[{"id":19188514,"name":"Right On","trackName":"Right On","artistName":"Dilated Peoples","albumName":"Dilated Peoples & The Likwit Crew","duration":295.615333,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n(Right on, right on)\nAll the street poets in the house, write on\n(Write on, write on)\n\nBlack people, right on, right one\n(Right on, right on)\nAll my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n(Ride on, ride on)\n\nI still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\nI'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\nWe're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\nYou couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\nWe all up in the house like cocky-roaches\nSnatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\nFuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\nI like the bass hittin' like a\n\nClose encounters of the Likwit Kind\nI'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\nIt's the J R O, you didn't know?\nGoin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\nYou in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\nYou walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\nYou lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\nHere's some news, my DJ rock the mic\nand the one's and two's and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\nYo, Dilated could never be annihilated\nI waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\nWe migrated to global positioning\nAll the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\nE-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\nI pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\nYo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\nI'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\nI strictly run off select input\nPlayed yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\nNow you come to my town ask Rak\n(Yo you on deadly ground)\n\nThese last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\nI'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\nA Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\nDilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\nMy homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n(Right on, right on)\nTo all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n(Right on, right on)\n\nTo all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n(Right on, right on)\nTo my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n(Right on, right on)\n\nWhether you writin' or ridin', right on\nFresh MC's must write on\nEven if you skateboardin', ride on\nSome of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\nI got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\nMy rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\nI'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\nYour rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\nI crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\nNiggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\nA million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\nLikwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\nRap off the plane while crackin' champagne\nTash for president, you know my campaign\nFirst things first to get y'all niggas off the street\nYou get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\nYou coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\nThat's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\nSo give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\nAnd once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nI pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\nMy name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\nWit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\nIt's dilation, fan appreciation\n\nConnected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\nCali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\nIt's all chips\nWe only get boo's from bartenders\n\nBetter be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\nWhen we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\nFeds pull strings and watch me like Truman\nBut I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\nTo all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\nGraffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\n\nTo niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n(Ride on, ride on)\nTo all the women out there raisin' kids alone\nRight on\n(Right on)\nRight on\n(Right on)\nYeah\n\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\nWhere we at?\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\n\nDilated Peoples\nRepresent wit tha Liks\nWhat","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Right On\n  artist: Dilated Peoples\n  album: Dilated Peoples & The Likwit Crew\n  duration_ms: 295615\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All the street poets in the house, write on\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  Black people, right on, right one\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n\n  I still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\n  I'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\n  We're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\n  You couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\n  We all up in the house like cocky-roaches\n  Snatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\n  Fuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\n  I like the bass hittin' like a\n\n  Close encounters of the Likwit Kind\n  I'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\n  It's the J R O, you didn't know?\n  Goin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\n  You in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\n  You walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\n  You lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\n  Here's some news, my DJ rock the mic\n  and the one's and two's and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\n  Yo, Dilated could never be annihilated\n  I waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\n  We migrated to global positioning\n  All the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\n  E-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\n  I pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\n  Yo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\n  I'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\n  I strictly run off select input\n  Played yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n  'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\n  Now you come to my town ask Rak\n  (Yo you on deadly ground)\n\n  These last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\n  I'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\n  A Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\n  Dilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\n  My homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  To all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  Whether you writin' or ridin', right on\n  Fresh MC's must write on\n  Even if you skateboardin', ride on\n  Some of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\n  I got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\n  My rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\n  I'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\n  Your rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\n  I crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\n  Niggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\n  A million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\n  Likwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\n  Rap off the plane while crackin' champagne\n  Tash for president, you know my campaign\n  First things first to get y'all niggas off the street\n  You get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\n  You coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\n  That's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\n  So give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\n  And once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  I pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\n  My name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\n  Wit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\n  It's dilation, fan appreciation\n\n  Connected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\n  Cali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\n  It's all chips\n  We only get boo's from bartenders\n\n  Better be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\n  When we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\n  Feds pull strings and watch me like Truman\n  But I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\n  To all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n  Graffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  To niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n  To all the women out there raisin' kids alone\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Yeah\n\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n  Where we at?\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n\n  Dilated Peoples\n  Represent wit tha Liks\n  What\n"},{"id":9328528,"name":"Right On","trackName":"Right On","artistName":"Dilated Peoples","albumName":"The Platform","duration":296.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n(Right on, right on)\nAll the street poets in the house, write on\n(Write on, write on)\n\nBlack people, right on, right one\n(Right on, right on)\nAll my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n(Ride on, ride on)\n\nI still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\nI'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\nWe're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\nYou couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\nWe all up in the house like cocky-roaches\nSnatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\nFuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\nI like the bass hittin' like a\n\nClose encounters of the Likwit Kind\nI'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\nIt's the J R O, you didn't know?\nGoin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\nYou in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\nYou walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\nYou lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\nHere's some news, my DJ rock the mic\nand the one's and two's and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\nYo, Dilated could never be annihilated\nI waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\nWe migrated to global positioning\nAll the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\nE-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\nI pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\nYo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\nI'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\nI strictly run off select input\nPlayed yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\nNow you come to my town ask Rak\n(Yo you on deadly ground)\n\nThese last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\nI'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\nA Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\nDilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\nMy homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n(Right on, right on)\nTo all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n(Right on, right on)\n\nTo all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n(Right on, right on)\nTo my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n(Right on, right on)\n\nWhether you writin' or ridin', right on\nFresh MC's must write on\nEven if you skateboardin', ride on\nSome of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\nI got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\nMy rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\nI'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\nYour rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\nI crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\nNiggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\nA million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\nLikwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\nRap off the plane while crackin' champagne\nTash for president, you know my campaign\nFirst things first to get y'all niggas off the street\nYou get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\nYou coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\nThat's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\nSo give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\nAnd once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nI pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\nMy name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\nWit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\nIt's dilation, fan appreciation\n\nConnected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\nCali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\nIt's all chips\nWe only get boo's from bartenders\n\nBetter be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\nWhen we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\nFeds pull strings and watch me like Truman\nBut I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\nTo all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\nGraffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\n\nTo niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n(Ride on, ride on)\nTo all the women out there raisin' kids alone\nRight on\n(Right on)\nRight on\n(Right on)\nYeah\n\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\nWhere we at?\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\n\nDilated Peoples\nRepresent wit tha Liks\nWhat","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Right On\n  artist: Dilated Peoples\n  album: The Platform\n  duration_ms: 296000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All the street poets in the house, write on\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  Black people, right on, right one\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n\n  I still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\n  I'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\n  We're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\n  You couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\n  We all up in the house like cocky-roaches\n  Snatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\n  Fuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\n  I like the bass hittin' like a\n\n  Close encounters of the Likwit Kind\n  I'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\n  It's the J R O, you didn't know?\n  Goin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\n  You in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\n  You walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\n  You lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\n  Here's some news, my DJ rock the mic\n  and the one's and two's and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\n  Yo, Dilated could never be annihilated\n  I waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\n  We migrated to global positioning\n  All the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\n  E-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\n  I pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\n  Yo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\n  I'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\n  I strictly run off select input\n  Played yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n  'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\n  Now you come to my town ask Rak\n  (Yo you on deadly ground)\n\n  These last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\n  I'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\n  A Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\n  Dilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\n  My homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  To all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  Whether you writin' or ridin', right on\n  Fresh MC's must write on\n  Even if you skateboardin', ride on\n  Some of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\n  I got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\n  My rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\n  I'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\n  Your rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\n  I crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\n  Niggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\n  A million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\n  Likwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\n  Rap off the plane while crackin' champagne\n  Tash for president, you know my campaign\n  First things first to get y'all niggas off the street\n  You get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\n  You coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\n  That's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\n  So give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\n  And once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  I pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\n  My name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\n  Wit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\n  It's dilation, fan appreciation\n\n  Connected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\n  Cali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\n  It's all chips\n  We only get boo's from bartenders\n\n  Better be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\n  When we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\n  Feds pull strings and watch me like Truman\n  But I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\n  To all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n  Graffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  To niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n  To all the women out there raisin' kids alone\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Yeah\n\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n  Where we at?\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n\n  Dilated Peoples\n  Represent wit tha Liks\n  What\n"},{"id":20471947,"name":"Right On","trackName":"Right On","artistName":"Dilated Peoples","albumName":"The Platform (Instrumentals)","duration":261.7783808,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n(Right on, right on)\nAll the street poets in the house, write on\n(Write on, write on)\n\nBlack people, right on, right one\n(Right on, right on)\nAll my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n(Ride on, ride on)\n\nI still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\nI'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\nWe're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\nYou couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\nWe all up in the house like cocky-roaches\nSnatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\nFuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\nI like the bass hittin' like a\n\nClose encounters of the Likwit Kind\nI'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\nIt's the J R O, you didn't know?\nGoin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\nYou in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\nYou walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\nYou lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\nHere's some news, my DJ rock the mic\nand the one's and two's and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\nYo, Dilated could never be annihilated\nI waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\nWe migrated to global positioning\nAll the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\nE-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\nI pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\nYo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\nI'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\nI strictly run off select input\nPlayed yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\nNow you come to my town ask Rak\n(Yo you on deadly ground)\n\nThese last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\nI'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\nA Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\nDilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\nMy homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n(Right on, right on)\nTo all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n(Right on, right on)\n\nTo all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n(Right on, right on)\nTo my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n(Right on, right on)\n\nWhether you writin' or ridin', right on\nFresh MC's must write on\nEven if you skateboardin', ride on\nSome of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\nI got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\nMy rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\nI'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\nYour rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\nI crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\nNiggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\nA million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\nLikwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\nRap off the plane while crackin' champagne\nTash for president, you know my campaign\nFirst things first to get y'all niggas off the street\nYou get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\nYou coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\nThat's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\nSo give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\nAnd once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nI pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\nMy name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\nWit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\nIt's dilation, fan appreciation\n\nConnected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\nCali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\nIt's all chips\nWe only get boo's from bartenders\n\nBetter be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\nWhen we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\nFeds pull strings and watch me like Truman\nBut I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\nTo all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\nGraffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\n\nTo niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n(Ride on, ride on)\nTo all the women out there raisin' kids alone\nRight on\n(Right on)\nRight on\n(Right on)\nYeah\n\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\nWhere we at?\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\n\nDilated Peoples\nRepresent wit tha Liks\nWhat","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Right On\n  artist: Dilated Peoples\n  album: The Platform (Instrumentals)\n  duration_ms: 261778\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All the street poets in the house, write on\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  Black people, right on, right one\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n\n  I still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\n  I'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\n  We're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\n  You couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\n  We all up in the house like cocky-roaches\n  Snatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\n  Fuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\n  I like the bass hittin' like a\n\n  Close encounters of the Likwit Kind\n  I'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\n  It's the J R O, you didn't know?\n  Goin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\n  You in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\n  You walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\n  You lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\n  Here's some news, my DJ rock the mic\n  and the one's and two's and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\n  Yo, Dilated could never be annihilated\n  I waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\n  We migrated to global positioning\n  All the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\n  E-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\n  I pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\n  Yo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\n  I'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\n  I strictly run off select input\n  Played yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n  'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\n  Now you come to my town ask Rak\n  (Yo you on deadly ground)\n\n  These last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\n  I'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\n  A Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\n  Dilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\n  My homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  To all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  Whether you writin' or ridin', right on\n  Fresh MC's must write on\n  Even if you skateboardin', ride on\n  Some of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\n  I got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\n  My rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\n  I'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\n  Your rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\n  I crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\n  Niggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\n  A million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\n  Likwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\n  Rap off the plane while crackin' champagne\n  Tash for president, you know my campaign\n  First things first to get y'all niggas off the street\n  You get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\n  You coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\n  That's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\n  So give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\n  And once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  I pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\n  My name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\n  Wit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\n  It's dilation, fan appreciation\n\n  Connected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\n  Cali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\n  It's all chips\n  We only get boo's from bartenders\n\n  Better be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\n  When we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\n  Feds pull strings and watch me like Truman\n  But I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\n  To all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n  Graffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  To niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n  To all the women out there raisin' kids alone\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Yeah\n\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n  Where we at?\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n\n  Dilated Peoples\n  Represent wit tha Liks\n  What\n"},{"id":17098068,"name":"Right On","trackName":"Right On","artistName":"Dilated Peoples","albumName":"Platform","duration":295.5900229,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n(Right on, right on)\nAll the street poets in the house, write on\n(Write on, write on)\n\nBlack people, right on, right one\n(Right on, right on)\nAll my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n(Ride on, ride on)\n\nI still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\nI'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\nWe're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\nYou couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\nWe all up in the house like cocky-roaches\nSnatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\nFuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\nI like the bass hittin' like a\n\nClose encounters of the Likwit Kind\nI'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\nIt's the J R O, you didn't know?\nGoin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\nYou in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\nYou walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\nYou lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\nHere's some news, my DJ rock the mic\nand the one's and two's and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\nYo, Dilated could never be annihilated\nI waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\nWe migrated to global positioning\nAll the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\nE-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\nI pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\nYo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\nI'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\nI strictly run off select input\nPlayed yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\nNow you come to my town ask Rak\n(Yo you on deadly ground)\n\nThese last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\nI'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\nA Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\nDilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\nMy homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n(Right on, right on)\nTo all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n(Right on, right on)\n\nTo all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n(Right on, right on)\nTo my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n(Right on, right on)\n\nWhether you writin' or ridin', right on\nFresh MC's must write on\nEven if you skateboardin', ride on\nSome of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\nI got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\nMy rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\nI'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\nYour rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\nI crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\nNiggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\nA million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\nLikwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\nRap off the plane while crackin' champagne\nTash for president, you know my campaign\nFirst things first to get y'all niggas off the street\nYou get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\nYou coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\nThat's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\nSo give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\nAnd once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nI pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\nMy name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\nWit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\nIt's dilation, fan appreciation\n\nConnected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\nCali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\nIt's all chips\nWe only get boo's from bartenders\n\nBetter be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\nWhen we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\nFeds pull strings and watch me like Truman\nBut I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\nTo all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\nGraffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\n\nTo niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n(Ride on, ride on)\nTo all the women out there raisin' kids alone\nRight on\n(Right on)\nRight on\n(Right on)\nYeah\n\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\nWhere we at?\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\n\nDilated Peoples\nRepresent wit tha Liks\nWhat","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Right On\n  artist: Dilated Peoples\n  album: Platform\n  duration_ms: 295590\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All the street poets in the house, write on\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  Black people, right on, right one\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n\n  I still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\n  I'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\n  We're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\n  You couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\n  We all up in the house like cocky-roaches\n  Snatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\n  Fuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\n  I like the bass hittin' like a\n\n  Close encounters of the Likwit Kind\n  I'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\n  It's the J R O, you didn't know?\n  Goin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\n  You in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\n  You walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\n  You lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\n  Here's some news, my DJ rock the mic\n  and the one's and two's and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\n  Yo, Dilated could never be annihilated\n  I waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\n  We migrated to global positioning\n  All the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\n  E-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\n  I pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\n  Yo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\n  I'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\n  I strictly run off select input\n  Played yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n  'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\n  Now you come to my town ask Rak\n  (Yo you on deadly ground)\n\n  These last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\n  I'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\n  A Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\n  Dilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\n  My homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  To all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  Whether you writin' or ridin', right on\n  Fresh MC's must write on\n  Even if you skateboardin', ride on\n  Some of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\n  I got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\n  My rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\n  I'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\n  Your rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\n  I crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\n  Niggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\n  A million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\n  Likwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\n  Rap off the plane while crackin' champagne\n  Tash for president, you know my campaign\n  First things first to get y'all niggas off the street\n  You get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\n  You coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\n  That's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\n  So give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\n  And once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  I pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\n  My name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\n  Wit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\n  It's dilation, fan appreciation\n\n  Connected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\n  Cali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\n  It's all chips\n  We only get boo's from bartenders\n\n  Better be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\n  When we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\n  Feds pull strings and watch me like Truman\n  But I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\n  To all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n  Graffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  To niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n  To all the women out there raisin' kids alone\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Yeah\n\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n  Where we at?\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n\n  Dilated Peoples\n  Represent wit tha Liks\n  What\n"},{"id":23931085,"name":"Right On","trackName":"Right On","artistName":"Dilated Peoples","albumName":"The Platform","duration":284.1142709,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n(Right on, right on)\nAll the street poets in the house, write on\n(Write on, write on)\n\nBlack people, right on, right one\n(Right on, right on)\nAll my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n(Ride on, ride on)\n\nI still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\nI'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\nWe're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\nYou couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\nWe all up in the house like cocky-roaches\nSnatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\nFuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\nI like the bass hittin' like a\n\nClose encounters of the Likwit Kind\nI'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\nIt's the J R O, you didn't know?\nGoin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\nYou in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\nYou walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\nYou lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\nHere's some news, my DJ rock the mic\nand the one's and two's and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\nYo, Dilated could never be annihilated\nI waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\nWe migrated to global positioning\nAll the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\nE-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\nI pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\nYo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\nI'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\nI strictly run off select input\nPlayed yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\nNow you come to my town ask Rak\n(Yo you on deadly ground)\n\nThese last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\nI'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\nA Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\nDilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\nMy homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n(Right on, right on)\nTo all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n(Right on, right on)\n\nTo all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n(Right on, right on)\nTo my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n(Right on, right on)\n\nWhether you writin' or ridin', right on\nFresh MC's must write on\nEven if you skateboardin', ride on\nSome of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\nI got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\nMy rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\nI'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\nYour rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\nI crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\nNiggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\nA million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\nLikwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\nRap off the plane while crackin' champagne\nTash for president, you know my campaign\nFirst things first to get y'all niggas off the street\nYou get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\nYou coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\nThat's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\nSo give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\nAnd once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nI pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\nMy name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\nWit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\nIt's dilation, fan appreciation\n\nConnected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\nCali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\nIt's all chips\nWe only get boo's from bartenders\n\nBetter be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\nWhen we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\nFeds pull strings and watch me like Truman\nBut I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\nTo all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\nGraffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\n\nTo niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n(Ride on, ride on)\nTo all the women out there raisin' kids alone\nRight on\n(Right on)\nRight on\n(Right on)\nYeah\n\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\nWhere we at?\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\n\nDilated Peoples\nRepresent wit tha Liks\nWhat","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Right On\n  artist: Dilated Peoples\n  album: The Platform\n  duration_ms: 284114\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All the street poets in the house, write on\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  Black people, right on, right one\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n\n  I still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\n  I'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\n  We're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\n  You couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\n  We all up in the house like cocky-roaches\n  Snatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\n  Fuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\n  I like the bass hittin' like a\n\n  Close encounters of the Likwit Kind\n  I'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\n  It's the J R O, you didn't know?\n  Goin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\n  You in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\n  You walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\n  You lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\n  Here's some news, my DJ rock the mic\n  and the one's and two's and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\n  Yo, Dilated could never be annihilated\n  I waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\n  We migrated to global positioning\n  All the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\n  E-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\n  I pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\n  Yo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\n  I'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\n  I strictly run off select input\n  Played yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n  'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\n  Now you come to my town ask Rak\n  (Yo you on deadly ground)\n\n  These last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\n  I'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\n  A Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\n  Dilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\n  My homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  To all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  Whether you writin' or ridin', right on\n  Fresh MC's must write on\n  Even if you skateboardin', ride on\n  Some of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\n  I got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\n  My rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\n  I'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\n  Your rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\n  I crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\n  Niggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\n  A million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\n  Likwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\n  Rap off the plane while crackin' champagne\n  Tash for president, you know my campaign\n  First things first to get y'all niggas off the street\n  You get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\n  You coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\n  That's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\n  So give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\n  And once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  I pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\n  My name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\n  Wit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\n  It's dilation, fan appreciation\n\n  Connected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\n  Cali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\n  It's all chips\n  We only get boo's from bartenders\n\n  Better be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\n  When we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\n  Feds pull strings and watch me like Truman\n  But I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\n  To all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n  Graffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  To niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n  To all the women out there raisin' kids alone\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Yeah\n\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n  Where we at?\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n\n  Dilated Peoples\n  Represent wit tha Liks\n  What\n"},{"id":22995328,"name":"Right On","trackName":"Right On","artistName":"Dilated Peoples","albumName":"Long Awaited","duration":295.670083,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n(Right on, right on)\nAll the street poets in the house, write on\n(Write on, write on)\n\nBlack people, right on, right one\n(Right on, right on)\nAll my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n(Ride on, ride on)\n\nI still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\nI'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\nWe're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\nYou couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\nWe all up in the house like cocky-roaches\nSnatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\nFuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\nI like the bass hittin' like a\n\nClose encounters of the Likwit Kind\nI'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\nIt's the J R O, you didn't know?\nGoin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\nYou in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\nYou walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\nYou lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\nHere's some news, my DJ rock the mic\nand the one's and two's and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\nYo, Dilated could never be annihilated\nI waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\nWe migrated to global positioning\nAll the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\nE-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\nI pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\nYo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\nI'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\nI strictly run off select input\nPlayed yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\nNow you come to my town ask Rak\n(Yo you on deadly ground)\n\nThese last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\nI'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\nA Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\nDilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\nMy homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n(Right on, right on)\nTo all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n(Right on, right on)\n\nTo all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n(Right on, right on)\nTo my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n(Right on, right on)\n\nWhether you writin' or ridin', right on\nFresh MC's must write on\nEven if you skateboardin', ride on\nSome of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\nI got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\nMy rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\nI'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\nYour rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\nI crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\nNiggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\nA million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\nLikwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\nRap off the plane while crackin' champagne\nTash for president, you know my campaign\nFirst things first to get y'all niggas off the street\nYou get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\nYou coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\nThat's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\nSo give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\nAnd once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nI pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\nMy name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\nWit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\nIt's dilation, fan appreciation\n\nConnected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\nCali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\nIt's all chips\nWe only get boo's from bartenders\n\nBetter be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\nWhen we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\nFeds pull strings and watch me like Truman\nBut I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\nTo all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\nGraffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\n\nTo niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n(Ride on, ride on)\nTo all the women out there raisin' kids alone\nRight on\n(Right on)\nRight on\n(Right on)\nYeah\n\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\nWhere we at?\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\n\nDilated Peoples\nRepresent wit tha Liks\nWhat","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Right On\n  artist: Dilated Peoples\n  album: Long Awaited\n  duration_ms: 295670\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All the street poets in the house, write on\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  Black people, right on, right one\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n\n  I still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\n  I'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\n  We're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\n  You couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\n  We all up in the house like cocky-roaches\n  Snatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\n  Fuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\n  I like the bass hittin' like a\n\n  Close encounters of the Likwit Kind\n  I'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\n  It's the J R O, you didn't know?\n  Goin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\n  You in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\n  You walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\n  You lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\n  Here's some news, my DJ rock the mic\n  and the one's and two's and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\n  Yo, Dilated could never be annihilated\n  I waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\n  We migrated to global positioning\n  All the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\n  E-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\n  I pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\n  Yo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\n  I'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\n  I strictly run off select input\n  Played yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n  'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\n  Now you come to my town ask Rak\n  (Yo you on deadly ground)\n\n  These last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\n  I'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\n  A Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\n  Dilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\n  My homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  To all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  Whether you writin' or ridin', right on\n  Fresh MC's must write on\n  Even if you skateboardin', ride on\n  Some of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\n  I got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\n  My rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\n  I'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\n  Your rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\n  I crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\n  Niggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\n  A million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\n  Likwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\n  Rap off the plane while crackin' champagne\n  Tash for president, you know my campaign\n  First things first to get y'all niggas off the street\n  You get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\n  You coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\n  That's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\n  So give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\n  And once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  I pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\n  My name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\n  Wit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\n  It's dilation, fan appreciation\n\n  Connected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\n  Cali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\n  It's all chips\n  We only get boo's from bartenders\n\n  Better be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\n  When we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\n  Feds pull strings and watch me like Truman\n  But I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\n  To all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n  Graffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  To niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n  To all the women out there raisin' kids alone\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Yeah\n\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n  Where we at?\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n\n  Dilated Peoples\n  Represent wit tha Liks\n  What\n"},{"id":11907400,"name":"Right On Ft. Alkoholiks","trackName":"Right On Ft. Alkoholiks","artistName":"Dilated Peoples","albumName":"The Platform","duration":295.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n(Right on, right on)\nAll the street poets in the house, write on\n(Write on, write on)\n\nBlack people, right on, right one\n(Right on, right on)\nAll my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n(Ride on, ride on)\n\nI still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\nI'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\nWe're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\nYou couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\nWe all up in the house like cocky-roaches\nSnatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\nFuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\nI like the bass hittin' like a\n\nClose encounters of the Likwit Kind\nI'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\nIt's the J R O, you didn't know?\nGoin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\nYou in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\nYou walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\nYou lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\nHere's some news, my DJ rock the mic\nand the one's and two's and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\nYo, Dilated could never be annihilated\nI waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\nWe migrated to global positioning\nAll the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\nE-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\nI pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\nYo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\nI'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\nI strictly run off select input\nPlayed yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\nNow you come to my town ask Rak\n(Yo you on deadly ground)\n\nThese last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\nI'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\nA Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\nDilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\nMy homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n(Right on, right on)\nTo all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n(Right on, right on)\n\nTo all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n(Right on, right on)\nTo my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n(Right on, right on)\n\nWhether you writin' or ridin', right on\nFresh MC's must write on\nEven if you skateboardin', ride on\nSome of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\nI got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\nMy rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\nI'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\nYour rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\nI crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\nNiggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\nA million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\nLikwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\nRap off the plane while crackin' champagne\nTash for president, you know my campaign\nFirst things first to get y'all niggas off the street\nYou get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\nYou coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\nThat's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\nSo give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\nAnd once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nI pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\nMy name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\nWit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\nIt's dilation, fan appreciation\n\nConnected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\nCali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\nIt's all chips\nWe only get boo's from bartenders\n\nBetter be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\nWhen we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\nFeds pull strings and watch me like Truman\nBut I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\nTo all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\nGraffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\n\nTo niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n(Ride on, ride on)\nTo all the women out there raisin' kids alone\nRight on\n(Right on)\nRight on\n(Right on)\nYeah\n\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\nWhere we at?\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\n\nDilated Peoples\nRepresent wit tha Liks\nWhat","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Right On Ft. Alkoholiks\n  artist: Dilated Peoples\n  album: The Platform\n  duration_ms: 295000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All the street poets in the house, write on\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  Black people, right on, right one\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n\n  I still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\n  I'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\n  We're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\n  You couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\n  We all up in the house like cocky-roaches\n  Snatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\n  Fuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\n  I like the bass hittin' like a\n\n  Close encounters of the Likwit Kind\n  I'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\n  It's the J R O, you didn't know?\n  Goin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\n  You in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\n  You walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\n  You lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\n  Here's some news, my DJ rock the mic\n  and the one's and two's and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\n  Yo, Dilated could never be annihilated\n  I waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\n  We migrated to global positioning\n  All the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\n  E-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\n  I pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\n  Yo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\n  I'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\n  I strictly run off select input\n  Played yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n  'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\n  Now you come to my town ask Rak\n  (Yo you on deadly ground)\n\n  These last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\n  I'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\n  A Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\n  Dilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\n  My homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  To all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  Whether you writin' or ridin', right on\n  Fresh MC's must write on\n  Even if you skateboardin', ride on\n  Some of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\n  I got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\n  My rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\n  I'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\n  Your rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\n  I crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\n  Niggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\n  A million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\n  Likwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\n  Rap off the plane while crackin' champagne\n  Tash for president, you know my campaign\n  First things first to get y'all niggas off the street\n  You get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\n  You coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\n  That's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\n  So give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\n  And once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  I pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\n  My name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\n  Wit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\n  It's dilation, fan appreciation\n\n  Connected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\n  Cali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\n  It's all chips\n  We only get boo's from bartenders\n\n  Better be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\n  When we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\n  Feds pull strings and watch me like Truman\n  But I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\n  To all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n  Graffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  To niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n  To all the women out there raisin' kids alone\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Yeah\n\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n  Where we at?\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n\n  Dilated Peoples\n  Represent wit tha Liks\n  What\n"},{"id":29086705,"name":"Right On (ft. Alkaholiks)","trackName":"Right On (ft. Alkaholiks)","artistName":"Dilated Peoples","albumName":"The Platform","duration":296.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n(Right on, right on)\nAll the street poets in the house, write on\n(Write on, write on)\n\nBlack people, right on, right one\n(Right on, right on)\nAll my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n(Ride on, ride on)\n\nI still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\nI'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\nWe're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\nYou couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\nWe all up in the house like cocky-roaches\nSnatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\nFuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\nI like the bass hittin' like a\n\nClose encounters of the Likwit Kind\nI'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\nIt's the J R O, you didn't know?\nGoin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\nYou in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\nYou walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\nYou lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\nHere's some news, my DJ rock the mic\nand the one's and two's and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\nYo, Dilated could never be annihilated\nI waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\nWe migrated to global positioning\nAll the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\nE-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\nI pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\nYo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\nI'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\nI strictly run off select input\nPlayed yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\nNow you come to my town ask Rak\n(Yo you on deadly ground)\n\nThese last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\nI'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\nA Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\nDilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\nMy homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n(Right on, right on)\nTo all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n(Right on, right on)\n\nTo all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n(Right on, right on)\nTo my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n(Right on, right on)\n\nWhether you writin' or ridin', right on\nFresh MC's must write on\nEven if you skateboardin', ride on\nSome of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\nI got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\nMy rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\nI'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\nYour rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\nI crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\nNiggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\nA million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\nLikwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\nRap off the plane while crackin' champagne\nTash for president, you know my campaign\nFirst things first to get y'all niggas off the street\nYou get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\nYou coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\nThat's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\nSo give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\nAnd once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nI pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\nMy name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\nWit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\nIt's dilation, fan appreciation\n\nConnected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\nCali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\nIt's all chips\nWe only get boo's from bartenders\n\nBetter be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\nWhen we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\nFeds pull strings and watch me like Truman\nBut I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\nTo all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\nGraffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\n\nTo niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n(Ride on, ride on)\nTo all the women out there raisin' kids alone\nRight on\n(Right on)\nRight on\n(Right on)\nYeah\n\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\nWhere we at?\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\n\nDilated Peoples\nRepresent wit tha Liks\nWhat","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Right On (ft. Alkaholiks)\n  artist: Dilated Peoples\n  album: The Platform\n  duration_ms: 296000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All the street poets in the house, write on\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  Black people, right on, right one\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n\n  I still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\n  I'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\n  We're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\n  You couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\n  We all up in the house like cocky-roaches\n  Snatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\n  Fuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\n  I like the bass hittin' like a\n\n  Close encounters of the Likwit Kind\n  I'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\n  It's the J R O, you didn't know?\n  Goin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\n  You in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\n  You walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\n  You lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\n  Here's some news, my DJ rock the mic\n  and the one's and two's and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\n  Yo, Dilated could never be annihilated\n  I waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\n  We migrated to global positioning\n  All the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\n  E-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\n  I pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\n  Yo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\n  I'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\n  I strictly run off select input\n  Played yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n  'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\n  Now you come to my town ask Rak\n  (Yo you on deadly ground)\n\n  These last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\n  I'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\n  A Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\n  Dilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\n  My homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  To all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  Whether you writin' or ridin', right on\n  Fresh MC's must write on\n  Even if you skateboardin', ride on\n  Some of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\n  I got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\n  My rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\n  I'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\n  Your rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\n  I crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\n  Niggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\n  A million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\n  Likwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\n  Rap off the plane while crackin' champagne\n  Tash for president, you know my campaign\n  First things first to get y'all niggas off the street\n  You get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\n  You coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\n  That's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\n  So give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\n  And once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  I pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\n  My name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\n  Wit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\n  It's dilation, fan appreciation\n\n  Connected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\n  Cali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\n  It's all chips\n  We only get boo's from bartenders\n\n  Better be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\n  When we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\n  Feds pull strings and watch me like Truman\n  But I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\n  To all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n  Graffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  To niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n  To all the women out there raisin' kids alone\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Yeah\n\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n  Where we at?\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n\n  Dilated Peoples\n  Represent wit tha Liks\n  What\n"},{"id":29499256,"name":"Right On (feat. Tha Alkaholiks)","trackName":"Right On (feat. Tha Alkaholiks)","artistName":"Dilated Peoples","albumName":"The Platform","duration":284.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n(Right on, right on)\nAll the street poets in the house, write on\n(Write on, write on)\n\nBlack people, right on, right one\n(Right on, right on)\nAll my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n(Ride on, ride on)\n\nI still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\nI'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\nWe're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\nYou couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\nWe all up in the house like cocky-roaches\nSnatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\nFuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\nI like the bass hittin' like a\n\nClose encounters of the Likwit Kind\nI'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\nIt's the J R O, you didn't know?\nGoin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\nYou in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\nYou walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\nYou lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\nHere's some news, my DJ rock the mic and the one's and two's and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\nYo, Dilated could never be annihilated\nI waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\nWe migrated to global positioning\nAll the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\nE-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\nI pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\nYo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\nI'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\nI strictly run off select input\nPlayed yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\nNow you come to my town ask Rak\n(Yo you on deadly ground)\n\nThese last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\nI'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\nA Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\nDilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\nMy homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n(Right on, right on)\nTo all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n(Right on, right on)\n\nTo all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n(Right on, right on)\nTo my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n(Right on, right on)\n\nWhether you writin' or ridin', right on\nFresh MC's must write on\nEven if you skateboardin', ride on\nSome of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\nI got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\nMy rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\nI'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\nYour rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\nI crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\nNiggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\nA million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\nLikwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\nRap off the plane while crackin' champagne\nTash for president, you know my campaign\nFirst things first to get y'all niggas off the street\nYou get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\nYou coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\nThat's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\nSo give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\nAnd once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nI pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\nMy name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\nWit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\nIt's dilation, fan appreciation\n\nConnected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\nCali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\nIt's all chips\nWe only get boo's from bartenders\n\nBetter be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\nWhen we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\nFeds pull strings and watch me like Truman\nBut I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\nTo all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\nGraffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\n\nTo niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n(Ride on, ride on)\nTo all the women out there raisin' kids alone\nRight on\n(Right on)\nRight on\n(Right on)\nYeah\n\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\nWhere we at?\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\n\nDilated Peoples\nRepresent wit tha Liks\nWhat","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Right On (feat. Tha Alkaholiks)\n  artist: Dilated Peoples\n  album: The Platform\n  duration_ms: 284000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All the street poets in the house, write on\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  Black people, right on, right one\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n\n  I still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\n  I'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\n  We're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\n  You couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\n  We all up in the house like cocky-roaches\n  Snatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\n  Fuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\n  I like the bass hittin' like a\n\n  Close encounters of the Likwit Kind\n  I'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\n  It's the J R O, you didn't know?\n  Goin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\n  You in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\n  You walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\n  You lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\n  Here's some news, my DJ rock the mic and the one's and two's and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\n  Yo, Dilated could never be annihilated\n  I waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\n  We migrated to global positioning\n  All the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\n  E-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\n  I pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\n  Yo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\n  I'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\n  I strictly run off select input\n  Played yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n  'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\n  Now you come to my town ask Rak\n  (Yo you on deadly ground)\n\n  These last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\n  I'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\n  A Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\n  Dilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\n  My homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  To all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  Whether you writin' or ridin', right on\n  Fresh MC's must write on\n  Even if you skateboardin', ride on\n  Some of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\n  I got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\n  My rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\n  I'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\n  Your rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\n  I crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\n  Niggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\n  A million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\n  Likwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\n  Rap off the plane while crackin' champagne\n  Tash for president, you know my campaign\n  First things first to get y'all niggas off the street\n  You get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\n  You coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\n  That's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\n  So give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\n  And once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  I pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\n  My name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\n  Wit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\n  It's dilation, fan appreciation\n\n  Connected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\n  Cali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\n  It's all chips\n  We only get boo's from bartenders\n\n  Better be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\n  When we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\n  Feds pull strings and watch me like Truman\n  But I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\n  To all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n  Graffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  To niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n  To all the women out there raisin' kids alone\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Yeah\n\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n  Where we at?\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n\n  Dilated Peoples\n  Represent wit tha Liks\n  What\n"},{"id":33551782,"name":"Right On Ft The Alkaholiks","trackName":"Right On Ft The Alkaholiks","artistName":"Dilated Peoples","albumName":"The Platform","duration":295.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n(Right on, right on)\nAll the street poets in the house, write on\n(Write on, write on)\n\nBlack people, right on, right one\n(Right on, right on)\nAll my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n(Ride on, ride on)\n\nI still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\nI'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\nWe're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\nYou couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\nWe all up in the house like cocky-roaches\nSnatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\nFuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\nI like the bass hittin' like a\n\nClose encounters of the Likwit Kind\nI'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\nIt's the J R O, you didn't know?\nGoin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\nYou in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\nYou walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\nYou lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\nHere's some news, my DJ rock the mic\nand the one's and two's and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\nYo, Dilated could never be annihilated\nI waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\nWe migrated to global positioning\nAll the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\nE-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\nI pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\nYo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\nI'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\nI strictly run off select input\nPlayed yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\nNow you come to my town ask Rak\n(Yo you on deadly ground)\n\nThese last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\nI'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\nA Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\nDilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\nMy homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n(Right on, right on)\nTo all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n(Right on, right on)\n\nTo all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n(Right on, right on)\nTo my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n(Right on, right on)\n\nWhether you writin' or ridin', right on\nFresh MC's must write on\nEven if you skateboardin', ride on\nSome of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\nI got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\nMy rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\nI'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\nYour rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\nI crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\nNiggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\nA million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\nLikwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\nRap off the plane while crackin' champagne\nTash for president, you know my campaign\nFirst things first to get y'all niggas off the street\nYou get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\nYou coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\nThat's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\nSo give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\nAnd once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nI pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\nMy name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\nWit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\nIt's dilation, fan appreciation\n\nConnected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\nCali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\nIt's all chips\nWe only get boo's from bartenders\n\nBetter be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\nWhen we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\nFeds pull strings and watch me like Truman\nBut I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\nTo all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\nGraffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\n\nTo niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n(Ride on, ride on)\nTo all the women out there raisin' kids alone\nRight on\n(Right on)\nRight on\n(Right on)\nYeah\n\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\nWhere we at?\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\n\nDilated Peoples\nRepresent wit tha Liks\nWhat","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Right On Ft The Alkaholiks\n  artist: Dilated Peoples\n  album: The Platform\n  duration_ms: 295000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All the street poets in the house, write on\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  Black people, right on, right one\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n\n  I still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\n  I'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\n  We're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\n  You couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\n  We all up in the house like cocky-roaches\n  Snatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\n  Fuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\n  I like the bass hittin' like a\n\n  Close encounters of the Likwit Kind\n  I'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\n  It's the J R O, you didn't know?\n  Goin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\n  You in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\n  You walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\n  You lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\n  Here's some news, my DJ rock the mic\n  and the one's and two's and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\n  Yo, Dilated could never be annihilated\n  I waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\n  We migrated to global positioning\n  All the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\n  E-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\n  I pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\n  Yo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\n  I'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\n  I strictly run off select input\n  Played yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n  'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\n  Now you come to my town ask Rak\n  (Yo you on deadly ground)\n\n  These last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\n  I'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\n  A Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\n  Dilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\n  My homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  To all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  Whether you writin' or ridin', right on\n  Fresh MC's must write on\n  Even if you skateboardin', ride on\n  Some of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\n  I got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\n  My rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\n  I'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\n  Your rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\n  I crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\n  Niggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\n  A million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\n  Likwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\n  Rap off the plane while crackin' champagne\n  Tash for president, you know my campaign\n  First things first to get y'all niggas off the street\n  You get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\n  You coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\n  That's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\n  So give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\n  And once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  I pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\n  My name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\n  Wit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\n  It's dilation, fan appreciation\n\n  Connected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\n  Cali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\n  It's all chips\n  We only get boo's from bartenders\n\n  Better be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\n  When we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\n  Feds pull strings and watch me like Truman\n  But I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\n  To all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n  Graffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  To niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n  To all the women out there raisin' kids alone\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Yeah\n\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n  Where we at?\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n\n  Dilated Peoples\n  Represent wit tha Liks\n  What\n"},{"id":27640857,"name":"Right On (feat. Tha Alkaholiks)","trackName":"Right On (feat. Tha Alkaholiks)","artistName":"Dilated Peoples","albumName":"The Platform","duration":296.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n(Right on, right on)\nAll the street poets in the house, write on\n(Write on, write on)\n\nBlack people, right on, right one\n(Right on, right on)\nAll my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n(Ride on, ride on)\n\nI still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\nI'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\nWe're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\nYou couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\nWe all up in the house like cocky-roaches\nSnatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\nFuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\nI like the bass hittin' like a\n\nClose encounters of the Likwit Kind\nI'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\nIt's the J R O, you didn't know?\nGoin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\nYou in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\nYou walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\nYou lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\nHere's some news, my DJ rock the mic and the one's and two's and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\nYo, Dilated could never be annihilated\nI waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\nWe migrated to global positioning\nAll the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\nE-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\nI pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\nYo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\nI'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\nI strictly run off select input\nPlayed yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\nNow you come to my town ask Rak\n(Yo you on deadly ground)\n\nThese last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\nI'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\nA Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\nDilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\nMy homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n(Right on, right on)\nTo all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n(Right on, right on)\n\nTo all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n(Right on, right on)\nTo my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n(Right on, right on)\n\nWhether you writin' or ridin', right on\nFresh MC's must write on\nEven if you skateboardin', ride on\nSome of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\nI got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\nMy rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\nI'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\nYour rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\nI crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\nNiggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\nA million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\nLikwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\nRap off the plane while crackin' champagne\nTash for president, you know my campaign\nFirst things first to get y'all niggas off the street\nYou get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\nYou coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\nThat's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\nSo give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\nAnd once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nI pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\nMy name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\nWit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\nIt's dilation, fan appreciation\n\nConnected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\nCali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\nIt's all chips\nWe only get boo's from bartenders\n\nBetter be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\nWhen we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\nFeds pull strings and watch me like Truman\nBut I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\nTo all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\nGraffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\n\nTo niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n(Ride on, ride on)\nTo all the women out there raisin' kids alone\nRight on\n(Right on)\nRight on\n(Right on)\nYeah\n\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\nWhere we at?\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\n\nDilated Peoples\nRepresent wit tha Liks\nWhat","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Right On (feat. Tha Alkaholiks)\n  artist: Dilated Peoples\n  album: The Platform\n  duration_ms: 296000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All the street poets in the house, write on\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  Black people, right on, right one\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n\n  I still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\n  I'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\n  We're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\n  You couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\n  We all up in the house like cocky-roaches\n  Snatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\n  Fuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\n  I like the bass hittin' like a\n\n  Close encounters of the Likwit Kind\n  I'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\n  It's the J R O, you didn't know?\n  Goin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\n  You in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\n  You walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\n  You lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\n  Here's some news, my DJ rock the mic and the one's and two's and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\n  Yo, Dilated could never be annihilated\n  I waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\n  We migrated to global positioning\n  All the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\n  E-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\n  I pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\n  Yo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\n  I'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\n  I strictly run off select input\n  Played yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n  'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\n  Now you come to my town ask Rak\n  (Yo you on deadly ground)\n\n  These last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\n  I'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\n  A Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\n  Dilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\n  My homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  To all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  Whether you writin' or ridin', right on\n  Fresh MC's must write on\n  Even if you skateboardin', ride on\n  Some of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\n  I got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\n  My rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\n  I'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\n  Your rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\n  I crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\n  Niggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\n  A million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\n  Likwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\n  Rap off the plane while crackin' champagne\n  Tash for president, you know my campaign\n  First things first to get y'all niggas off the street\n  You get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\n  You coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\n  That's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\n  So give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\n  And once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  I pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\n  My name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\n  Wit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\n  It's dilation, fan appreciation\n\n  Connected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\n  Cali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\n  It's all chips\n  We only get boo's from bartenders\n\n  Better be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\n  When we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\n  Feds pull strings and watch me like Truman\n  But I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\n  To all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n  Graffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  To niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n  To all the women out there raisin' kids alone\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Yeah\n\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n  Where we at?\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n\n  Dilated Peoples\n  Represent wit tha Liks\n  What\n"},{"id":16568860,"name":"Right On (Ft. Tha Alkaholiks) (Prod. By E-Swift)","trackName":"Right On (Ft. Tha Alkaholiks) (Prod. By E-Swift)","artistName":"Dilated Peoples","albumName":"The Platform","duration":295.57551,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n(Right on, right on)\nAll the street poets in the house, write on\n(Write on, write on)\n\nBlack people, right on, right one\n(Right on, right on)\nAll my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n(Ride on, ride on)\n\nI still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\nI'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\nWe're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\nYou couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\nWe all up in the house like cocky-roaches\nSnatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\nFuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\nI like the bass hittin' like a\n\nClose encounters of the Likwit Kind\nI'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\nIt's the J R O, you didn't know?\nGoin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\nYou in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\nYou walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\nYou lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\nHere's some news, my DJ rock the mic\nand the one's and two's and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\nYo, Dilated could never be annihilated\nI waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\nWe migrated to global positioning\nAll the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\nE-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\nI pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\nYo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\nI'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\nI strictly run off select input\nPlayed yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\nNow you come to my town ask Rak\n(Yo you on deadly ground)\n\nThese last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\nI'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\nA Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\nDilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\nMy homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n(Right on, right on)\nTo all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n(Right on, right on)\n\nTo all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n(Right on, right on)\nTo my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n(Right on, right on)\n\nWhether you writin' or ridin', right on\nFresh MC's must write on\nEven if you skateboardin', ride on\nSome of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\nI got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\nMy rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\nI'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\nYour rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\nI crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\nNiggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\nA million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\nLikwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\nRap off the plane while crackin' champagne\nTash for president, you know my campaign\nFirst things first to get y'all niggas off the street\nYou get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\nYou coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\nThat's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\nSo give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\nAnd once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nI pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\nMy name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\nWit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\nIt's dilation, fan appreciation\n\nConnected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\nCali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\nIt's all chips\nWe only get boo's from bartenders\n\nBetter be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\nWhen we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\nFeds pull strings and watch me like Truman\nBut I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\nTo all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\nGraffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\n\nTo niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n(Ride on, ride on)\nTo all the women out there raisin' kids alone\nRight on\n(Right on)\nRight on\n(Right on)\nYeah\n\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\nWhere we at?\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\n\nDilated Peoples\nRepresent wit tha Liks\nWhat","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Right On (Ft. Tha Alkaholiks) (Prod. By E-Swift)\n  artist: Dilated Peoples\n  album: The Platform\n  duration_ms: 295576\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All the street poets in the house, write on\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  Black people, right on, right one\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n\n  I still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\n  I'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\n  We're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\n  You couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\n  We all up in the house like cocky-roaches\n  Snatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\n  Fuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\n  I like the bass hittin' like a\n\n  Close encounters of the Likwit Kind\n  I'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\n  It's the J R O, you didn't know?\n  Goin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\n  You in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\n  You walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\n  You lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\n  Here's some news, my DJ rock the mic\n  and the one's and two's and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\n  Yo, Dilated could never be annihilated\n  I waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\n  We migrated to global positioning\n  All the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\n  E-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\n  I pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\n  Yo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\n  I'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\n  I strictly run off select input\n  Played yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n  'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\n  Now you come to my town ask Rak\n  (Yo you on deadly ground)\n\n  These last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\n  I'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\n  A Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\n  Dilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\n  My homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  To all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  Whether you writin' or ridin', right on\n  Fresh MC's must write on\n  Even if you skateboardin', ride on\n  Some of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\n  I got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\n  My rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\n  I'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\n  Your rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\n  I crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\n  Niggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\n  A million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\n  Likwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\n  Rap off the plane while crackin' champagne\n  Tash for president, you know my campaign\n  First things first to get y'all niggas off the street\n  You get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\n  You coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\n  That's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\n  So give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\n  And once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  I pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\n  My name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\n  Wit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\n  It's dilation, fan appreciation\n\n  Connected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\n  Cali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\n  It's all chips\n  We only get boo's from bartenders\n\n  Better be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\n  When we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\n  Feds pull strings and watch me like Truman\n  But I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\n  To all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n  Graffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  To niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n  To all the women out there raisin' kids alone\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Yeah\n\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n  Where we at?\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n\n  Dilated Peoples\n  Represent wit tha Liks\n  What\n"},{"id":10894316,"name":"Right On (feat. Tha Alkaholiks) (prod. by E-Swift)","trackName":"Right On (feat. Tha Alkaholiks) (prod. by E-Swift)","artistName":"Dilated Peoples","albumName":"The Platform","duration":294.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n(Right on, right on)\nAll the street poets in the house, write on\n(Write on, write on)\n\nBlack people, right on, right one\n(Right on, right on)\nAll my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n(Ride on, ride on)\n\nI still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\nI'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\nWe're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\nYou couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\nWe all up in the house like cocky-roaches\nSnatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\nFuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\nI like the bass hittin' like a\n\nClose encounters of the Likwit Kind\nI'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\nIt's the J R O, you didn't know?\nGoin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\nYou in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\nYou walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\nYou lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\nHere's some news, my DJ rock the mic and the one's and two's and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\nYo, Dilated could never be annihilated\nI waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\nWe migrated to global positioning\nAll the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\nE-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\nI pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\nYo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\nI'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\nI strictly run off select input\nPlayed yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\nNow you come to my town ask Rak\n(Yo you on deadly ground)\n\nThese last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\nI'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\nA Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\nDilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\nMy homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n(Right on, right on)\nTo all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n(Right on, right on)\n\nTo all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n(Right on, right on)\nTo my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n(Right on, right on)\n\nWhether you writin' or ridin', right on\nFresh MC's must write on\nEven if you skateboardin', ride on\nSome of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\nI got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\nMy rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\nI'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\nYour rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\nI crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\nNiggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\nA million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\nLikwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\nRap off the plane while crackin' champagne\nTash for president, you know my campaign\nFirst things first to get y'all niggas off the street\nYou get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\nYou coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\nThat's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\nSo give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\nAnd once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nI pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\nMy name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\nWit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\nIt's dilation, fan appreciation\n\nConnected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\nCali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\nIt's all chips\nWe only get boo's from bartenders\n\nBetter be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\nWhen we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\nFeds pull strings and watch me like Truman\nBut I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\nTo all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\nGraffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\n\nTo niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n(Ride on, ride on)\nTo all the women out there raisin' kids alone\nRight on\n(Right on)\nRight on\n(Right on)\nYeah\n\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\nWhere we at?\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\n\nDilated Peoples\nRepresent wit tha Liks\nWhat","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Right On (feat. Tha Alkaholiks) (prod. by E-Swift)\n  artist: Dilated Peoples\n  album: The Platform\n  duration_ms: 294000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All the street poets in the house, write on\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  Black people, right on, right one\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n\n  I still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\n  I'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\n  We're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\n  You couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\n  We all up in the house like cocky-roaches\n  Snatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\n  Fuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\n  I like the bass hittin' like a\n\n  Close encounters of the Likwit Kind\n  I'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\n  It's the J R O, you didn't know?\n  Goin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\n  You in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\n  You walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\n  You lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\n  Here's some news, my DJ rock the mic and the one's and two's and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\n  Yo, Dilated could never be annihilated\n  I waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\n  We migrated to global positioning\n  All the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\n  E-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\n  I pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\n  Yo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\n  I'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\n  I strictly run off select input\n  Played yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n  'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\n  Now you come to my town ask Rak\n  (Yo you on deadly ground)\n\n  These last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\n  I'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\n  A Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\n  Dilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\n  My homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  To all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  Whether you writin' or ridin', right on\n  Fresh MC's must write on\n  Even if you skateboardin', ride on\n  Some of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\n  I got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\n  My rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\n  I'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\n  Your rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\n  I crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\n  Niggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\n  A million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\n  Likwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\n  Rap off the plane while crackin' champagne\n  Tash for president, you know my campaign\n  First things first to get y'all niggas off the street\n  You get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\n  You coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\n  That's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\n  So give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\n  And once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  I pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\n  My name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\n  Wit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\n  It's dilation, fan appreciation\n\n  Connected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\n  Cali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\n  It's all chips\n  We only get boo's from bartenders\n\n  Better be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\n  When we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\n  Feds pull strings and watch me like Truman\n  But I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\n  To all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n  Graffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  To niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n  To all the women out there raisin' kids alone\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Yeah\n\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n  Where we at?\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n\n  Dilated Peoples\n  Represent wit tha Liks\n  What\n"},{"id":37262357,"name":"Right On - Dilated Peoples Featuring Tha Liks","trackName":"Right On - Dilated Peoples Featuring Tha Liks","artistName":"Tha Alkaholiks","albumName":"On Tha Guest List - Rare, Remixes And Drinking Buddies","duration":295.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n(Right on, right on)\nAll the street poets in the house, write on\n(Write on, write on)\n\nBlack people, right on, right one\n(Right on, right on)\nAll my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n(Ride on, ride on)\n\nI still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\nI'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\nWe're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\nYou couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\nWe all up in the house like cocky-roaches\nSnatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\nFuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\nI like the bass hittin' like a\n\nClose encounters of the Likwit Kind\nI'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\nIt's the J R O, you didn't know?\nGoin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\nYou in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\nYou walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\nYou lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\nHere's some news, my DJ rock the mic\nand the one's and two's and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\nYo, Dilated could never be annihilated\nI waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\nWe migrated to global positioning\nAll the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\nE-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\nI pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\nYo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\nI'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\nI strictly run off select input\nPlayed yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\nNow you come to my town ask Rak\n(Yo you on deadly ground)\n\nThese last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\nI'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\nA Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\nDilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\nMy homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n(Right on, right on)\nTo all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n(Right on, right on)\n\nTo all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n(Right on, right on)\nTo my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n(Right on, right on)\n\nWhether you writin' or ridin', right on\nFresh MC's must write on\nEven if you skateboardin', ride on\nSome of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\nI got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\nMy rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\nI'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\nYour rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\nI crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\nNiggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\nA million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\nLikwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\nRap off the plane while crackin' champagne\nTash for president, you know my campaign\nFirst things first to get y'all niggas off the street\nYou get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\nYou coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\nThat's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\nSo give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\nAnd once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nI pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\nMy name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\nWit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\nIt's dilation, fan appreciation\n\nConnected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\nCali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\nIt's all chips\nWe only get boo's from bartenders\n\nBetter be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\nWhen we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\nFeds pull strings and watch me like Truman\nBut I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\nTo all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\nGraffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\n\nTo niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n(Ride on, ride on)\nTo all the women out there raisin' kids alone\nRight on\n(Right on)\nRight on\n(Right on)\nYeah\n\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\nWhere we at?\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\n\nDilated Peoples\nRepresent wit tha Liks\nWhat","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Right On - Dilated Peoples Featuring Tha Liks\n  artist: Tha Alkaholiks\n  album: On Tha Guest List - Rare, Remixes And Drinking Buddies\n  duration_ms: 295000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All the street poets in the house, write on\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  Black people, right on, right one\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n\n  I still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\n  I'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\n  We're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\n  You couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\n  We all up in the house like cocky-roaches\n  Snatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\n  Fuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\n  I like the bass hittin' like a\n\n  Close encounters of the Likwit Kind\n  I'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\n  It's the J R O, you didn't know?\n  Goin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\n  You in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\n  You walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\n  You lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\n  Here's some news, my DJ rock the mic\n  and the one's and two's and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\n  Yo, Dilated could never be annihilated\n  I waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\n  We migrated to global positioning\n  All the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\n  E-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\n  I pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\n  Yo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\n  I'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\n  I strictly run off select input\n  Played yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n  'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\n  Now you come to my town ask Rak\n  (Yo you on deadly ground)\n\n  These last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\n  I'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\n  A Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\n  Dilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\n  My homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  To all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  Whether you writin' or ridin', right on\n  Fresh MC's must write on\n  Even if you skateboardin', ride on\n  Some of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\n  I got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\n  My rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\n  I'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\n  Your rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\n  I crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\n  Niggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\n  A million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\n  Likwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\n  Rap off the plane while crackin' champagne\n  Tash for president, you know my campaign\n  First things first to get y'all niggas off the street\n  You get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\n  You coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\n  That's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\n  So give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\n  And once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  I pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\n  My name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\n  Wit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\n  It's dilation, fan appreciation\n\n  Connected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\n  Cali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\n  It's all chips\n  We only get boo's from bartenders\n\n  Better be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\n  When we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\n  Feds pull strings and watch me like Truman\n  But I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\n  To all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n  Graffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  To niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n  To all the women out there raisin' kids alone\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Yeah\n\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n  Where we at?\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n\n  Dilated Peoples\n  Represent wit tha Liks\n  What\n"},{"id":4631525,"name":"Right On","trackName":"Right On","artistName":"Dilated Peoples feat. Tha Alkaholiks","albumName":"The Platform","duration":296.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n(Right on, right on)\nAll the street poets in the house, write on\n(Write on, write on)\n\nBlack people, right on, right one\n(Right on, right on)\nAll my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n(Ride on, ride on)\n\nI still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\nI'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\nWe're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\nYou couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\nWe all up in the house like cocky-roaches\nSnatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\nFuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\nI like the bass hittin' like a\n\nClose encounters of the Likwit Kind\nI'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\nIt's the J R O, you didn't know?\nGoin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\nYou in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\nYou walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\nYou lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\nHere's some news, my DJ rock the mic and the one's and two's and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\nYo, Dilated could never be annihilated\nI waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\nWe migrated to global positioning\nAll the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\nE-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\nI pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\nYo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\nI'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\nI strictly run off select input\nPlayed yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\nNow you come to my town ask Rak\n(Yo you on deadly ground)\n\nThese last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\nI'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\nA Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\nDilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\nMy homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n(Right on, right on)\nTo all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n(Right on, right on)\n\nTo all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n(Right on, right on)\nTo my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n(Right on, right on)\n\nWhether you writin' or ridin', right on\nFresh MC's must write on\nEven if you skateboardin', ride on\nSome of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\nI got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\nMy rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\nI'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\nYour rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\nI crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\nNiggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\nA million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\nLikwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\nRap off the plane while crackin' champagne\nTash for president, you know my campaign\nFirst things first to get y'all niggas off the street\nYou get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\nYou coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\nThat's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\nSo give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\nAnd once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nI pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\nMy name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\nWit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\nIt's dilation, fan appreciation\n\nConnected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\nCali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\nIt's all chips\nWe only get boo's from bartenders\n\nBetter be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\nWhen we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\nFeds pull strings and watch me like Truman\nBut I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\nTo all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\nGraffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\n\nTo niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n(Ride on, ride on)\nTo all the women out there raisin' kids alone\nRight on\n(Right on)\nRight on\n(Right on)\nYeah\n\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\nWhere we at?\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\n\nDilated Peoples\nRepresent wit tha Liks\nWhat","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Right On\n  artist: Dilated Peoples feat. Tha Alkaholiks\n  album: The Platform\n  duration_ms: 296000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All the street poets in the house, write on\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  Black people, right on, right one\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n\n  I still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\n  I'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\n  We're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\n  You couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\n  We all up in the house like cocky-roaches\n  Snatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\n  Fuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\n  I like the bass hittin' like a\n\n  Close encounters of the Likwit Kind\n  I'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\n  It's the J R O, you didn't know?\n  Goin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\n  You in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\n  You walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\n  You lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\n  Here's some news, my DJ rock the mic and the one's and two's and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\n  Yo, Dilated could never be annihilated\n  I waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\n  We migrated to global positioning\n  All the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\n  E-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\n  I pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\n  Yo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\n  I'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\n  I strictly run off select input\n  Played yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n  'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\n  Now you come to my town ask Rak\n  (Yo you on deadly ground)\n\n  These last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\n  I'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\n  A Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\n  Dilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\n  My homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  To all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  Whether you writin' or ridin', right on\n  Fresh MC's must write on\n  Even if you skateboardin', ride on\n  Some of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\n  I got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\n  My rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\n  I'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\n  Your rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\n  I crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\n  Niggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\n  A million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\n  Likwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\n  Rap off the plane while crackin' champagne\n  Tash for president, you know my campaign\n  First things first to get y'all niggas off the street\n  You get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\n  You coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\n  That's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\n  So give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\n  And once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  I pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\n  My name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\n  Wit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\n  It's dilation, fan appreciation\n\n  Connected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\n  Cali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\n  It's all chips\n  We only get boo's from bartenders\n\n  Better be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\n  When we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\n  Feds pull strings and watch me like Truman\n  But I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\n  To all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n  Graffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  To niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n  To all the women out there raisin' kids alone\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Yeah\n\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n  Where we at?\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n\n  Dilated Peoples\n  Represent wit tha Liks\n  What\n"},{"id":4631526,"name":"Right On","trackName":"Right On","artistName":"Dilated Peoples featuring Tha Alkaholiks","albumName":"The Platform","duration":296.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n(Right on, right on)\nAll the street poets in the house, write on\n(Write on, write on)\n\nBlack people, right on, right one\n(Right on, right on)\nAll my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n(Ride on, ride on)\n\nI still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\nI'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\nWe're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\nYou couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\nWe all up in the house like cocky-roaches\nSnatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\nFuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\nI like the bass hittin' like a\n\nClose encounters of the Likwit Kind\nI'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\nIt's the J R O, you didn't know?\nGoin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\nYou in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\nYou walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\nYou lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\nHere's some news, my DJ rock the mic and the one's and two's and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\nYo, Dilated could never be annihilated\nI waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\nWe migrated to global positioning\nAll the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\nE-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\nI pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\nYo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\nI'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\nI strictly run off select input\nPlayed yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\nNow you come to my town ask Rak\n(Yo you on deadly ground)\n\nThese last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\nI'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\nA Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\nDilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\nMy homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n(Right on, right on)\nTo all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n(Right on, right on)\n\nTo all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n(Right on, right on)\nTo my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n(Right on, right on)\n\nWhether you writin' or ridin', right on\nFresh MC's must write on\nEven if you skateboardin', ride on\nSome of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\nI got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\nMy rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\nI'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\nYour rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\nI crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\nNiggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\nA million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\nLikwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\nRap off the plane while crackin' champagne\nTash for president, you know my campaign\nFirst things first to get y'all niggas off the street\nYou get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\nYou coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\nThat's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\nSo give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\nAnd once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nI pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\nMy name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\nWit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\nIt's dilation, fan appreciation\n\nConnected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\nCali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\nIt's all chips\nWe only get boo's from bartenders\n\nBetter be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\nWhen we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\nFeds pull strings and watch me like Truman\nBut I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\nTo all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\nGraffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\n\nTo niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n(Ride on, ride on)\nTo all the women out there raisin' kids alone\nRight on\n(Right on)\nRight on\n(Right on)\nYeah\n\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\nWhere we at?\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\n\nDilated Peoples\nRepresent wit tha Liks\nWhat","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Right On\n  artist: Dilated Peoples featuring Tha Alkaholiks\n  album: The Platform\n  duration_ms: 296000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All the street poets in the house, write on\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  Black people, right on, right one\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n\n  I still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\n  I'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\n  We're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\n  You couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\n  We all up in the house like cocky-roaches\n  Snatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\n  Fuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\n  I like the bass hittin' like a\n\n  Close encounters of the Likwit Kind\n  I'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\n  It's the J R O, you didn't know?\n  Goin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\n  You in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\n  You walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\n  You lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\n  Here's some news, my DJ rock the mic and the one's and two's and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\n  Yo, Dilated could never be annihilated\n  I waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\n  We migrated to global positioning\n  All the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\n  E-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\n  I pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\n  Yo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\n  I'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\n  I strictly run off select input\n  Played yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n  'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\n  Now you come to my town ask Rak\n  (Yo you on deadly ground)\n\n  These last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\n  I'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\n  A Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\n  Dilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\n  My homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  To all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  Whether you writin' or ridin', right on\n  Fresh MC's must write on\n  Even if you skateboardin', ride on\n  Some of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\n  I got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\n  My rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\n  I'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\n  Your rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\n  I crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\n  Niggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\n  A million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\n  Likwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\n  Rap off the plane while crackin' champagne\n  Tash for president, you know my campaign\n  First things first to get y'all niggas off the street\n  You get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\n  You coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\n  That's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\n  So give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\n  And once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  I pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\n  My name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\n  Wit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\n  It's dilation, fan appreciation\n\n  Connected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\n  Cali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\n  It's all chips\n  We only get boo's from bartenders\n\n  Better be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\n  When we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\n  Feds pull strings and watch me like Truman\n  But I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\n  To all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n  Graffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  To niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n  To all the women out there raisin' kids alone\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Yeah\n\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n  Where we at?\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n\n  Dilated Peoples\n  Represent wit tha Liks\n  What\n"},{"id":12335432,"name":"Right On","trackName":"Right On","artistName":"Dilated Peoples feat. Tha Liks","albumName":"Long Awaited","duration":296.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n(Right on, right on)\nAll the street poets in the house, write on\n(Write on, write on)\n\nBlack people, right on, right one\n(Right on, right on)\nAll my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n(Ride on, ride on)\n\nI still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\nI'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\nWe're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\nYou couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\nWe all up in the house like cocky-roaches\nSnatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\nFuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\nI like the bass hittin' like a\n\nClose encounters of the Likwit Kind\nI'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\nIt's the J R O, you didn't know?\nGoin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\nYou in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\nYou walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\nYou lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\nHere's some news, my DJ rock the mic\nand the one's and two's and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\nYo, Dilated could never be annihilated\nI waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\nWe migrated to global positioning\nAll the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\nE-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\nI pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\nYo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\nI'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\nI strictly run off select input\nPlayed yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\nNow you come to my town ask Rak\n(Yo you on deadly ground)\n\nThese last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\nI'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\nA Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\nDilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\nMy homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n(Right on, right on)\nTo all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n(Right on, right on)\n\nTo all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n(Right on, right on)\nTo my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n(Right on, right on)\n\nWhether you writin' or ridin', right on\nFresh MC's must write on\nEven if you skateboardin', ride on\nSome of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\nI got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\nMy rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\nI'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\nYour rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\nI crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\nNiggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\nA million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\nLikwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\nRap off the plane while crackin' champagne\nTash for president, you know my campaign\nFirst things first to get y'all niggas off the street\nYou get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\nYou coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\nThat's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\nSo give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\nAnd once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nI pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\nMy name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\nWit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\nIt's dilation, fan appreciation\n\nConnected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\nCali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\nIt's all chips\nWe only get boo's from bartenders\n\nBetter be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\nWhen we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\nFeds pull strings and watch me like Truman\nBut I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\nTo all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\nGraffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\n\nTo niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n(Ride on, ride on)\nTo all the women out there raisin' kids alone\nRight on\n(Right on)\nRight on\n(Right on)\nYeah\n\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\nWhere we at?\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\n\nDilated Peoples\nRepresent wit tha Liks\nWhat","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Right On\n  artist: Dilated Peoples feat. Tha Liks\n  album: Long Awaited\n  duration_ms: 296000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All the street poets in the house, write on\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  Black people, right on, right one\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n\n  I still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\n  I'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\n  We're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\n  You couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\n  We all up in the house like cocky-roaches\n  Snatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\n  Fuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\n  I like the bass hittin' like a\n\n  Close encounters of the Likwit Kind\n  I'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\n  It's the J R O, you didn't know?\n  Goin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\n  You in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\n  You walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\n  You lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\n  Here's some news, my DJ rock the mic\n  and the one's and two's and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\n  Yo, Dilated could never be annihilated\n  I waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\n  We migrated to global positioning\n  All the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\n  E-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\n  I pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\n  Yo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\n  I'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\n  I strictly run off select input\n  Played yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n  'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\n  Now you come to my town ask Rak\n  (Yo you on deadly ground)\n\n  These last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\n  I'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\n  A Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\n  Dilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\n  My homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  To all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  Whether you writin' or ridin', right on\n  Fresh MC's must write on\n  Even if you skateboardin', ride on\n  Some of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\n  I got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\n  My rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\n  I'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\n  Your rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\n  I crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\n  Niggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\n  A million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\n  Likwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\n  Rap off the plane while crackin' champagne\n  Tash for president, you know my campaign\n  First things first to get y'all niggas off the street\n  You get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\n  You coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\n  That's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\n  So give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\n  And once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  I pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\n  My name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\n  Wit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\n  It's dilation, fan appreciation\n\n  Connected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\n  Cali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\n  It's all chips\n  We only get boo's from bartenders\n\n  Better be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\n  When we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\n  Feds pull strings and watch me like Truman\n  But I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\n  To all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n  Graffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  To niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n  To all the women out there raisin' kids alone\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Yeah\n\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n  Where we at?\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n\n  Dilated Peoples\n  Represent wit tha Liks\n  What\n"},{"id":34046164,"name":"Right On","trackName":"Right On","artistName":"Dilated Peoples Evidence Rakka Tha Alkaholiks","albumName":"The Platform","duration":296.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n(Right on, right on)\nAll the street poets in the house, write on\n(Write on, write on)\n\nBlack people, right on, right one\n(Right on, right on)\nAll my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n(Ride on, ride on)\n\nI still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\nI'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\nWe're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\nYou couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\nWe all up in the house like cocky-roaches\nSnatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\nFuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\nI like the bass hittin' like a\n\nClose encounters of the Likwit Kind\nI'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\nIt's the J R O, you didn't know?\nGoin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\nYou in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\nYou walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\nYou lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\nHere's some news, my DJ rock the mic and the one's and two's and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\nYo, Dilated could never be annihilated\nI waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\nWe migrated to global positioning\nAll the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\nE-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\nI pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\nYo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\nI'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\nI strictly run off select input\nPlayed yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\nNow you come to my town ask Rak\n(Yo you on deadly ground)\n\nThese last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\nI'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\nA Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\nDilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\nMy homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n(Right on, right on)\nTo all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n(Right on, right on)\n\nTo all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n(Right on, right on)\nTo my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n(Right on, right on)\n\nWhether you writin' or ridin', right on\nFresh MC's must write on\nEven if you skateboardin', ride on\nSome of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\nI got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\nMy rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\nI'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\nYour rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\nI crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\nNiggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\nA million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\nLikwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\nRap off the plane while crackin' champagne\nTash for president, you know my campaign\nFirst things first to get y'all niggas off the street\nYou get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\nYou coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\nThat's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\nSo give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\nAnd once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nI pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\nMy name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\nWit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\nIt's dilation, fan appreciation\n\nConnected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\nCali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\nIt's all chips\nWe only get boo's from bartenders\n\nBetter be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\nWhen we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\nFeds pull strings and watch me like Truman\nBut I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\nTo all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\nGraffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\n\nTo niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n(Ride on, ride on)\nTo all the women out there raisin' kids alone\nRight on\n(Right on)\nRight on\n(Right on)\nYeah\n\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\nWhere we at?\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\n\nDilated Peoples\nRepresent wit tha Liks\nWhat","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Right On\n  artist: Dilated Peoples Evidence Rakka Tha Alkaholiks\n  album: The Platform\n  duration_ms: 296000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All the street poets in the house, write on\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  Black people, right on, right one\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n\n  I still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\n  I'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\n  We're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\n  You couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\n  We all up in the house like cocky-roaches\n  Snatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\n  Fuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\n  I like the bass hittin' like a\n\n  Close encounters of the Likwit Kind\n  I'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\n  It's the J R O, you didn't know?\n  Goin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\n  You in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\n  You walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\n  You lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\n  Here's some news, my DJ rock the mic and the one's and two's and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\n  Yo, Dilated could never be annihilated\n  I waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\n  We migrated to global positioning\n  All the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\n  E-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\n  I pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\n  Yo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\n  I'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\n  I strictly run off select input\n  Played yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n  'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\n  Now you come to my town ask Rak\n  (Yo you on deadly ground)\n\n  These last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\n  I'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\n  A Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\n  Dilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\n  My homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  To all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  Whether you writin' or ridin', right on\n  Fresh MC's must write on\n  Even if you skateboardin', ride on\n  Some of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\n  I got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\n  My rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\n  I'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\n  Your rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\n  I crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\n  Niggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\n  A million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\n  Likwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\n  Rap off the plane while crackin' champagne\n  Tash for president, you know my campaign\n  First things first to get y'all niggas off the street\n  You get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\n  You coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\n  That's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\n  So give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\n  And once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  I pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\n  My name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\n  Wit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\n  It's dilation, fan appreciation\n\n  Connected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\n  Cali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\n  It's all chips\n  We only get boo's from bartenders\n\n  Better be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\n  When we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\n  Feds pull strings and watch me like Truman\n  But I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\n  To all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n  Graffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  To niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n  To all the women out there raisin' kids alone\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Yeah\n\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n  Where we at?\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n\n  Dilated Peoples\n  Represent wit tha Liks\n  What\n"},{"id":6298893,"name":"Right On (feat. Tha Alkaholiks)","trackName":"Right On (feat. Tha Alkaholiks)","artistName":"Dilated Peoples & Tha Alkaholiks","albumName":"The Platform","duration":296.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n(Right on, right on)\nAll the street poets in the house, write on\n(Write on, write on)\n\nBlack people, right on, right one\n(Right on, right on)\nAll my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n(Ride on, ride on)\n\nI still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\nI'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\nWe're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\nYou couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\nWe all up in the house like cocky-roaches\nSnatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\nFuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\nI like the bass hittin' like a\n\nClose encounters of the Likwit Kind\nI'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\nIt's the J R O, you didn't know?\nGoin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\nYou in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\nYou walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\nYou lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\nHere's some news, my DJ rock the mic and the one's and two's and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\nYo, Dilated could never be annihilated\nI waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\nWe migrated to global positioning\nAll the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\nE-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\nI pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nMy appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\nYo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\nI'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\nI strictly run off select input\nPlayed yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\nNow you come to my town ask Rak\n(Yo you on deadly ground)\n\nThese last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\nI'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\nA Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\nDilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\nMy homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n(Right on, right on)\nTo all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n(Right on, right on)\n\nTo all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n(Right on, right on)\nTo my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n(Right on, right on)\n\nWhether you writin' or ridin', right on\nFresh MC's must write on\nEven if you skateboardin', ride on\nSome of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\nI got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\nMy rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\nI'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\nYour rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\nI crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\nNiggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\nA million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\nLikwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\nRap off the plane while crackin' champagne\nTash for president, you know my campaign\nFirst things first to get y'all niggas off the street\nYou get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\nYou coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\nThat's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\nSo give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\nAnd once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\nAnd I'm in\nI pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\nMy name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\nWit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\nIt's dilation, fan appreciation\n\nConnected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\nCali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\nIt's all chips\nWe only get boo's from bartenders\n\nBetter be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\nWhen we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\nFeds pull strings and watch me like Truman\nBut I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\nTo all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\nGraffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n(Write on, write on)\n\nTo niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n(Ride on, ride on)\nTo all the women out there raisin' kids alone\nRight on\n(Right on)\nRight on\n(Right on)\nYeah\n\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\nWhere we at?\nBroadcastin' live from Southern California\n\nDilated Peoples\nRepresent wit tha Liks\nWhat","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Right On (feat. Tha Alkaholiks)\n  artist: Dilated Peoples & Tha Alkaholiks\n  album: The Platform\n  duration_ms: 296000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Back in the days, my pops said, \"Right on\"\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All the street poets in the house, write on\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  Black people, right on, right one\n  (Right on, right on)\n  All my niggas rollin' Chevy's on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n\n  I still rock the party till the needle starts skippin'\n  I'm trippin' like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin'\n  We're mentally fastest, head of all our classes\n  You couldn't pass us wit a rocket like NASA's\n\n  We all up in the house like cocky-roaches\n  Snatchin' MC's out the game like hockey coaches\n  Fuck it, I'll break you down like a bucket\n  I like the bass hittin' like a\n\n  Close encounters of the Likwit Kind\n  I'm sick wit mine, writin' rhymes on picket signs\n  It's the J R O, you didn't know?\n  Goin' off in your face like a dirty pistol\n\n  You in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues\n  You walkin' home bruised, confused wit no shoes\n  You lose! 'Cuz you got the dilated blues\n  Here's some news, my DJ rock the mic and the one's and two's and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My words are like swords cuttin' the paper wit the pen\n  Yo, Dilated could never be annihilated\n  I waited two albums too long, somebody violated\n\n  We migrated to global positioning\n  All the DJ's listenin', Babu mixin' it\n  E-Swift yeah, the man, the myth\n  I pass the mic to Evidence for the assist then I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  My appetite for destruction will eat you up for dinn\n  Yo only one meal, get sliced to four courses\n  I'd take me serious, collect your man and forces\n\n  I strictly run off select input\n  Played yourself, don't have to shoot you in the foot\n  'Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds\n  Now you come to my town ask Rak\n  (Yo you on deadly ground)\n\n  These last four bars, I'ma heal all my scars\n  I'm a underground cat but still like money and cars\n  A Cali classic, that's my word, and my word's my bond\n  Dilated Peoples, alkaholiks, this joint's right on\n\n  My homie King T told me Big Tash, right on, so I'ma\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To all my forty-downin' homies in the house tonight\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  To all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin' alright\n  (Right on, right on)\n  To my Dilated homies that be rippin' the mic\n  (Right on, right on)\n\n  Whether you writin' or ridin', right on\n  Fresh MC's must write on\n  Even if you skateboardin', ride on\n  Some of these free stylers need to write on like my homie Tash\n\n  I got my write on late at night burst a until they flow right\n  My rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light\n  I'm Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin' out that fast shit\n  Your rhymes won't impress me if you said 'em doin' back flips\n\n  I crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose\n  Niggas peepin' out the style, hoes peepin' the clothes\n  A million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang\n  Likwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain\n\n  Rap off the plane while crackin' champagne\n  Tash for president, you know my campaign\n  First things first to get y'all niggas off the street\n  You get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats\n\n  You coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift\n  That's why we escalatin' while y'all niggas need a lift\n  So give me two secs while I crack this Beck's\n  And once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next and I'm out\n\n  And I'm in\n  I pick it up for everybody in the house that spins\n  My name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication\n  Wit data like Star Trek, The Next Generation\n  It's dilation, fan appreciation\n\n  Connected nationwide, worldwide liquidation\n  Cali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders\n  It's all chips\n  We only get boo's from bartenders\n\n  Better be sure, aim high, we top gunnin'\n  When we touch down, we hit the ground runnin'\n  Feds pull strings and watch me like Truman\n  But I can't front, I love L.A. like Randy Newman\n\n  To all the homies locked up writin' home, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n  Graffiti artists around the world, write on c'mon\n  (Write on, write on)\n\n  To niggas rollin' on Katanas, quickly ride on c'mon\n  (Ride on, ride on)\n  To all the women out there raisin' kids alone\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Right on\n  (Right on)\n  Yeah\n\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n  Where we at?\n  Broadcastin' live from Southern California\n\n  Dilated Peoples\n  Represent wit tha Liks\n  What\n"}]