboard with the def squad, if you can hang\n  My name be precise range, when I aim, I flame\n  Fuck a gun, when I was twelve, I was bustin' 'em\n  Young, just wanna have fun, like little just' and 'em\n  But, doc never trusted them hoes, double crossed me\n  Foes, I take it to the nigga, started you hustlin'\n  Whether it be weed, dope or coke\n  My athlete flow make doc show, soak his toes\n  Make niggaz bow down, when I'm drunk off gold crown\n  Pull out the pound, bust off my ro-ro-ro-round\n  Jump out a tree, land on your neck\n  From the moment you start pumpin' redman in your deck\n  You be like damn, that's what I ride for\n  If I apply more pressure, it'll snow on july fourth\n  Son spark the spliff, bark the fifth\n  The tracks make acrobats lose their arch and shit\n  If you came to brawl, we love to get involved\n  My squad lickin' hard for all white people to jawl\n\n  [chorus x2: pmd]\n  Mc's it's the final countdown\n  You look tired can you go the round\n  If you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\n  If not, I'll turn around and say forget it\n\n  [keith murray]\n  Yeah, nobody rock harder than this\n  Closed jaw, stoned face, mic extremist\n  And, I doubt it\n  You could kiss my ass and make a love song about it\n  Cause, I'm 'bout it and their livin' without it\n  Yeah, wantin' to battle with me, as hard as it gets\n  Get niggaz in jail watchin' soul train\n  Turn off the tv, lyrical vet\n  Flippin' twenty-six letters of the alphabet\n  You talk shit, you deserve what you get\n  I'm heart-throb, leave you dead as a door-knob\n  Not a hip-hop cop and not down with the mobb\n  Capable of handlin' multiple responsibilities\n  Simultaneously, with communication capabilities\n  From high-class to mid-class to low and greedy\n  I will instantaneously bust an mc\n  The non-forgetter, hit you with the one hitter, quitter\n  And make you exercise your shit up, nigga\n\n  [jamal]\n  These niggaz is ridin' dick like rodeo, their homos\n  Who wanna toe-to-toe, fuck the studio flow\n  Def squad click, a thug nigga, chug a lot of liquor\n  .45 slug sender, half spreader, cash getter\n  Represent for the real gangsters and drug dealers\n  Know half your little rap and I'm cappin' and slappin' niggaz\n  Same niggaz takin' this squad shit for a joke\n  Pull the pistol 'bout to smoke, they choke, blood spill at the pope\n  Their cowards, gettin' rained on like a shower\n  Live form nyc, e, red keepin' me, mally g\n  Master the ceremonial, off the meat rack\n  Call you weak, keep gats, pandemonium\n  Phony tough tony ones, we dip dip die in the place\n  House, that was some hardcore rap\n  Realer than black, black baseball bats and black gats\n  'bout to black out on all you wack cats\n\n  [chorus x2: pmd]\n  Mc's it's the final countdown\n  You look tired can you go the round\n  If you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\n  If not, I'll turn around and say forget it\n"},{"id":10535605,"name":"Countdown","trackName":"Countdown","artistName":"Def Squad feat. Jamal","albumName":"El Niño","duration":236.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"[erick sermon]\nFor she's perhaps quite clever\nOn the mic, I'm wizard, call me chris webber\nScary, wise, I'm way past terror\nI make like jay-z, then roc-a-fella\nRock 'em out the club\nThen buy 'em a bottle of champagne\nFrom the bar compliments of e-dub\nI be the one to cause the confusion\nTwist your mind to pieces\nMake ya think I'm losin'\nYeah, niggaz try to provoke me\nBut, I'm a tower god\nSo, there ain't no hope\nBitches like dope e\nSo, I resume, if they step\nI buck-a-shot like I'm black moon\nLet me ask you's, y'all feel that like erykah\nControl the states and make a def america\nMy styles legit, peep the steez a bit\nIt's official, like a licensed .45 pistol\nWord to the preacher's wife\nI got the power to annoy ya\nAnd keep them shiesty folks on point\nI'm the butler, servin' mc's\nBecause I love to\nN-o, quote, you're a customer\n\n[redman]\nI put you in your right mind and frame\nI de-rail tracks and rappers like doc designed the train\nAll aboard with the def squad, if you can hang\nMy name be precise range, when I aim, I flame\nFuck a gun, when I was twelve, I was bustin' 'em\nYoung, just wanna have fun, like little just' and 'em\nBut, doc never trusted them hoes, double crossed me\nFoes, I take it to the nigga, started you hustlin'\nWhether it be weed, dope or coke\nMy athlete flow make doc show, soak his toes\nMake niggaz bow down, when I'm drunk off gold crown\nPull out the pound, bust off my ro-ro-ro-round\nJump out a tree, land on your neck\nFrom the moment you start pumpin' redman in your deck\nYou be like damn, that's what I ride for\nIf I apply more pressure, it'll snow on july fourth\nSon spark the spliff, bark the fifth\nThe tracks make acrobats lose their arch and shit\nIf you came to brawl, we love to get involved\nMy squad lickin' hard for all white people to jawl\n\n[chorus x2: pmd]\nMc's it's the final countdown\nYou look tired can you go the round\nIf you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\nIf not, I'll turn around and say forget it\n\n[keith murray]\nYeah, nobody rock harder than this\nClosed jaw, stoned face, mic extremist\nAnd, I doubt it\nYou could kiss my ass and make a love song about it\nCause, I'm 'bout it and their livin' without it\nYeah, wantin' to battle with me, as hard as it gets\nGet niggaz in jail watchin' soul train\nTurn off the tv, lyrical vet\nFlippin' twenty-six letters of the alphabet\nYou talk shit, you deserve what you get\nI'm heart-throb, leave you dead as a door-knob\nNot a hip-hop cop and not down with the mobb\nCapable of handlin' multiple responsibilities\nSimultaneously, with communication capabilities\nFrom high-class to mid-class to low and greedy\nI will instantaneously bust an mc\nThe non-forgetter, hit you with the one hitter, quitter\nAnd make you exercise your shit up, nigga\n\n[jamal]\nThese niggaz is ridin' dick like rodeo, their homos\nWho wanna toe-to-toe, fuck the studio flow\nDef squad click, a thug nigga, chug a lot of liquor\n.45 slug sender, half spreader, cash getter\nRepresent for the real gangsters and drug dealers\nKnow half your little rap and I'm cappin' and slappin' niggaz\nSame niggaz takin' this squad shit for a joke\nPull the pistol 'bout to smoke, they choke, blood spill at the pope\nTheir cowards, gettin' rained on like a shower\nLive form nyc, e, red keepin' me, mally g\nMaster the ceremonial, off the meat rack\nCall you weak, keep gats, pandemonium\nPhony tough tony ones, we dip dip die in the place\nHouse, that was some hardcore rap\nRealer than black, black baseball bats and black gats\n'bout to black out on all you wack cats\n\n[chorus x2: pmd]\nMc's it's the final countdown\nYou look tired can you go the round\nIf you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\nIf not, I'll turn around and say forget it","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Countdown\n  artist: Def Squad feat. Jamal\n  album: El Niño\n  duration_ms: 236000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  [erick sermon]\n  For she's perhaps quite clever\n  On the mic, I'm wizard, call me chris webber\n  Scary, wise, I'm way past terror\n  I make like jay-z, then roc-a-fella\n  Rock 'em out the club\n  Then buy 'em a bottle of champagne\n  From the bar compliments of e-dub\n  I be the one to cause the confusion\n  Twist your mind to pieces\n  Make ya think I'm losin'\n  Yeah, niggaz try to provoke me\n  But, I'm a tower god\n  So, there ain't no hope\n  Bitches like dope e\n  So, I resume, if they step\n  I buck-a-shot like I'm black moon\n  Let me ask you's, y'all feel that like erykah\n  Control the states and make a def america\n  My styles legit, peep the steez a bit\n  It's official, like a licensed .45 pistol\n  Word to the preacher's wife\n  I got the power to annoy ya\n  And keep them shiesty folks on point\n  I'm the butler, servin' mc's\n  Because I love to\n  N-o, quote, you're a customer\n\n  [redman]\n  I put you in your right mind and frame\n  I de-rail tracks and rappers like doc designed the train\n  All aboard with the def squad, if you can hang\n  My name be precise range, when I aim, I flame\n  Fuck a gun, when I was twelve, I was bustin' 'em\n  Young, just wanna have fun, like little just' and 'em\n  But, doc never trusted them hoes, double crossed me\n  Foes, I take it to the nigga, started you hustlin'\n  Whether it be weed, dope or coke\n  My athlete flow make doc show, soak his toes\n  Make niggaz bow down, when I'm drunk off gold crown\n  Pull out the pound, bust off my ro-ro-ro-round\n  Jump out a tree, land on your neck\n  From the moment you start pumpin' redman in your deck\n  You be like damn, that's what I ride for\n  If I apply more pressure, it'll snow on july fourth\n  Son spark the spliff, bark the fifth\n  The tracks make acrobats lose their arch and shit\n  If you came to brawl, we love to get involved\n  My squad lickin' hard for all white people to jawl\n\n  [chorus x2: pmd]\n  Mc's it's the final countdown\n  You look tired can you go the round\n  If you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\n  If not, I'll turn around and say forget it\n\n  [keith murray]\n  Yeah, nobody rock harder than this\n  Closed jaw, stoned face, mic extremist\n  And, I doubt it\n  You could kiss my ass and make a love song about it\n  Cause, I'm 'bout it and their livin' without it\n  Yeah, wantin' to battle with me, as hard as it gets\n  Get niggaz in jail watchin' soul train\n  Turn off the tv, lyrical vet\n  Flippin' twenty-six letters of the alphabet\n  You talk shit, you deserve what you get\n  I'm heart-throb, leave you dead as a door-knob\n  Not a hip-hop cop and not down with the mobb\n  Capable of handlin' multiple responsibilities\n  Simultaneously, with communication capabilities\n  From high-class to mid-class to low and greedy\n  I will instantaneously bust an mc\n  The non-forgetter, hit you with the one hitter, quitter\n  And make you exercise your shit up, nigga\n\n  [jamal]\n  These niggaz is ridin' dick like rodeo, their homos\n  Who wanna toe-to-toe, fuck the studio flow\n  Def squad click, a thug nigga, chug a lot of liquor\n  .45 slug sender, half spreader, cash getter\n  Represent for the real gangsters and drug dealers\n  Know half your little rap and I'm cappin' and slappin' niggaz\n  Same niggaz takin' this squad shit for a joke\n  Pull the pistol 'bout to smoke, they choke, blood spill at the pope\n  Their cowards, gettin' rained on like a shower\n  Live form nyc, e, red keepin' me, mally g\n  Master the ceremonial, off the meat rack\n  Call you weak, keep gats, pandemonium\n  Phony tough tony ones, we dip dip die in the place\n  House, that was some hardcore rap\n  Realer than black, black baseball bats and black gats\n  'bout to black out on all you wack cats\n\n  [chorus x2: pmd]\n  Mc's it's the final countdown\n  You look tired can you go the round\n  If you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\n  If not, I'll turn around and say forget it\n"},{"id":31532671,"name":"Countdown (Featuring Jamal Of Illegal)","trackName":"Countdown (Featuring Jamal Of Illegal)","artistName":"Def Squad","albumName":"El Nino","duration":237.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"[erick sermon]\nFor she's perhaps quite clever\nOn the mic, I'm wizard, call me chris webber\nScary, wise, I'm way past terror\nI make like jay-z, then roc-a-fella\nRock 'em out the club\nThen buy 'em a bottle of champagne\nFrom the bar compliments of e-dub\nI be the one to cause the confusion\nTwist your mind to pieces\nMake ya think I'm losin'\nYeah, niggaz try to provoke me\nBut, I'm a tower god\nSo, there ain't no hope\nBitches like dope e\nSo, I resume, if they step\nI buck-a-shot like I'm black moon\nLet me ask you's, y'all feel that like erykah\nControl the states and make a def america\nMy styles legit, peep the steez a bit\nIt's official, like a licensed .45 pistol\nWord to the preacher's wife\nI got the power to annoy ya\nAnd keep them shiesty folks on point\nI'm the butler, servin' mc's\nBecause I love to\nN-o, quote, you're a customer\n\n[redman]\nI put you in your right mind and frame\nI de-rail tracks and rappers like doc designed the train\nAll aboard with the def squad, if you can hang\nMy name be precise range, when I aim, I flame\nFuck a gun, when I was twelve, I was bustin' 'em\nYoung, just wanna have fun, like little just' and 'em\nBut, doc never trusted them hoes, double crossed me\nFoes, I take it to the nigga, started you hustlin'\nWhether it be weed, dope or coke\nMy athlete flow make doc show, soak his toes\nMake niggaz bow down, when I'm drunk off gold crown\nPull out the pound, bust off my ro-ro-ro-round\nJump out a tree, land on your neck\nFrom the moment you start pumpin' redman in your deck\nYou be like damn, that's what I ride for\nIf I apply more pressure, it'll snow on july fourth\nSon spark the spliff, bark the fifth\nThe tracks make acrobats lose their arch and shit\nIf you came to brawl, we love to get involved\nMy squad lickin' hard for all white people to jawl\n\n[chorus x2: pmd]\nMc's it's the final countdown\nYou look tired can you go the round\nIf you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\nIf not, I'll turn around and say forget it\n\n[keith murray]\nYeah, nobody rock harder than this\nClosed jaw, stoned face, mic extremist\nAnd, I doubt it\nYou could kiss my ass and make a love song about it\nCause, I'm 'bout it and their livin' without it\nYeah, wantin' to battle with me, as hard as it gets\nGet niggaz in jail watchin' soul train\nTurn off the tv, lyrical vet\nFlippin' twenty-six letters of the alphabet\nYou talk shit, you deserve what you get\nI'm heart-throb, leave you dead as a door-knob\nNot a hip-hop cop and not down with the mobb\nCapable of handlin' multiple responsibilities\nSimultaneously, with communication capabilities\nFrom high-class to mid-class to low and greedy\nI will instantaneously bust an mc\nThe non-forgetter, hit you with the one hitter, quitter\nAnd make you exercise your shit up, nigga\n\n[jamal]\nThese niggaz is ridin' dick like rodeo, their homos\nWho wanna toe-to-toe, fuck the studio flow\nDef squad click, a thug nigga, chug a lot of liquor\n.45 slug sender, half spreader, cash getter\nRepresent for the real gangsters and drug dealers\nKnow half your little rap and I'm cappin' and slappin' niggaz\nSame niggaz takin' this squad shit for a joke\nPull the pistol 'bout to smoke, they choke, blood spill at the pope\nTheir cowards, gettin' rained on like a shower\nLive form nyc, e, red keepin' me, mally g\nMaster the ceremonial, off the meat rack\nCall you weak, keep gats, pandemonium\nPhony tough tony ones, we dip dip die in the place\nHouse, that was some hardcore rap\nRealer than black, black baseball bats and black gats\n'bout to black out on all you wack cats\n\n[chorus x2: pmd]\nMc's it's the final countdown\nYou look tired can you go the round\nIf you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\nIf not, I'll turn around and say forget it","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Countdown (Featuring Jamal Of Illegal)\n  artist: Def Squad\n  album: El Nino\n  duration_ms: 237000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  [erick sermon]\n  For she's perhaps quite clever\n  On the mic, I'm wizard, call me chris webber\n  Scary, wise, I'm way past terror\n  I make like jay-z, then roc-a-fella\n  Rock 'em out the club\n  Then buy 'em a bottle of champagne\n  From the bar compliments of e-dub\n  I be the one to cause the confusion\n  Twist your mind to pieces\n  Make ya think I'm losin'\n  Yeah, niggaz try to provoke me\n  But, I'm a tower god\n  So, there ain't no hope\n  Bitches like dope e\n  So, I resume, if they step\n  I buck-a-shot like I'm black moon\n  Let me ask you's, y'all feel that like erykah\n  Control the states and make a def america\n  My styles legit, peep the steez a bit\n  It's official, like a licensed .45 pistol\n  Word to the preacher's wife\n  I got the power to annoy ya\n  And keep them shiesty folks on point\n  I'm the butler, servin' mc's\n  Because I love to\n  N-o, quote, you're a customer\n\n  [redman]\n  I put you in your right mind and frame\n  I de-rail tracks and rappers like doc designed the train\n  All aboard with the def squad, if you can hang\n  My name be precise range, when I aim, I flame\n  Fuck a gun, when I was twelve, I was bustin' 'em\n  Young, just wanna have fun, like little just' and 'em\n  But, doc never trusted them hoes, double crossed me\n  Foes, I take it to the nigga, started you hustlin'\n  Whether it be weed, dope or coke\n  My athlete flow make doc show, soak his toes\n  Make niggaz bow down, when I'm drunk off gold crown\n  Pull out the pound, bust off my ro-ro-ro-round\n  Jump out a tree, land on your neck\n  From the moment you start pumpin' redman in your deck\n  You be like damn, that's what I ride for\n  If I apply more pressure, it'll snow on july fourth\n  Son spark the spliff, bark the fifth\n  The tracks make acrobats lose their arch and shit\n  If you came to brawl, we love to get involved\n  My squad lickin' hard for all white people to jawl\n\n  [chorus x2: pmd]\n  Mc's it's the final countdown\n  You look tired can you go the round\n  If you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\n  If not, I'll turn around and say forget it\n\n  [keith murray]\n  Yeah, nobody rock harder than this\n  Closed jaw, stoned face, mic extremist\n  And, I doubt it\n  You could kiss my ass and make a love song about it\n  Cause, I'm 'bout it and their livin' without it\n  Yeah, wantin' to battle with me, as hard as it gets\n  Get niggaz in jail watchin' soul train\n  Turn off the tv, lyrical vet\n  Flippin' twenty-six letters of the alphabet\n  You talk shit, you deserve what you get\n  I'm heart-throb, leave you dead as a door-knob\n  Not a hip-hop cop and not down with the mobb\n  Capable of handlin' multiple responsibilities\n  Simultaneously, with communication capabilities\n  From high-class to mid-class to low and greedy\n  I will instantaneously bust an mc\n  The non-forgetter, hit you with the one hitter, quitter\n  And make you exercise your shit up, nigga\n\n  [jamal]\n  These niggaz is ridin' dick like rodeo, their homos\n  Who wanna toe-to-toe, fuck the studio flow\n  Def squad click, a thug nigga, chug a lot of liquor\n  .45 slug sender, half spreader, cash getter\n  Represent for the real gangsters and drug dealers\n  Know half your little rap and I'm cappin' and slappin' niggaz\n  Same niggaz takin' this squad shit for a joke\n  Pull the pistol 'bout to smoke, they choke, blood spill at the pope\n  Their cowards, gettin' rained on like a shower\n  Live form nyc, e, red keepin' me, mally g\n  Master the ceremonial, off the meat rack\n  Call you weak, keep gats, pandemonium\n  Phony tough tony ones, we dip dip die in the place\n  House, that was some hardcore rap\n  Realer than black, black baseball bats and black gats\n  'bout to black out on all you wack cats\n\n  [chorus x2: pmd]\n  Mc's it's the final countdown\n  You look tired can you go the round\n  If you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\n  If not, I'll turn around and say forget it\n"},{"id":20760286,"name":"countdown","trackName":"countdown","artistName":"def squad feat. lil' jamal","albumName":"el ni�o","duration":237.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"[erick sermon]\nFor she's perhaps quite clever\nOn the mic, I'm wizard, call me chris webber\nScary, wise, I'm way past terror\nI make like jay-z, then roc-a-fella\nRock 'em out the club\nThen buy 'em a bottle of champagne\nFrom the bar compliments of e-dub\nI be the one to cause the confusion\nTwist your mind to pieces\nMake ya think I'm losin'\nYeah, niggaz try to provoke me\nBut, I'm a tower god\nSo, there ain't no hope\nBitches like dope e\nSo, I resume, if they step\nI buck-a-shot like I'm black moon\nLet me ask you's, y'all feel that like erykah\nControl the states and make a def america\nMy styles legit, peep the steez a bit\nIt's official, like a licensed .45 pistol\nWord to the preacher's wife\nI got the power to annoy ya\nAnd keep them shiesty folks on point\nI'm the butler, servin' mc's\nBecause I love to\nN-o, quote, you're a customer\n\n[redman]\nI put you in your right mind and frame\nI de-rail tracks and rappers like doc designed the train\nAll aboard with the def squad, if you can hang\nMy name be precise range, when I aim, I flame\nFuck a gun, when I was twelve, I was bustin' 'em\nYoung, just wanna have fun, like little just' and 'em\nBut, doc never trusted them hoes, double crossed me\nFoes, I take it to the nigga, started you hustlin'\nWhether it be weed, dope or coke\nMy athlete flow make doc show, soak his toes\nMake niggaz bow down, when I'm drunk off gold crown\nPull out the pound, bust off my ro-ro-ro-round\nJump out a tree, land on your neck\nFrom the moment you start pumpin' redman in your deck\nYou be like damn, that's what I ride for\nIf I apply more pressure, it'll snow on july fourth\nSon spark the spliff, bark the fifth\nThe tracks make acrobats lose their arch and shit\nIf you came to brawl, we love to get involved\nMy squad lickin' hard for all white people to jawl\n\n[chorus x2: pmd]\nMc's it's the final countdown\nYou look tired can you go the round\nIf you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\nIf not, I'll turn around and say forget it\n\n[keith murray]\nYeah, nobody rock harder than this\nClosed jaw, stoned face, mic extremist\nAnd, I doubt it\nYou could kiss my ass and make a love song about it\nCause, I'm 'bout it and their livin' without it\nYeah, wantin' to battle with me, as hard as it gets\nGet niggaz in jail watchin' soul train\nTurn off the tv, lyrical vet\nFlippin' twenty-six letters of the alphabet\nYou talk shit, you deserve what you get\nI'm heart-throb, leave you dead as a door-knob\nNot a hip-hop cop and not down with the mobb\nCapable of handlin' multiple responsibilities\nSimultaneously, with communication capabilities\nFrom high-class to mid-class to low and greedy\nI will instantaneously bust an mc\nThe non-forgetter, hit you with the one hitter, quitter\nAnd make you exercise your shit up, nigga\n\n[jamal]\nThese niggaz is ridin' dick like rodeo, their homos\nWho wanna toe-to-toe, fuck the studio flow\nDef squad click, a thug nigga, chug a lot of liquor\n.45 slug sender, half spreader, cash getter\nRepresent for the real gangsters and drug dealers\nKnow half your little rap and I'm cappin' and slappin' niggaz\nSame niggaz takin' this squad shit for a joke\nPull the pistol 'bout to smoke, they choke, blood spill at the pope\nTheir cowards, gettin' rained on like a shower\nLive form nyc, e, red keepin' me, mally g\nMaster the ceremonial, off the meat rack\nCall you weak, keep gats, pandemonium\nPhony tough tony ones, we dip dip die in the place\nHouse, that was some hardcore rap\nRealer than black, black baseball bats and black gats\n'bout to black out on all you wack cats\n\n[chorus x2: pmd]\nMc's it's the final countdown\nYou look tired can you go the round\nIf you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\nIf not, I'll turn around and say forget it","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: countdown\n  artist: def squad feat. lil' jamal\n  album: el ni�o\n  duration_ms: 237000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  [erick sermon]\n  For she's perhaps quite clever\n  On the mic, I'm wizard, call me chris webber\n  Scary, wise, I'm way past terror\n  I make like jay-z, then roc-a-fella\n  Rock 'em out the club\n  Then buy 'em a bottle of champagne\n  From the bar compliments of e-dub\n  I be the one to cause the confusion\n  Twist your mind to pieces\n  Make ya think I'm losin'\n  Yeah, niggaz try to provoke me\n  But, I'm a tower god\n  So, there ain't no hope\n  Bitches like dope e\n  So, I resume, if they step\n  I buck-a-shot like I'm black moon\n  Let me ask you's, y'all feel that like erykah\n  Control the states and make a def america\n  My styles legit, peep the steez a bit\n  It's official, like a licensed .45 pistol\n  Word to the preacher's wife\n  I got the power to annoy ya\n  And keep them shiesty folks on point\n  I'm the butler, servin' mc's\n  Because I love to\n  N-o, quote, you're a customer\n\n  [redman]\n  I put you in your right mind and frame\n  I de-rail tracks and rappers like doc designed the train\n  All aboard with the def squad, if you can hang\n  My name be precise range, when I aim, I flame\n  Fuck a gun, when I was twelve, I was bustin' 'em\n  Young, just wanna have fun, like little just' and 'em\n  But, doc never trusted them hoes, double crossed me\n  Foes, I take it to the nigga, started you hustlin'\n  Whether it be weed, dope or coke\n  My athlete flow make doc show, soak his toes\n  Make niggaz bow down, when I'm drunk off gold crown\n  Pull out the pound, bust off my ro-ro-ro-round\n  Jump out a tree, land on your neck\n  From the moment you start pumpin' redman in your deck\n  You be like damn, that's what I ride for\n  If I apply more pressure, it'll snow on july fourth\n  Son spark the spliff, bark the fifth\n  The tracks make acrobats lose their arch and shit\n  If you came to brawl, we love to get involved\n  My squad lickin' hard for all white people to jawl\n\n  [chorus x2: pmd]\n  Mc's it's the final countdown\n  You look tired can you go the round\n  If you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\n  If not, I'll turn around and say forget it\n\n  [keith murray]\n  Yeah, nobody rock harder than this\n  Closed jaw, stoned face, mic extremist\n  And, I doubt it\n  You could kiss my ass and make a love song about it\n  Cause, I'm 'bout it and their livin' without it\n  Yeah, wantin' to battle with me, as hard as it gets\n  Get niggaz in jail watchin' soul train\n  Turn off the tv, lyrical vet\n  Flippin' twenty-six letters of the alphabet\n  You talk shit, you deserve what you get\n  I'm heart-throb, leave you dead as a door-knob\n  Not a hip-hop cop and not down with the mobb\n  Capable of handlin' multiple responsibilities\n  Simultaneously, with communication capabilities\n  From high-class to mid-class to low and greedy\n  I will instantaneously bust an mc\n  The non-forgetter, hit you with the one hitter, quitter\n  And make you exercise your shit up, nigga\n\n  [jamal]\n  These niggaz is ridin' dick like rodeo, their homos\n  Who wanna toe-to-toe, fuck the studio flow\n  Def squad click, a thug nigga, chug a lot of liquor\n  .45 slug sender, half spreader, cash getter\n  Represent for the real gangsters and drug dealers\n  Know half your little rap and I'm cappin' and slappin' niggaz\n  Same niggaz takin' this squad shit for a joke\n  Pull the pistol 'bout to smoke, they choke, blood spill at the pope\n  Their cowards, gettin' rained on like a shower\n  Live form nyc, e, red keepin' me, mally g\n  Master the ceremonial, off the meat rack\n  Call you weak, keep gats, pandemonium\n  Phony tough tony ones, we dip dip die in the place\n  House, that was some hardcore rap\n  Realer than black, black baseball bats and black gats\n  'bout to black out on all you wack cats\n\n  [chorus x2: pmd]\n  Mc's it's the final countdown\n  You look tired can you go the round\n  If you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\n  If not, I'll turn around and say forget it\n"},{"id":36621179,"name":"Countdown","trackName":"Countdown","artistName":"Def Squad feat. Lil’ Jamal","albumName":"El Niño","duration":237.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"[erick sermon]\nFor she's perhaps quite clever\nOn the mic, I'm wizard, call me chris webber\nScary, wise, I'm way past terror\nI make like jay-z, then roc-a-fella\nRock 'em out the club\nThen buy 'em a bottle of champagne\nFrom the bar compliments of e-dub\nI be the one to cause the confusion\nTwist your mind to pieces\nMake ya think I'm losin'\nYeah, niggaz try to provoke me\nBut, I'm a tower god\nSo, there ain't no hope\nBitches like dope e\nSo, I resume, if they step\nI buck-a-shot like I'm black moon\nLet me ask you's, y'all feel that like erykah\nControl the states and make a def america\nMy styles legit, peep the steez a bit\nIt's official, like a licensed .45 pistol\nWord to the preacher's wife\nI got the power to annoy ya\nAnd keep them shiesty folks on point\nI'm the butler, servin' mc's\nBecause I love to\nN-o, quote, you're a customer\n\n[redman]\nI put you in your right mind and frame\nI de-rail tracks and rappers like doc designed the train\nAll aboard with the def squad, if you can hang\nMy name be precise range, when I aim, I flame\nFuck a gun, when I was twelve, I was bustin' 'em\nYoung, just wanna have fun, like little just' and 'em\nBut, doc never trusted them hoes, double crossed me\nFoes, I take it to the nigga, started you hustlin'\nWhether it be weed, dope or coke\nMy athlete flow make doc show, soak his toes\nMake niggaz bow down, when I'm drunk off gold crown\nPull out the pound, bust off my ro-ro-ro-round\nJump out a tree, land on your neck\nFrom the moment you start pumpin' redman in your deck\nYou be like damn, that's what I ride for\nIf I apply more pressure, it'll snow on july fourth\nSon spark the spliff, bark the fifth\nThe tracks make acrobats lose their arch and shit\nIf you came to brawl, we love to get involved\nMy squad lickin' hard for all white people to jawl\n\n[chorus x2: pmd]\nMc's it's the final countdown\nYou look tired can you go the round\nIf you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\nIf not, I'll turn around and say forget it\n\n[keith murray]\nYeah, nobody rock harder than this\nClosed jaw, stoned face, mic extremist\nAnd, I doubt it\nYou could kiss my ass and make a love song about it\nCause, I'm 'bout it and their livin' without it\nYeah, wantin' to battle with me, as hard as it gets\nGet niggaz in jail watchin' soul train\nTurn off the tv, lyrical vet\nFlippin' twenty-six letters of the alphabet\nYou talk shit, you deserve what you get\nI'm heart-throb, leave you dead as a door-knob\nNot a hip-hop cop and not down with the mobb\nCapable of handlin' multiple responsibilities\nSimultaneously, with communication capabilities\nFrom high-class to mid-class to low and greedy\nI will instantaneously bust an mc\nThe non-forgetter, hit you with the one hitter, quitter\nAnd make you exercise your shit up, nigga\n\n[jamal]\nThese niggaz is ridin' dick like rodeo, their homos\nWho wanna toe-to-toe, fuck the studio flow\nDef squad click, a thug nigga, chug a lot of liquor\n.45 slug sender, half spreader, cash getter\nRepresent for the real gangsters and drug dealers\nKnow half your little rap and I'm cappin' and slappin' niggaz\nSame niggaz takin' this squad shit for a joke\nPull the pistol 'bout to smoke, they choke, blood spill at the pope\nTheir cowards, gettin' rained on like a shower\nLive form nyc, e, red keepin' me, mally g\nMaster the ceremonial, off the meat rack\nCall you weak, keep gats, pandemonium\nPhony tough tony ones, we dip dip die in the place\nHouse, that was some hardcore rap\nRealer than black, black baseball bats and black gats\n'bout to black out on all you wack cats\n\n[chorus x2: pmd]\nMc's it's the final countdown\nYou look tired can you go the round\nIf you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\nIf not, I'll turn around and say forget it","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Countdown\n  artist: Def Squad feat. Lil’ Jamal\n  album: El Niño\n  duration_ms: 237000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  [erick sermon]\n  For she's perhaps quite clever\n  On the mic, I'm wizard, call me chris webber\n  Scary, wise, I'm way past terror\n  I make like jay-z, then roc-a-fella\n  Rock 'em out the club\n  Then buy 'em a bottle of champagne\n  From the bar compliments of e-dub\n  I be the one to cause the confusion\n  Twist your mind to pieces\n  Make ya think I'm losin'\n  Yeah, niggaz try to provoke me\n  But, I'm a tower god\n  So, there ain't no hope\n  Bitches like dope e\n  So, I resume, if they step\n  I buck-a-shot like I'm black moon\n  Let me ask you's, y'all feel that like erykah\n  Control the states and make a def america\n  My styles legit, peep the steez a bit\n  It's official, like a licensed .45 pistol\n  Word to the preacher's wife\n  I got the power to annoy ya\n  And keep them shiesty folks on point\n  I'm the butler, servin' mc's\n  Because I love to\n  N-o, quote, you're a customer\n\n  [redman]\n  I put you in your right mind and frame\n  I de-rail tracks and rappers like doc designed the train\n  All aboard with the def squad, if you can hang\n  My name be precise range, when I aim, I flame\n  Fuck a gun, when I was twelve, I was bustin' 'em\n  Young, just wanna have fun, like little just' and 'em\n  But, doc never trusted them hoes, double crossed me\n  Foes, I take it to the nigga, started you hustlin'\n  Whether it be weed, dope or coke\n  My athlete flow make doc show, soak his toes\n  Make niggaz bow down, when I'm drunk off gold crown\n  Pull out the pound, bust off my ro-ro-ro-round\n  Jump out a tree, land on your neck\n  From the moment you start pumpin' redman in your deck\n  You be like damn, that's what I ride for\n  If I apply more pressure, it'll snow on july fourth\n  Son spark the spliff, bark the fifth\n  The tracks make acrobats lose their arch and shit\n  If you came to brawl, we love to get involved\n  My squad lickin' hard for all white people to jawl\n\n  [chorus x2: pmd]\n  Mc's it's the final countdown\n  You look tired can you go the round\n  If you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\n  If not, I'll turn around and say forget it\n\n  [keith murray]\n  Yeah, nobody rock harder than this\n  Closed jaw, stoned face, mic extremist\n  And, I doubt it\n  You could kiss my ass and make a love song about it\n  Cause, I'm 'bout it and their livin' without it\n  Yeah, wantin' to battle with me, as hard as it gets\n  Get niggaz in jail watchin' soul train\n  Turn off the tv, lyrical vet\n  Flippin' twenty-six letters of the alphabet\n  You talk shit, you deserve what you get\n  I'm heart-throb, leave you dead as a door-knob\n  Not a hip-hop cop and not down with the mobb\n  Capable of handlin' multiple responsibilities\n  Simultaneously, with communication capabilities\n  From high-class to mid-class to low and greedy\n  I will instantaneously bust an mc\n  The non-forgetter, hit you with the one hitter, quitter\n  And make you exercise your shit up, nigga\n\n  [jamal]\n  These niggaz is ridin' dick like rodeo, their homos\n  Who wanna toe-to-toe, fuck the studio flow\n  Def squad click, a thug nigga, chug a lot of liquor\n  .45 slug sender, half spreader, cash getter\n  Represent for the real gangsters and drug dealers\n  Know half your little rap and I'm cappin' and slappin' niggaz\n  Same niggaz takin' this squad shit for a joke\n  Pull the pistol 'bout to smoke, they choke, blood spill at the pope\n  Their cowards, gettin' rained on like a shower\n  Live form nyc, e, red keepin' me, mally g\n  Master the ceremonial, off the meat rack\n  Call you weak, keep gats, pandemonium\n  Phony tough tony ones, we dip dip die in the place\n  House, that was some hardcore rap\n  Realer than black, black baseball bats and black gats\n  'bout to black out on all you wack cats\n\n  [chorus x2: pmd]\n  Mc's it's the final countdown\n  You look tired can you go the round\n  If you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit\n  If not, I'll turn around and say forget it\n"}]