[{"id":4698846,"name":"Misery Needs Company","trackName":"Misery Needs Company","artistName":"Fat Joe","albumName":"Don Cartagena","duration":260.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Yo, yo, one's for the cash, two's for my faculty\nThree's for all the M-3's racin' across the Tapenze\nMatchin' C's followed by the white Lincoln drivin' like I ain't thinkin'\nWit my hats and lights blinkin', let the lah sink in\n\nOn the way to home base\nFirst clown in my face is gettin' thrown out the place\nWe rush shit, untouchable Don shit, that's nothin' new\nSets with stone arms just to muscle you, enough of you\n\nThat had a bad case of Joe, some even had to go\nGangsta walk and nines, at times I be the last to know\nWe laugh and joke, while we bag in the coke\nMy A done make the worst things out the cast of Different Strokes\n\nI'm addicted to street life, although it doesn't seem right\nMany criticize but yo we all go to eat right?\nAnd who's to say that I'm to blame, we only pawns in this game\nDecision, grow cocaine\n\nI don't want no cure for this\nYou switch, I pour the Cris\nAnd just, stay rich, and reminisce\nWhile I count my chips\n\nYo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nI, ton and tender wit millionaires, gave a million stares\nMade a million scared, my beats don' knocked\nFor what seemed like a million years, yeah\nThis illegal life I can't avoid, I take the feds everywhere I go\n\nThat's why I'm paranoid, but still I choose to ignore the fact\nI got the flawless Acs wit gats to get that enormous stack\nJoey Crack, the mack without the hat\nAnd all our hoes dine and ride in the back seat of my Cadillac\n\nI bet you hate it 'cuz we paid and floss, nigga we laid and lost\nT.S.'ll make the baddest crews take a loss\nBreak your balls like Bahondo, call me Don Joe\nCoke slash sweaty rock, niggas drop a dime dough\n\nBooked the nine o'clock, flight to Alando\nSo-called killers turned snitches like Rivono\nThat nigga Gauno up in M-C, is bein' friendly\nEvery time I see his wife and kids the shit tempts me\n\nMy heart is empty\nNever feelin' remorse\nI got a sniper one killed in the cross\nReady to kill your boss\n\nYo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nYo, yo Jose Luis, smoke lah like the reverend\nLook in the skies, clouds look like coke 'n heaven\nLike whoever sittin' on pies two, gettin' high too\nMad fly too, a thug too\n\nYo we praise those, however you make your pesos\nKeep the shit tight just like, Jose Canseco's\nBatting stance, a majorly we glance, and gotta yell, \"What, what\"\n'Cuz thug niggas don't dance yo\n\nI told niggas, that you did it for show\nBut niggas thought you was ill yo\nEven your hoe, yo for real young blood I'm really afraid so\nYour colors got revealed and now you buy dough\n\nImpost-o's, locos, morenos, go-golos, boriquas, platin-o's\nMy niggas rollin' those, fontos and hydros\nYou know how that goes, DE's light it up though\nWe stay smokin' it, tone-locin' it, me and Fat Joe still provoking it\n\nYo, yo yo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nHa ha, mad rappers\nStain off, range off, watch out\nPolic-iano's, Pabolos amigos\nFat Joe, Fat Joe, Fat Joe, yeah yeah","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Misery Needs Company\n artist: Fat Joe\n album: Don Cartagena\n duration_ms: 260000\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n Yo, yo, one's for the cash, two's for my faculty\n Three's for all the M-3's racin' across the Tapenze\n Matchin' C's followed by the white Lincoln drivin' like I ain't thinkin'\n Wit my hats and lights blinkin', let the lah sink in\n\n On the way to home base\n First clown in my face is gettin' thrown out the place\n We rush shit, untouchable Don shit, that's nothin' new\n Sets with stone arms just to muscle you, enough of you\n\n That had a bad case of Joe, some even had to go\n Gangsta walk and nines, at times I be the last to know\n We laugh and joke, while we bag in the coke\n My A done make the worst things out the cast of Different Strokes\n\n I'm addicted to street life, although it doesn't seem right\n Many criticize but yo we all go to eat right?\n And who's to say that I'm to blame, we only pawns in this game\n Decision, grow cocaine\n\n I don't want no cure for this\n You switch, I pour the Cris\n And just, stay rich, and reminisce\n While I count my chips\n\n Yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n I, ton and tender wit millionaires, gave a million stares\n Made a million scared, my beats don' knocked\n For what seemed like a million years, yeah\n This illegal life I can't avoid, I take the feds everywhere I go\n\n That's why I'm paranoid, but still I choose to ignore the fact\n I got the flawless Acs wit gats to get that enormous stack\n Joey Crack, the mack without the hat\n And all our hoes dine and ride in the back seat of my Cadillac\n\n I bet you hate it 'cuz we paid and floss, nigga we laid and lost\n T.S.'ll make the baddest crews take a loss\n Break your balls like Bahondo, call me Don Joe\n Coke slash sweaty rock, niggas drop a dime dough\n\n Booked the nine o'clock, flight to Alando\n So-called killers turned snitches like Rivono\n That nigga Gauno up in M-C, is bein' friendly\n Every time I see his wife and kids the shit tempts me\n\n My heart is empty\n Never feelin' remorse\n I got a sniper one killed in the cross\n Ready to kill your boss\n\n Yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n Yo, yo Jose Luis, smoke lah like the reverend\n Look in the skies, clouds look like coke 'n heaven\n Like whoever sittin' on pies two, gettin' high too\n Mad fly too, a thug too\n\n Yo we praise those, however you make your pesos\n Keep the shit tight just like, Jose Canseco's\n Batting stance, a majorly we glance, and gotta yell, \"What, what\"\n 'Cuz thug niggas don't dance yo\n\n I told niggas, that you did it for show\n But niggas thought you was ill yo\n Even your hoe, yo for real young blood I'm really afraid so\n Your colors got revealed and now you buy dough\n\n Impost-o's, locos, morenos, go-golos, boriquas, platin-o's\n My niggas rollin' those, fontos and hydros\n You know how that goes, DE's light it up though\n We stay smokin' it, tone-locin' it, me and Fat Joe still provoking it\n\n Yo, yo yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n Ha ha, mad rappers\n Stain off, range off, watch out\n Polic-iano's, Pabolos amigos\n Fat Joe, Fat Joe, Fat Joe, yeah yeah\n"},{"id":19686635,"name":"Misery Needs Company","trackName":"Misery Needs Company","artistName":"Fat Joe","albumName":"Don Cartagena","duration":262.5306112,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Yo, yo, one's for the cash, two's for my faculty\nThree's for all the M-3's racin' across the Tapenze\nMatchin' C's followed by the white Lincoln drivin' like I ain't thinkin'\nWit my hats and lights blinkin', let the lah sink in\n\nOn the way to home base\nFirst clown in my face is gettin' thrown out the place\nWe rush shit, untouchable Don shit, that's nothin' new\nSets with stone arms just to muscle you, enough of you\n\nThat had a bad case of Joe, some even had to go\nGangsta walk and nines, at times I be the last to know\nWe laugh and joke, while we bag in the coke\nMy A done make the worst things out the cast of Different Strokes\n\nI'm addicted to street life, although it doesn't seem right\nMany criticize but yo we all go to eat right?\nAnd who's to say that I'm to blame, we only pawns in this game\nDecision, grow cocaine\n\nI don't want no cure for this\nYou switch, I pour the Cris\nAnd just, stay rich, and reminisce\nWhile I count my chips\n\nYo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nI, ton and tender wit millionaires, gave a million stares\nMade a million scared, my beats don' knocked\nFor what seemed like a million years, yeah\nThis illegal life I can't avoid, I take the feds everywhere I go\n\nThat's why I'm paranoid, but still I choose to ignore the fact\nI got the flawless Acs wit gats to get that enormous stack\nJoey Crack, the mack without the hat\nAnd all our hoes dine and ride in the back seat of my Cadillac\n\nI bet you hate it 'cuz we paid and floss, nigga we laid and lost\nT.S.'ll make the baddest crews take a loss\nBreak your balls like Bahondo, call me Don Joe\nCoke slash sweaty rock, niggas drop a dime dough\n\nBooked the nine o'clock, flight to Alando\nSo-called killers turned snitches like Rivono\nThat nigga Gauno up in M-C, is bein' friendly\nEvery time I see his wife and kids the shit tempts me\n\nMy heart is empty\nNever feelin' remorse\nI got a sniper one killed in the cross\nReady to kill your boss\n\nYo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nYo, yo Jose Luis, smoke lah like the reverend\nLook in the skies, clouds look like coke 'n heaven\nLike whoever sittin' on pies two, gettin' high too\nMad fly too, a thug too\n\nYo we praise those, however you make your pesos\nKeep the shit tight just like, Jose Canseco's\nBatting stance, a majorly we glance, and gotta yell, \"What, what\"\n'Cuz thug niggas don't dance yo\n\nI told niggas, that you did it for show\nBut niggas thought you was ill yo\nEven your hoe, yo for real young blood I'm really afraid so\nYour colors got revealed and now you buy dough\n\nImpost-o's, locos, morenos, go-golos, boriquas, platin-o's\nMy niggas rollin' those, fontos and hydros\nYou know how that goes, DE's light it up though\nWe stay smokin' it, tone-locin' it, me and Fat Joe still provoking it\n\nYo, yo yo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nHa ha, mad rappers\nStain off, range off, watch out\nPolic-iano's, Pabolos amigos\nFat Joe, Fat Joe, Fat Joe, yeah yeah","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Misery Needs Company\n artist: Fat Joe\n album: Don Cartagena\n duration_ms: 262531\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n Yo, yo, one's for the cash, two's for my faculty\n Three's for all the M-3's racin' across the Tapenze\n Matchin' C's followed by the white Lincoln drivin' like I ain't thinkin'\n Wit my hats and lights blinkin', let the lah sink in\n\n On the way to home base\n First clown in my face is gettin' thrown out the place\n We rush shit, untouchable Don shit, that's nothin' new\n Sets with stone arms just to muscle you, enough of you\n\n That had a bad case of Joe, some even had to go\n Gangsta walk and nines, at times I be the last to know\n We laugh and joke, while we bag in the coke\n My A done make the worst things out the cast of Different Strokes\n\n I'm addicted to street life, although it doesn't seem right\n Many criticize but yo we all go to eat right?\n And who's to say that I'm to blame, we only pawns in this game\n Decision, grow cocaine\n\n I don't want no cure for this\n You switch, I pour the Cris\n And just, stay rich, and reminisce\n While I count my chips\n\n Yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n I, ton and tender wit millionaires, gave a million stares\n Made a million scared, my beats don' knocked\n For what seemed like a million years, yeah\n This illegal life I can't avoid, I take the feds everywhere I go\n\n That's why I'm paranoid, but still I choose to ignore the fact\n I got the flawless Acs wit gats to get that enormous stack\n Joey Crack, the mack without the hat\n And all our hoes dine and ride in the back seat of my Cadillac\n\n I bet you hate it 'cuz we paid and floss, nigga we laid and lost\n T.S.'ll make the baddest crews take a loss\n Break your balls like Bahondo, call me Don Joe\n Coke slash sweaty rock, niggas drop a dime dough\n\n Booked the nine o'clock, flight to Alando\n So-called killers turned snitches like Rivono\n That nigga Gauno up in M-C, is bein' friendly\n Every time I see his wife and kids the shit tempts me\n\n My heart is empty\n Never feelin' remorse\n I got a sniper one killed in the cross\n Ready to kill your boss\n\n Yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n Yo, yo Jose Luis, smoke lah like the reverend\n Look in the skies, clouds look like coke 'n heaven\n Like whoever sittin' on pies two, gettin' high too\n Mad fly too, a thug too\n\n Yo we praise those, however you make your pesos\n Keep the shit tight just like, Jose Canseco's\n Batting stance, a majorly we glance, and gotta yell, \"What, what\"\n 'Cuz thug niggas don't dance yo\n\n I told niggas, that you did it for show\n But niggas thought you was ill yo\n Even your hoe, yo for real young blood I'm really afraid so\n Your colors got revealed and now you buy dough\n\n Impost-o's, locos, morenos, go-golos, boriquas, platin-o's\n My niggas rollin' those, fontos and hydros\n You know how that goes, DE's light it up though\n We stay smokin' it, tone-locin' it, me and Fat Joe still provoking it\n\n Yo, yo yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n Ha ha, mad rappers\n Stain off, range off, watch out\n Polic-iano's, Pabolos amigos\n Fat Joe, Fat Joe, Fat Joe, yeah yeah\n"},{"id":28149797,"name":"11 Misery Needs Company","trackName":"11 Misery Needs Company","artistName":"Fat Joe","albumName":"Don Cartagena","duration":261.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Yo, yo, one's for the cash, two's for my faculty\nThree's for all the M-3's racin' across the Tapenze\nMatchin' C's followed by the white Lincoln drivin' like I ain't thinkin'\nWit my hats and lights blinkin', let the lah sink in\n\nOn the way to home base\nFirst clown in my face is gettin' thrown out the place\nWe rush shit, untouchable Don shit, that's nothin' new\nSets with stone arms just to muscle you, enough of you\n\nThat had a bad case of Joe, some even had to go\nGangsta walk and nines, at times I be the last to know\nWe laugh and joke, while we bag in the coke\nMy A done make the worst things out the cast of Different Strokes\n\nI'm addicted to street life, although it doesn't seem right\nMany criticize but yo we all go to eat right?\nAnd who's to say that I'm to blame, we only pawns in this game\nDecision, grow cocaine\n\nI don't want no cure for this\nYou switch, I pour the Cris\nAnd just, stay rich, and reminisce\nWhile I count my chips\n\nYo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nI, ton and tender wit millionaires, gave a million stares\nMade a million scared, my beats don' knocked\nFor what seemed like a million years, yeah\nThis illegal life I can't avoid, I take the feds everywhere I go\n\nThat's why I'm paranoid, but still I choose to ignore the fact\nI got the flawless Acs wit gats to get that enormous stack\nJoey Crack, the mack without the hat\nAnd all our hoes dine and ride in the back seat of my Cadillac\n\nI bet you hate it 'cuz we paid and floss, nigga we laid and lost\nT.S.'ll make the baddest crews take a loss\nBreak your balls like Bahondo, call me Don Joe\nCoke slash sweaty rock, niggas drop a dime dough\n\nBooked the nine o'clock, flight to Alando\nSo-called killers turned snitches like Rivono\nThat nigga Gauno up in M-C, is bein' friendly\nEvery time I see his wife and kids the shit tempts me\n\nMy heart is empty\nNever feelin' remorse\nI got a sniper one killed in the cross\nReady to kill your boss\n\nYo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nYo, yo Jose Luis, smoke lah like the reverend\nLook in the skies, clouds look like coke 'n heaven\nLike whoever sittin' on pies two, gettin' high too\nMad fly too, a thug too\n\nYo we praise those, however you make your pesos\nKeep the shit tight just like, Jose Canseco's\nBatting stance, a majorly we glance, and gotta yell, \"What, what\"\n'Cuz thug niggas don't dance yo\n\nI told niggas, that you did it for show\nBut niggas thought you was ill yo\nEven your hoe, yo for real young blood I'm really afraid so\nYour colors got revealed and now you buy dough\n\nImpost-o's, locos, morenos, go-golos, boriquas, platin-o's\nMy niggas rollin' those, fontos and hydros\nYou know how that goes, DE's light it up though\nWe stay smokin' it, tone-locin' it, me and Fat Joe still provoking it\n\nYo, yo yo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nHa ha, mad rappers\nStain off, range off, watch out\nPolic-iano's, Pabolos amigos\nFat Joe, Fat Joe, Fat Joe, yeah yeah","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: 11 Misery Needs Company\n artist: Fat Joe\n album: Don Cartagena\n duration_ms: 261000\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n Yo, yo, one's for the cash, two's for my faculty\n Three's for all the M-3's racin' across the Tapenze\n Matchin' C's followed by the white Lincoln drivin' like I ain't thinkin'\n Wit my hats and lights blinkin', let the lah sink in\n\n On the way to home base\n First clown in my face is gettin' thrown out the place\n We rush shit, untouchable Don shit, that's nothin' new\n Sets with stone arms just to muscle you, enough of you\n\n That had a bad case of Joe, some even had to go\n Gangsta walk and nines, at times I be the last to know\n We laugh and joke, while we bag in the coke\n My A done make the worst things out the cast of Different Strokes\n\n I'm addicted to street life, although it doesn't seem right\n Many criticize but yo we all go to eat right?\n And who's to say that I'm to blame, we only pawns in this game\n Decision, grow cocaine\n\n I don't want no cure for this\n You switch, I pour the Cris\n And just, stay rich, and reminisce\n While I count my chips\n\n Yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n I, ton and tender wit millionaires, gave a million stares\n Made a million scared, my beats don' knocked\n For what seemed like a million years, yeah\n This illegal life I can't avoid, I take the feds everywhere I go\n\n That's why I'm paranoid, but still I choose to ignore the fact\n I got the flawless Acs wit gats to get that enormous stack\n Joey Crack, the mack without the hat\n And all our hoes dine and ride in the back seat of my Cadillac\n\n I bet you hate it 'cuz we paid and floss, nigga we laid and lost\n T.S.'ll make the baddest crews take a loss\n Break your balls like Bahondo, call me Don Joe\n Coke slash sweaty rock, niggas drop a dime dough\n\n Booked the nine o'clock, flight to Alando\n So-called killers turned snitches like Rivono\n That nigga Gauno up in M-C, is bein' friendly\n Every time I see his wife and kids the shit tempts me\n\n My heart is empty\n Never feelin' remorse\n I got a sniper one killed in the cross\n Ready to kill your boss\n\n Yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n Yo, yo Jose Luis, smoke lah like the reverend\n Look in the skies, clouds look like coke 'n heaven\n Like whoever sittin' on pies two, gettin' high too\n Mad fly too, a thug too\n\n Yo we praise those, however you make your pesos\n Keep the shit tight just like, Jose Canseco's\n Batting stance, a majorly we glance, and gotta yell, \"What, what\"\n 'Cuz thug niggas don't dance yo\n\n I told niggas, that you did it for show\n But niggas thought you was ill yo\n Even your hoe, yo for real young blood I'm really afraid so\n Your colors got revealed and now you buy dough\n\n Impost-o's, locos, morenos, go-golos, boriquas, platin-o's\n My niggas rollin' those, fontos and hydros\n You know how that goes, DE's light it up though\n We stay smokin' it, tone-locin' it, me and Fat Joe still provoking it\n\n Yo, yo yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n Ha ha, mad rappers\n Stain off, range off, watch out\n Polic-iano's, Pabolos amigos\n Fat Joe, Fat Joe, Fat Joe, yeah yeah\n"},{"id":9676264,"name":"Misery Needs Company","trackName":"Misery Needs Company","artistName":"Fat Joe featuring Noreaga","albumName":"Don Cartagena","duration":262.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Yo, yo, one's for the cash, two's for my faculty\nThree's for all the M-3's racin' across the Tapenze\nMatchin' C's followed by the white Lincoln drivin' like I ain't thinkin'\nWit my hats and lights blinkin', let the lah sink in\n\nOn the way to home base\nFirst clown in my face is gettin' thrown out the place\nWe rush shit, untouchable Don shit, that's nothin' new\nSets with stone arms just to muscle you, enough of you\n\nThat had a bad case of Joe, some even had to go\nGangsta walk and nines, at times I be the last to know\nWe laugh and joke, while we bag in the coke\nMy A done make the worst things out the cast of Different Strokes\n\nI'm addicted to street life, although it doesn't seem right\nMany criticize but yo we all go to eat right?\nAnd who's to say that I'm to blame, we only pawns in this game\nDecision, grow cocaine\n\nI don't want no cure for this\nYou switch, I pour the Cris\nAnd just, stay rich, and reminisce\nWhile I count my chips\n\nYo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nI, ton and tender wit millionaires, gave a million stares\nMade a million scared, my beats don' knocked\nFor what seemed like a million years, yeah\nThis illegal life I can't avoid, I take the feds everywhere I go\n\nThat's why I'm paranoid, but still I choose to ignore the fact\nI got the flawless Acs wit gats to get that enormous stack\nJoey Crack, the mack without the hat\nAnd all our hoes dine and ride in the back seat of my Cadillac\n\nI bet you hate it 'cuz we paid and floss, nigga we laid and lost\nT.S.'ll make the baddest crews take a loss\nBreak your balls like Bahondo, call me Don Joe\nCoke slash sweaty rock, niggas drop a dime dough\n\nBooked the nine o'clock, flight to Alando\nSo-called killers turned snitches like Rivono\nThat nigga Gauno up in M-C, is bein' friendly\nEvery time I see his wife and kids the shit tempts me\n\nMy heart is empty\nNever feelin' remorse\nI got a sniper one killed in the cross\nReady to kill your boss\n\nYo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nYo, yo Jose Luis, smoke lah like the reverend\nLook in the skies, clouds look like coke 'n heaven\nLike whoever sittin' on pies two, gettin' high too\nMad fly too, a thug too\n\nYo we praise those, however you make your pesos\nKeep the shit tight just like, Jose Canseco's\nBatting stance, a majorly we glance, and gotta yell, \"What, what\"\n'Cuz thug niggas don't dance yo\n\nI told niggas, that you did it for show\nBut niggas thought you was ill yo\nEven your hoe, yo for real young blood I'm really afraid so\nYour colors got revealed and now you buy dough\n\nImpost-o's, locos, morenos, go-golos, boriquas, platin-o's\nMy niggas rollin' those, fontos and hydros\nYou know how that goes, DE's light it up though\nWe stay smokin' it, tone-locin' it, me and Fat Joe still provoking it\n\nYo, yo yo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nHa ha, mad rappers\nStain off, range off, watch out\nPolic-iano's, Pabolos amigos\nFat Joe, Fat Joe, Fat Joe, yeah yeah","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Misery Needs Company\n artist: Fat Joe featuring Noreaga\n album: Don Cartagena\n duration_ms: 262000\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n Yo, yo, one's for the cash, two's for my faculty\n Three's for all the M-3's racin' across the Tapenze\n Matchin' C's followed by the white Lincoln drivin' like I ain't thinkin'\n Wit my hats and lights blinkin', let the lah sink in\n\n On the way to home base\n First clown in my face is gettin' thrown out the place\n We rush shit, untouchable Don shit, that's nothin' new\n Sets with stone arms just to muscle you, enough of you\n\n That had a bad case of Joe, some even had to go\n Gangsta walk and nines, at times I be the last to know\n We laugh and joke, while we bag in the coke\n My A done make the worst things out the cast of Different Strokes\n\n I'm addicted to street life, although it doesn't seem right\n Many criticize but yo we all go to eat right?\n And who's to say that I'm to blame, we only pawns in this game\n Decision, grow cocaine\n\n I don't want no cure for this\n You switch, I pour the Cris\n And just, stay rich, and reminisce\n While I count my chips\n\n Yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n I, ton and tender wit millionaires, gave a million stares\n Made a million scared, my beats don' knocked\n For what seemed like a million years, yeah\n This illegal life I can't avoid, I take the feds everywhere I go\n\n That's why I'm paranoid, but still I choose to ignore the fact\n I got the flawless Acs wit gats to get that enormous stack\n Joey Crack, the mack without the hat\n And all our hoes dine and ride in the back seat of my Cadillac\n\n I bet you hate it 'cuz we paid and floss, nigga we laid and lost\n T.S.'ll make the baddest crews take a loss\n Break your balls like Bahondo, call me Don Joe\n Coke slash sweaty rock, niggas drop a dime dough\n\n Booked the nine o'clock, flight to Alando\n So-called killers turned snitches like Rivono\n That nigga Gauno up in M-C, is bein' friendly\n Every time I see his wife and kids the shit tempts me\n\n My heart is empty\n Never feelin' remorse\n I got a sniper one killed in the cross\n Ready to kill your boss\n\n Yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n Yo, yo Jose Luis, smoke lah like the reverend\n Look in the skies, clouds look like coke 'n heaven\n Like whoever sittin' on pies two, gettin' high too\n Mad fly too, a thug too\n\n Yo we praise those, however you make your pesos\n Keep the shit tight just like, Jose Canseco's\n Batting stance, a majorly we glance, and gotta yell, \"What, what\"\n 'Cuz thug niggas don't dance yo\n\n I told niggas, that you did it for show\n But niggas thought you was ill yo\n Even your hoe, yo for real young blood I'm really afraid so\n Your colors got revealed and now you buy dough\n\n Impost-o's, locos, morenos, go-golos, boriquas, platin-o's\n My niggas rollin' those, fontos and hydros\n You know how that goes, DE's light it up though\n We stay smokin' it, tone-locin' it, me and Fat Joe still provoking it\n\n Yo, yo yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n Ha ha, mad rappers\n Stain off, range off, watch out\n Polic-iano's, Pabolos amigos\n Fat Joe, Fat Joe, Fat Joe, yeah yeah\n"},{"id":34197893,"name":"Misery Needs Company","trackName":"Misery Needs Company","artistName":"Fat Joe featuring Noreaga","albumName":"Don Cartagena","duration":259.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Yo, yo, one's for the cash, two's for my faculty\nThree's for all the M-3's racin' across the Tapenze\nMatchin' C's followed by the white Lincoln drivin' like I ain't thinkin'\nWit my hats and lights blinkin', let the lah sink in\n\nOn the way to home base\nFirst clown in my face is gettin' thrown out the place\nWe rush shit, untouchable Don shit, that's nothin' new\nSets with stone arms just to muscle you, enough of you\n\nThat had a bad case of Joe, some even had to go\nGangsta walk and nines, at times I be the last to know\nWe laugh and joke, while we bag in the coke\nMy A done make the worst things out the cast of Different Strokes\n\nI'm addicted to street life, although it doesn't seem right\nMany criticize but yo we all go to eat right?\nAnd who's to say that I'm to blame, we only pawns in this game\nDecision, grow cocaine\n\nI don't want no cure for this\nYou switch, I pour the Cris\nAnd just, stay rich, and reminisce\nWhile I count my chips\n\nYo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nI, ton and tender wit millionaires, gave a million stares\nMade a million scared, my beats don' knocked\nFor what seemed like a million years, yeah\nThis illegal life I can't avoid, I take the feds everywhere I go\n\nThat's why I'm paranoid, but still I choose to ignore the fact\nI got the flawless Acs wit gats to get that enormous stack\nJoey Crack, the mack without the hat\nAnd all our hoes dine and ride in the back seat of my Cadillac\n\nI bet you hate it 'cuz we paid and floss, nigga we laid and lost\nT.S.'ll make the baddest crews take a loss\nBreak your balls like Bahondo, call me Don Joe\nCoke slash sweaty rock, niggas drop a dime dough\n\nBooked the nine o'clock, flight to Alando\nSo-called killers turned snitches like Rivono\nThat nigga Gauno up in M-C, is bein' friendly\nEvery time I see his wife and kids the shit tempts me\n\nMy heart is empty\nNever feelin' remorse\nI got a sniper one killed in the cross\nReady to kill your boss\n\nYo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nYo, yo Jose Luis, smoke lah like the reverend\nLook in the skies, clouds look like coke 'n heaven\nLike whoever sittin' on pies two, gettin' high too\nMad fly too, a thug too\n\nYo we praise those, however you make your pesos\nKeep the shit tight just like, Jose Canseco's\nBatting stance, a majorly we glance, and gotta yell, \"What, what\"\n'Cuz thug niggas don't dance yo\n\nI told niggas, that you did it for show\nBut niggas thought you was ill yo\nEven your hoe, yo for real young blood I'm really afraid so\nYour colors got revealed and now you buy dough\n\nImpost-o's, locos, morenos, go-golos, boriquas, platin-o's\nMy niggas rollin' those, fontos and hydros\nYou know how that goes, DE's light it up though\nWe stay smokin' it, tone-locin' it, me and Fat Joe still provoking it\n\nYo, yo yo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nHa ha, mad rappers\nStain off, range off, watch out\nPolic-iano's, Pabolos amigos\nFat Joe, Fat Joe, Fat Joe, yeah yeah","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Misery Needs Company\n artist: Fat Joe featuring Noreaga\n album: Don Cartagena\n duration_ms: 259000\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n Yo, yo, one's for the cash, two's for my faculty\n Three's for all the M-3's racin' across the Tapenze\n Matchin' C's followed by the white Lincoln drivin' like I ain't thinkin'\n Wit my hats and lights blinkin', let the lah sink in\n\n On the way to home base\n First clown in my face is gettin' thrown out the place\n We rush shit, untouchable Don shit, that's nothin' new\n Sets with stone arms just to muscle you, enough of you\n\n That had a bad case of Joe, some even had to go\n Gangsta walk and nines, at times I be the last to know\n We laugh and joke, while we bag in the coke\n My A done make the worst things out the cast of Different Strokes\n\n I'm addicted to street life, although it doesn't seem right\n Many criticize but yo we all go to eat right?\n And who's to say that I'm to blame, we only pawns in this game\n Decision, grow cocaine\n\n I don't want no cure for this\n You switch, I pour the Cris\n And just, stay rich, and reminisce\n While I count my chips\n\n Yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n I, ton and tender wit millionaires, gave a million stares\n Made a million scared, my beats don' knocked\n For what seemed like a million years, yeah\n This illegal life I can't avoid, I take the feds everywhere I go\n\n That's why I'm paranoid, but still I choose to ignore the fact\n I got the flawless Acs wit gats to get that enormous stack\n Joey Crack, the mack without the hat\n And all our hoes dine and ride in the back seat of my Cadillac\n\n I bet you hate it 'cuz we paid and floss, nigga we laid and lost\n T.S.'ll make the baddest crews take a loss\n Break your balls like Bahondo, call me Don Joe\n Coke slash sweaty rock, niggas drop a dime dough\n\n Booked the nine o'clock, flight to Alando\n So-called killers turned snitches like Rivono\n That nigga Gauno up in M-C, is bein' friendly\n Every time I see his wife and kids the shit tempts me\n\n My heart is empty\n Never feelin' remorse\n I got a sniper one killed in the cross\n Ready to kill your boss\n\n Yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n Yo, yo Jose Luis, smoke lah like the reverend\n Look in the skies, clouds look like coke 'n heaven\n Like whoever sittin' on pies two, gettin' high too\n Mad fly too, a thug too\n\n Yo we praise those, however you make your pesos\n Keep the shit tight just like, Jose Canseco's\n Batting stance, a majorly we glance, and gotta yell, \"What, what\"\n 'Cuz thug niggas don't dance yo\n\n I told niggas, that you did it for show\n But niggas thought you was ill yo\n Even your hoe, yo for real young blood I'm really afraid so\n Your colors got revealed and now you buy dough\n\n Impost-o's, locos, morenos, go-golos, boriquas, platin-o's\n My niggas rollin' those, fontos and hydros\n You know how that goes, DE's light it up though\n We stay smokin' it, tone-locin' it, me and Fat Joe still provoking it\n\n Yo, yo yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n Ha ha, mad rappers\n Stain off, range off, watch out\n Polic-iano's, Pabolos amigos\n Fat Joe, Fat Joe, Fat Joe, yeah yeah\n"},{"id":39858798,"name":"Misery Needs Company","trackName":"Misery Needs Company","artistName":"Fat Joe Feat. Noreaga","albumName":"Don Cartagena","duration":262.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Yo, yo, one's for the cash, two's for my faculty\nThree's for all the M-3's racin' across the Tapenze\nMatchin' C's followed by the white Lincoln drivin' like I ain't thinkin'\nWit my hats and lights blinkin', let the lah sink in\n\nOn the way to home base\nFirst clown in my face is gettin' thrown out the place\nWe rush shit, untouchable Don shit, that's nothin' new\nSets with stone arms just to muscle you, enough of you\n\nThat had a bad case of Joe, some even had to go\nGangsta walk and nines, at times I be the last to know\nWe laugh and joke, while we bag in the coke\nMy A done make the worst things out the cast of Different Strokes\n\nI'm addicted to street life, although it doesn't seem right\nMany criticize but yo we all go to eat right?\nAnd who's to say that I'm to blame, we only pawns in this game\nDecision, grow cocaine\n\nI don't want no cure for this\nYou switch, I pour the Cris\nAnd just, stay rich, and reminisce\nWhile I count my chips\n\nYo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nI, ton and tender wit millionaires, gave a million stares\nMade a million scared, my beats don' knocked\nFor what seemed like a million years, yeah\nThis illegal life I can't avoid, I take the feds everywhere I go\n\nThat's why I'm paranoid, but still I choose to ignore the fact\nI got the flawless Acs wit gats to get that enormous stack\nJoey Crack, the mack without the hat\nAnd all our hoes dine and ride in the back seat of my Cadillac\n\nI bet you hate it 'cuz we paid and floss, nigga we laid and lost\nT.S.'ll make the baddest crews take a loss\nBreak your balls like Bahondo, call me Don Joe\nCoke slash sweaty rock, niggas drop a dime dough\n\nBooked the nine o'clock, flight to Alando\nSo-called killers turned snitches like Rivono\nThat nigga Gauno up in M-C, is bein' friendly\nEvery time I see his wife and kids the shit tempts me\n\nMy heart is empty\nNever feelin' remorse\nI got a sniper one killed in the cross\nReady to kill your boss\n\nYo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nYo, yo Jose Luis, smoke lah like the reverend\nLook in the skies, clouds look like coke 'n heaven\nLike whoever sittin' on pies two, gettin' high too\nMad fly too, a thug too\n\nYo we praise those, however you make your pesos\nKeep the shit tight just like, Jose Canseco's\nBatting stance, a majorly we glance, and gotta yell, \"What, what\"\n'Cuz thug niggas don't dance yo\n\nI told niggas, that you did it for show\nBut niggas thought you was ill yo\nEven your hoe, yo for real young blood I'm really afraid so\nYour colors got revealed and now you buy dough\n\nImpost-o's, locos, morenos, go-golos, boriquas, platin-o's\nMy niggas rollin' those, fontos and hydros\nYou know how that goes, DE's light it up though\nWe stay smokin' it, tone-locin' it, me and Fat Joe still provoking it\n\nYo, yo yo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nHa ha, mad rappers\nStain off, range off, watch out\nPolic-iano's, Pabolos amigos\nFat Joe, Fat Joe, Fat Joe, yeah yeah","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Misery Needs Company\n artist: Fat Joe Feat. Noreaga\n album: Don Cartagena\n duration_ms: 261640\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n Yo, yo, one's for the cash, two's for my faculty\n Three's for all the M-3's racin' across the Tapenze\n Matchin' C's followed by the white Lincoln drivin' like I ain't thinkin'\n Wit my hats and lights blinkin', let the lah sink in\n\n On the way to home base\n First clown in my face is gettin' thrown out the place\n We rush shit, untouchable Don shit, that's nothin' new\n Sets with stone arms just to muscle you, enough of you\n\n That had a bad case of Joe, some even had to go\n Gangsta walk and nines, at times I be the last to know\n We laugh and joke, while we bag in the coke\n My A done make the worst things out the cast of Different Strokes\n\n I'm addicted to street life, although it doesn't seem right\n Many criticize but yo we all go to eat right?\n And who's to say that I'm to blame, we only pawns in this game\n Decision, grow cocaine\n\n I don't want no cure for this\n You switch, I pour the Cris\n And just, stay rich, and reminisce\n While I count my chips\n\n Yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n I, ton and tender wit millionaires, gave a million stares\n Made a million scared, my beats don' knocked\n For what seemed like a million years, yeah\n This illegal life I can't avoid, I take the feds everywhere I go\n\n That's why I'm paranoid, but still I choose to ignore the fact\n I got the flawless Acs wit gats to get that enormous stack\n Joey Crack, the mack without the hat\n And all our hoes dine and ride in the back seat of my Cadillac\n\n I bet you hate it 'cuz we paid and floss, nigga we laid and lost\n T.S.'ll make the baddest crews take a loss\n Break your balls like Bahondo, call me Don Joe\n Coke slash sweaty rock, niggas drop a dime dough\n\n Booked the nine o'clock, flight to Alando\n So-called killers turned snitches like Rivono\n That nigga Gauno up in M-C, is bein' friendly\n Every time I see his wife and kids the shit tempts me\n\n My heart is empty\n Never feelin' remorse\n I got a sniper one killed in the cross\n Ready to kill your boss\n\n Yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n Yo, yo Jose Luis, smoke lah like the reverend\n Look in the skies, clouds look like coke 'n heaven\n Like whoever sittin' on pies two, gettin' high too\n Mad fly too, a thug too\n\n Yo we praise those, however you make your pesos\n Keep the shit tight just like, Jose Canseco's\n Batting stance, a majorly we glance, and gotta yell, \"What, what\"\n 'Cuz thug niggas don't dance yo\n\n I told niggas, that you did it for show\n But niggas thought you was ill yo\n Even your hoe, yo for real young blood I'm really afraid so\n Your colors got revealed and now you buy dough\n\n Impost-o's, locos, morenos, go-golos, boriquas, platin-o's\n My niggas rollin' those, fontos and hydros\n You know how that goes, DE's light it up though\n We stay smokin' it, tone-locin' it, me and Fat Joe still provoking it\n\n Yo, yo yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n Ha ha, mad rappers\n Stain off, range off, watch out\n Polic-iano's, Pabolos amigos\n Fat Joe, Fat Joe, Fat Joe, yeah yeah\n"},{"id":30138046,"name":"Misery Needs Company (feat. Noreaga)","trackName":"Misery Needs Company (feat. Noreaga)","artistName":"Fat Joe","albumName":"Don Cartagena (92805-2) (WEB)","duration":260.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Yo, yo, one's for the cash, two's for my faculty\nThree's for all the M-3's racin' across the Tapenze\nMatchin' C's followed by the white Lincoln drivin' like I ain't thinkin'\nWit my hats and lights blinkin', let the lah sink in\n\nOn the way to home base\nFirst clown in my face is gettin' thrown out the place\nWe rush shit, untouchable Don shit, that's nothin' new\nSets with stone arms just to muscle you, enough of you\n\nThat had a bad case of Joe, some even had to go\nGangsta walk and nines, at times I be the last to know\nWe laugh and joke, while we bag in the coke\nMy A done make the worst things out the cast of Different Strokes\n\nI'm addicted to street life, although it doesn't seem right\nMany criticize but yo we all go to eat right?\nAnd who's to say that I'm to blame, we only pawns in this game\nDecision, grow cocaine\n\nI don't want no cure for this\nYou switch, I pour the Cris\nAnd just, stay rich, and reminisce\nWhile I count my chips\n\nYo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nI, ton and tender wit millionaires, gave a million stares\nMade a million scared, my beats don' knocked\nFor what seemed like a million years, yeah\nThis illegal life I can't avoid, I take the feds everywhere I go\n\nThat's why I'm paranoid, but still I choose to ignore the fact\nI got the flawless Acs wit gats to get that enormous stack\nJoey Crack, the mack without the hat\nAnd all our hoes dine and ride in the back seat of my Cadillac\n\nI bet you hate it 'cuz we paid and floss, nigga we laid and lost\nT.S.'ll make the baddest crews take a loss\nBreak your balls like Bahondo, call me Don Joe\nCoke slash sweaty rock, niggas drop a dime dough\n\nBooked the nine o'clock, flight to Alando\nSo-called killers turned snitches like Rivono\nThat nigga Gauno up in M-C, is bein' friendly\nEvery time I see his wife and kids the shit tempts me\n\nMy heart is empty\nNever feelin' remorse\nI got a sniper one killed in the cross\nReady to kill your boss\n\nYo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nYo, yo Jose Luis, smoke lah like the reverend\nLook in the skies, clouds look like coke 'n heaven\nLike whoever sittin' on pies two, gettin' high too\nMad fly too, a thug too\n\nYo we praise those, however you make your pesos\nKeep the shit tight just like, Jose Canseco's\nBatting stance, a majorly we glance, and gotta yell, \"What, what\"\n'Cuz thug niggas don't dance yo\n\nI told niggas, that you did it for show\nBut niggas thought you was ill yo\nEven your hoe, yo for real young blood I'm really afraid so\nYour colors got revealed and now you buy dough\n\nImpost-o's, locos, morenos, go-golos, boriquas, platin-o's\nMy niggas rollin' those, fontos and hydros\nYou know how that goes, DE's light it up though\nWe stay smokin' it, tone-locin' it, me and Fat Joe still provoking it\n\nYo, yo yo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nHa ha, mad rappers\nStain off, range off, watch out\nPolic-iano's, Pabolos amigos\nFat Joe, Fat Joe, Fat Joe, yeah yeah","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Misery Needs Company (feat. Noreaga)\n artist: Fat Joe\n album: Don Cartagena (92805-2) (WEB)\n duration_ms: 260000\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n Yo, yo, one's for the cash, two's for my faculty\n Three's for all the M-3's racin' across the Tapenze\n Matchin' C's followed by the white Lincoln drivin' like I ain't thinkin'\n Wit my hats and lights blinkin', let the lah sink in\n\n On the way to home base\n First clown in my face is gettin' thrown out the place\n We rush shit, untouchable Don shit, that's nothin' new\n Sets with stone arms just to muscle you, enough of you\n\n That had a bad case of Joe, some even had to go\n Gangsta walk and nines, at times I be the last to know\n We laugh and joke, while we bag in the coke\n My A done make the worst things out the cast of Different Strokes\n\n I'm addicted to street life, although it doesn't seem right\n Many criticize but yo we all go to eat right?\n And who's to say that I'm to blame, we only pawns in this game\n Decision, grow cocaine\n\n I don't want no cure for this\n You switch, I pour the Cris\n And just, stay rich, and reminisce\n While I count my chips\n\n Yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n I, ton and tender wit millionaires, gave a million stares\n Made a million scared, my beats don' knocked\n For what seemed like a million years, yeah\n This illegal life I can't avoid, I take the feds everywhere I go\n\n That's why I'm paranoid, but still I choose to ignore the fact\n I got the flawless Acs wit gats to get that enormous stack\n Joey Crack, the mack without the hat\n And all our hoes dine and ride in the back seat of my Cadillac\n\n I bet you hate it 'cuz we paid and floss, nigga we laid and lost\n T.S.'ll make the baddest crews take a loss\n Break your balls like Bahondo, call me Don Joe\n Coke slash sweaty rock, niggas drop a dime dough\n\n Booked the nine o'clock, flight to Alando\n So-called killers turned snitches like Rivono\n That nigga Gauno up in M-C, is bein' friendly\n Every time I see his wife and kids the shit tempts me\n\n My heart is empty\n Never feelin' remorse\n I got a sniper one killed in the cross\n Ready to kill your boss\n\n Yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n Yo, yo Jose Luis, smoke lah like the reverend\n Look in the skies, clouds look like coke 'n heaven\n Like whoever sittin' on pies two, gettin' high too\n Mad fly too, a thug too\n\n Yo we praise those, however you make your pesos\n Keep the shit tight just like, Jose Canseco's\n Batting stance, a majorly we glance, and gotta yell, \"What, what\"\n 'Cuz thug niggas don't dance yo\n\n I told niggas, that you did it for show\n But niggas thought you was ill yo\n Even your hoe, yo for real young blood I'm really afraid so\n Your colors got revealed and now you buy dough\n\n Impost-o's, locos, morenos, go-golos, boriquas, platin-o's\n My niggas rollin' those, fontos and hydros\n You know how that goes, DE's light it up though\n We stay smokin' it, tone-locin' it, me and Fat Joe still provoking it\n\n Yo, yo yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n Ha ha, mad rappers\n Stain off, range off, watch out\n Polic-iano's, Pabolos amigos\n Fat Joe, Fat Joe, Fat Joe, yeah yeah\n"},{"id":14081083,"name":"Misery Needs Company (Ft. Noreaga)","trackName":"Misery Needs Company (Ft. Noreaga)","artistName":"Fat Joe","albumName":"Don Cartagena","duration":261.696,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Yo, yo, one's for the cash, two's for my faculty\nThree's for all the M-3's racin' across the Tapenze\nMatchin' C's followed by the white Lincoln drivin' like I ain't thinkin'\nWit my hats and lights blinkin', let the lah sink in\n\nOn the way to home base\nFirst clown in my face is gettin' thrown out the place\nWe rush shit, untouchable Don shit, that's nothin' new\nSets with stone arms just to muscle you, enough of you\n\nThat had a bad case of Joe, some even had to go\nGangsta walk and nines, at times I be the last to know\nWe laugh and joke, while we bag in the coke\nMy A done make the worst things out the cast of Different Strokes\n\nI'm addicted to street life, although it doesn't seem right\nMany criticize but yo we all go to eat right?\nAnd who's to say that I'm to blame, we only pawns in this game\nDecision, grow cocaine\n\nI don't want no cure for this\nYou switch, I pour the Cris\nAnd just, stay rich, and reminisce\nWhile I count my chips\n\nYo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nI, ton and tender wit millionaires, gave a million stares\nMade a million scared, my beats don' knocked\nFor what seemed like a million years, yeah\nThis illegal life I can't avoid, I take the feds everywhere I go\n\nThat's why I'm paranoid, but still I choose to ignore the fact\nI got the flawless Acs wit gats to get that enormous stack\nJoey Crack, the mack without the hat\nAnd all our hoes dine and ride in the back seat of my Cadillac\n\nI bet you hate it 'cuz we paid and floss, nigga we laid and lost\nT.S.'ll make the baddest crews take a loss\nBreak your balls like Bahondo, call me Don Joe\nCoke slash sweaty rock, niggas drop a dime dough\n\nBooked the nine o'clock, flight to Alando\nSo-called killers turned snitches like Rivono\nThat nigga Gauno up in M-C, is bein' friendly\nEvery time I see his wife and kids the shit tempts me\n\nMy heart is empty\nNever feelin' remorse\nI got a sniper one killed in the cross\nReady to kill your boss\n\nYo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nYo, yo Jose Luis, smoke lah like the reverend\nLook in the skies, clouds look like coke 'n heaven\nLike whoever sittin' on pies two, gettin' high too\nMad fly too, a thug too\n\nYo we praise those, however you make your pesos\nKeep the shit tight just like, Jose Canseco's\nBatting stance, a majorly we glance, and gotta yell, \"What, what\"\n'Cuz thug niggas don't dance yo\n\nI told niggas, that you did it for show\nBut niggas thought you was ill yo\nEven your hoe, yo for real young blood I'm really afraid so\nYour colors got revealed and now you buy dough\n\nImpost-o's, locos, morenos, go-golos, boriquas, platin-o's\nMy niggas rollin' those, fontos and hydros\nYou know how that goes, DE's light it up though\nWe stay smokin' it, tone-locin' it, me and Fat Joe still provoking it\n\nYo, yo yo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nHa ha, mad rappers\nStain off, range off, watch out\nPolic-iano's, Pabolos amigos\nFat Joe, Fat Joe, Fat Joe, yeah yeah","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Misery Needs Company (Ft. Noreaga)\n artist: Fat Joe\n album: Don Cartagena\n duration_ms: 261696\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n Yo, yo, one's for the cash, two's for my faculty\n Three's for all the M-3's racin' across the Tapenze\n Matchin' C's followed by the white Lincoln drivin' like I ain't thinkin'\n Wit my hats and lights blinkin', let the lah sink in\n\n On the way to home base\n First clown in my face is gettin' thrown out the place\n We rush shit, untouchable Don shit, that's nothin' new\n Sets with stone arms just to muscle you, enough of you\n\n That had a bad case of Joe, some even had to go\n Gangsta walk and nines, at times I be the last to know\n We laugh and joke, while we bag in the coke\n My A done make the worst things out the cast of Different Strokes\n\n I'm addicted to street life, although it doesn't seem right\n Many criticize but yo we all go to eat right?\n And who's to say that I'm to blame, we only pawns in this game\n Decision, grow cocaine\n\n I don't want no cure for this\n You switch, I pour the Cris\n And just, stay rich, and reminisce\n While I count my chips\n\n Yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n I, ton and tender wit millionaires, gave a million stares\n Made a million scared, my beats don' knocked\n For what seemed like a million years, yeah\n This illegal life I can't avoid, I take the feds everywhere I go\n\n That's why I'm paranoid, but still I choose to ignore the fact\n I got the flawless Acs wit gats to get that enormous stack\n Joey Crack, the mack without the hat\n And all our hoes dine and ride in the back seat of my Cadillac\n\n I bet you hate it 'cuz we paid and floss, nigga we laid and lost\n T.S.'ll make the baddest crews take a loss\n Break your balls like Bahondo, call me Don Joe\n Coke slash sweaty rock, niggas drop a dime dough\n\n Booked the nine o'clock, flight to Alando\n So-called killers turned snitches like Rivono\n That nigga Gauno up in M-C, is bein' friendly\n Every time I see his wife and kids the shit tempts me\n\n My heart is empty\n Never feelin' remorse\n I got a sniper one killed in the cross\n Ready to kill your boss\n\n Yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n Yo, yo Jose Luis, smoke lah like the reverend\n Look in the skies, clouds look like coke 'n heaven\n Like whoever sittin' on pies two, gettin' high too\n Mad fly too, a thug too\n\n Yo we praise those, however you make your pesos\n Keep the shit tight just like, Jose Canseco's\n Batting stance, a majorly we glance, and gotta yell, \"What, what\"\n 'Cuz thug niggas don't dance yo\n\n I told niggas, that you did it for show\n But niggas thought you was ill yo\n Even your hoe, yo for real young blood I'm really afraid so\n Your colors got revealed and now you buy dough\n\n Impost-o's, locos, morenos, go-golos, boriquas, platin-o's\n My niggas rollin' those, fontos and hydros\n You know how that goes, DE's light it up though\n We stay smokin' it, tone-locin' it, me and Fat Joe still provoking it\n\n Yo, yo yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n Ha ha, mad rappers\n Stain off, range off, watch out\n Polic-iano's, Pabolos amigos\n Fat Joe, Fat Joe, Fat Joe, yeah yeah\n"},{"id":10690489,"name":"Misery Needs Company feat. Noreaga","trackName":"Misery Needs Company feat. Noreaga","artistName":"Fat Joe","albumName":"Don Cartagena","duration":262.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Yo, yo, one's for the cash, two's for my faculty\nThree's for all the M-3's racin' across the Tapenze\nMatchin' C's followed by the white Lincoln drivin' like I ain't thinkin'\nWit my hats and lights blinkin', let the lah sink in\n\nOn the way to home base\nFirst clown in my face is gettin' thrown out the place\nWe rush shit, untouchable Don shit, that's nothin' new\nSets with stone arms just to muscle you, enough of you\n\nThat had a bad case of Joe, some even had to go\nGangsta walk and nines, at times I be the last to know\nWe laugh and joke, while we bag in the coke\nMy A done make the worst things out the cast of Different Strokes\n\nI'm addicted to street life, although it doesn't seem right\nMany criticize but yo we all go to eat right?\nAnd who's to say that I'm to blame, we only pawns in this game\nDecision, grow cocaine\n\nI don't want no cure for this\nYou switch, I pour the Cris\nAnd just, stay rich, and reminisce\nWhile I count my chips\n\nYo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nI, ton and tender wit millionaires, gave a million stares\nMade a million scared, my beats don' knocked\nFor what seemed like a million years, yeah\nThis illegal life I can't avoid, I take the feds everywhere I go\n\nThat's why I'm paranoid, but still I choose to ignore the fact\nI got the flawless Acs wit gats to get that enormous stack\nJoey Crack, the mack without the hat\nAnd all our hoes dine and ride in the back seat of my Cadillac\n\nI bet you hate it 'cuz we paid and floss, nigga we laid and lost\nT.S.'ll make the baddest crews take a loss\nBreak your balls like Bahondo, call me Don Joe\nCoke slash sweaty rock, niggas drop a dime dough\n\nBooked the nine o'clock, flight to Alando\nSo-called killers turned snitches like Rivono\nThat nigga Gauno up in M-C, is bein' friendly\nEvery time I see his wife and kids the shit tempts me\n\nMy heart is empty\nNever feelin' remorse\nI got a sniper one killed in the cross\nReady to kill your boss\n\nYo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nYo, yo Jose Luis, smoke lah like the reverend\nLook in the skies, clouds look like coke 'n heaven\nLike whoever sittin' on pies two, gettin' high too\nMad fly too, a thug too\n\nYo we praise those, however you make your pesos\nKeep the shit tight just like, Jose Canseco's\nBatting stance, a majorly we glance, and gotta yell, \"What, what\"\n'Cuz thug niggas don't dance yo\n\nI told niggas, that you did it for show\nBut niggas thought you was ill yo\nEven your hoe, yo for real young blood I'm really afraid so\nYour colors got revealed and now you buy dough\n\nImpost-o's, locos, morenos, go-golos, boriquas, platin-o's\nMy niggas rollin' those, fontos and hydros\nYou know how that goes, DE's light it up though\nWe stay smokin' it, tone-locin' it, me and Fat Joe still provoking it\n\nYo, yo yo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nHa ha, mad rappers\nStain off, range off, watch out\nPolic-iano's, Pabolos amigos\nFat Joe, Fat Joe, Fat Joe, yeah yeah","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Misery Needs Company feat. Noreaga\n artist: Fat Joe\n album: Don Cartagena\n duration_ms: 262000\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n Yo, yo, one's for the cash, two's for my faculty\n Three's for all the M-3's racin' across the Tapenze\n Matchin' C's followed by the white Lincoln drivin' like I ain't thinkin'\n Wit my hats and lights blinkin', let the lah sink in\n\n On the way to home base\n First clown in my face is gettin' thrown out the place\n We rush shit, untouchable Don shit, that's nothin' new\n Sets with stone arms just to muscle you, enough of you\n\n That had a bad case of Joe, some even had to go\n Gangsta walk and nines, at times I be the last to know\n We laugh and joke, while we bag in the coke\n My A done make the worst things out the cast of Different Strokes\n\n I'm addicted to street life, although it doesn't seem right\n Many criticize but yo we all go to eat right?\n And who's to say that I'm to blame, we only pawns in this game\n Decision, grow cocaine\n\n I don't want no cure for this\n You switch, I pour the Cris\n And just, stay rich, and reminisce\n While I count my chips\n\n Yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n I, ton and tender wit millionaires, gave a million stares\n Made a million scared, my beats don' knocked\n For what seemed like a million years, yeah\n This illegal life I can't avoid, I take the feds everywhere I go\n\n That's why I'm paranoid, but still I choose to ignore the fact\n I got the flawless Acs wit gats to get that enormous stack\n Joey Crack, the mack without the hat\n And all our hoes dine and ride in the back seat of my Cadillac\n\n I bet you hate it 'cuz we paid and floss, nigga we laid and lost\n T.S.'ll make the baddest crews take a loss\n Break your balls like Bahondo, call me Don Joe\n Coke slash sweaty rock, niggas drop a dime dough\n\n Booked the nine o'clock, flight to Alando\n So-called killers turned snitches like Rivono\n That nigga Gauno up in M-C, is bein' friendly\n Every time I see his wife and kids the shit tempts me\n\n My heart is empty\n Never feelin' remorse\n I got a sniper one killed in the cross\n Ready to kill your boss\n\n Yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n Yo, yo Jose Luis, smoke lah like the reverend\n Look in the skies, clouds look like coke 'n heaven\n Like whoever sittin' on pies two, gettin' high too\n Mad fly too, a thug too\n\n Yo we praise those, however you make your pesos\n Keep the shit tight just like, Jose Canseco's\n Batting stance, a majorly we glance, and gotta yell, \"What, what\"\n 'Cuz thug niggas don't dance yo\n\n I told niggas, that you did it for show\n But niggas thought you was ill yo\n Even your hoe, yo for real young blood I'm really afraid so\n Your colors got revealed and now you buy dough\n\n Impost-o's, locos, morenos, go-golos, boriquas, platin-o's\n My niggas rollin' those, fontos and hydros\n You know how that goes, DE's light it up though\n We stay smokin' it, tone-locin' it, me and Fat Joe still provoking it\n\n Yo, yo yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n Ha ha, mad rappers\n Stain off, range off, watch out\n Polic-iano's, Pabolos amigos\n Fat Joe, Fat Joe, Fat Joe, yeah yeah\n"},{"id":40160569,"name":"misery needs company(ft noreag","trackName":"misery needs company(ft noreag","artistName":"fat joe","albumName":"Last Real Don Bootleg","duration":262.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Yo, yo, one's for the cash, two's for my faculty\nThree's for all the M-3's racin' across the Tapenze\nMatchin' C's followed by the white Lincoln drivin' like I ain't thinkin'\nWit my hats and lights blinkin', let the lah sink in\n\nOn the way to home base\nFirst clown in my face is gettin' thrown out the place\nWe rush shit, untouchable Don shit, that's nothin' new\nSets with stone arms just to muscle you, enough of you\n\nThat had a bad case of Joe, some even had to go\nGangsta walk and nines, at times I be the last to know\nWe laugh and joke, while we bag in the coke\nMy A done make the worst things out the cast of Different Strokes\n\nI'm addicted to street life, although it doesn't seem right\nMany criticize but yo we all go to eat right?\nAnd who's to say that I'm to blame, we only pawns in this game\nDecision, grow cocaine\n\nI don't want no cure for this\nYou switch, I pour the Cris\nAnd just, stay rich, and reminisce\nWhile I count my chips\n\nYo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nI, ton and tender wit millionaires, gave a million stares\nMade a million scared, my beats don' knocked\nFor what seemed like a million years, yeah\nThis illegal life I can't avoid, I take the feds everywhere I go\n\nThat's why I'm paranoid, but still I choose to ignore the fact\nI got the flawless Acs wit gats to get that enormous stack\nJoey Crack, the mack without the hat\nAnd all our hoes dine and ride in the back seat of my Cadillac\n\nI bet you hate it 'cuz we paid and floss, nigga we laid and lost\nT.S.'ll make the baddest crews take a loss\nBreak your balls like Bahondo, call me Don Joe\nCoke slash sweaty rock, niggas drop a dime dough\n\nBooked the nine o'clock, flight to Alando\nSo-called killers turned snitches like Rivono\nThat nigga Gauno up in M-C, is bein' friendly\nEvery time I see his wife and kids the shit tempts me\n\nMy heart is empty\nNever feelin' remorse\nI got a sniper one killed in the cross\nReady to kill your boss\n\nYo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nYo, yo Jose Luis, smoke lah like the reverend\nLook in the skies, clouds look like coke 'n heaven\nLike whoever sittin' on pies two, gettin' high too\nMad fly too, a thug too\n\nYo we praise those, however you make your pesos\nKeep the shit tight just like, Jose Canseco's\nBatting stance, a majorly we glance, and gotta yell, \"What, what\"\n'Cuz thug niggas don't dance yo\n\nI told niggas, that you did it for show\nBut niggas thought you was ill yo\nEven your hoe, yo for real young blood I'm really afraid so\nYour colors got revealed and now you buy dough\n\nImpost-o's, locos, morenos, go-golos, boriquas, platin-o's\nMy niggas rollin' those, fontos and hydros\nYou know how that goes, DE's light it up though\nWe stay smokin' it, tone-locin' it, me and Fat Joe still provoking it\n\nYo, yo yo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nHa ha, mad rappers\nStain off, range off, watch out\nPolic-iano's, Pabolos amigos\nFat Joe, Fat Joe, Fat Joe, yeah yeah","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: misery needs company(ft noreag\n artist: fat joe\n album: Last Real Don Bootleg\n duration_ms: 261695\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n Yo, yo, one's for the cash, two's for my faculty\n Three's for all the M-3's racin' across the Tapenze\n Matchin' C's followed by the white Lincoln drivin' like I ain't thinkin'\n Wit my hats and lights blinkin', let the lah sink in\n\n On the way to home base\n First clown in my face is gettin' thrown out the place\n We rush shit, untouchable Don shit, that's nothin' new\n Sets with stone arms just to muscle you, enough of you\n\n That had a bad case of Joe, some even had to go\n Gangsta walk and nines, at times I be the last to know\n We laugh and joke, while we bag in the coke\n My A done make the worst things out the cast of Different Strokes\n\n I'm addicted to street life, although it doesn't seem right\n Many criticize but yo we all go to eat right?\n And who's to say that I'm to blame, we only pawns in this game\n Decision, grow cocaine\n\n I don't want no cure for this\n You switch, I pour the Cris\n And just, stay rich, and reminisce\n While I count my chips\n\n Yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n I, ton and tender wit millionaires, gave a million stares\n Made a million scared, my beats don' knocked\n For what seemed like a million years, yeah\n This illegal life I can't avoid, I take the feds everywhere I go\n\n That's why I'm paranoid, but still I choose to ignore the fact\n I got the flawless Acs wit gats to get that enormous stack\n Joey Crack, the mack without the hat\n And all our hoes dine and ride in the back seat of my Cadillac\n\n I bet you hate it 'cuz we paid and floss, nigga we laid and lost\n T.S.'ll make the baddest crews take a loss\n Break your balls like Bahondo, call me Don Joe\n Coke slash sweaty rock, niggas drop a dime dough\n\n Booked the nine o'clock, flight to Alando\n So-called killers turned snitches like Rivono\n That nigga Gauno up in M-C, is bein' friendly\n Every time I see his wife and kids the shit tempts me\n\n My heart is empty\n Never feelin' remorse\n I got a sniper one killed in the cross\n Ready to kill your boss\n\n Yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n Yo, yo Jose Luis, smoke lah like the reverend\n Look in the skies, clouds look like coke 'n heaven\n Like whoever sittin' on pies two, gettin' high too\n Mad fly too, a thug too\n\n Yo we praise those, however you make your pesos\n Keep the shit tight just like, Jose Canseco's\n Batting stance, a majorly we glance, and gotta yell, \"What, what\"\n 'Cuz thug niggas don't dance yo\n\n I told niggas, that you did it for show\n But niggas thought you was ill yo\n Even your hoe, yo for real young blood I'm really afraid so\n Your colors got revealed and now you buy dough\n\n Impost-o's, locos, morenos, go-golos, boriquas, platin-o's\n My niggas rollin' those, fontos and hydros\n You know how that goes, DE's light it up though\n We stay smokin' it, tone-locin' it, me and Fat Joe still provoking it\n\n Yo, yo yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n Ha ha, mad rappers\n Stain off, range off, watch out\n Polic-iano's, Pabolos amigos\n Fat Joe, Fat Joe, Fat Joe, yeah yeah\n"},{"id":40055366,"name":"MISERY NEEDS COMPANY f. Noreaga","trackName":"MISERY NEEDS COMPANY f. Noreaga","artistName":"FAT JOE","albumName":"DON CARTAGENA","duration":261.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Yo, yo, one's for the cash, two's for my faculty\nThree's for all the M-3's racin' across the Tapenze\nMatchin' C's followed by the white Lincoln drivin' like I ain't thinkin'\nWit my hats and lights blinkin', let the lah sink in\n\nOn the way to home base\nFirst clown in my face is gettin' thrown out the place\nWe rush shit, untouchable Don shit, that's nothin' new\nSets with stone arms just to muscle you, enough of you\n\nThat had a bad case of Joe, some even had to go\nGangsta walk and nines, at times I be the last to know\nWe laugh and joke, while we bag in the coke\nMy A done make the worst things out the cast of Different Strokes\n\nI'm addicted to street life, although it doesn't seem right\nMany criticize but yo we all go to eat right?\nAnd who's to say that I'm to blame, we only pawns in this game\nDecision, grow cocaine\n\nI don't want no cure for this\nYou switch, I pour the Cris\nAnd just, stay rich, and reminisce\nWhile I count my chips\n\nYo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nI, ton and tender wit millionaires, gave a million stares\nMade a million scared, my beats don' knocked\nFor what seemed like a million years, yeah\nThis illegal life I can't avoid, I take the feds everywhere I go\n\nThat's why I'm paranoid, but still I choose to ignore the fact\nI got the flawless Acs wit gats to get that enormous stack\nJoey Crack, the mack without the hat\nAnd all our hoes dine and ride in the back seat of my Cadillac\n\nI bet you hate it 'cuz we paid and floss, nigga we laid and lost\nT.S.'ll make the baddest crews take a loss\nBreak your balls like Bahondo, call me Don Joe\nCoke slash sweaty rock, niggas drop a dime dough\n\nBooked the nine o'clock, flight to Alando\nSo-called killers turned snitches like Rivono\nThat nigga Gauno up in M-C, is bein' friendly\nEvery time I see his wife and kids the shit tempts me\n\nMy heart is empty\nNever feelin' remorse\nI got a sniper one killed in the cross\nReady to kill your boss\n\nYo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nYo, yo Jose Luis, smoke lah like the reverend\nLook in the skies, clouds look like coke 'n heaven\nLike whoever sittin' on pies two, gettin' high too\nMad fly too, a thug too\n\nYo we praise those, however you make your pesos\nKeep the shit tight just like, Jose Canseco's\nBatting stance, a majorly we glance, and gotta yell, \"What, what\"\n'Cuz thug niggas don't dance yo\n\nI told niggas, that you did it for show\nBut niggas thought you was ill yo\nEven your hoe, yo for real young blood I'm really afraid so\nYour colors got revealed and now you buy dough\n\nImpost-o's, locos, morenos, go-golos, boriquas, platin-o's\nMy niggas rollin' those, fontos and hydros\nYou know how that goes, DE's light it up though\nWe stay smokin' it, tone-locin' it, me and Fat Joe still provoking it\n\nYo, yo yo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nHa ha, mad rappers\nStain off, range off, watch out\nPolic-iano's, Pabolos amigos\nFat Joe, Fat Joe, Fat Joe, yeah yeah","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: MISERY NEEDS COMPANY f. Noreaga\n artist: FAT JOE\n album: DON CARTAGENA\n duration_ms: 261411\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n Yo, yo, one's for the cash, two's for my faculty\n Three's for all the M-3's racin' across the Tapenze\n Matchin' C's followed by the white Lincoln drivin' like I ain't thinkin'\n Wit my hats and lights blinkin', let the lah sink in\n\n On the way to home base\n First clown in my face is gettin' thrown out the place\n We rush shit, untouchable Don shit, that's nothin' new\n Sets with stone arms just to muscle you, enough of you\n\n That had a bad case of Joe, some even had to go\n Gangsta walk and nines, at times I be the last to know\n We laugh and joke, while we bag in the coke\n My A done make the worst things out the cast of Different Strokes\n\n I'm addicted to street life, although it doesn't seem right\n Many criticize but yo we all go to eat right?\n And who's to say that I'm to blame, we only pawns in this game\n Decision, grow cocaine\n\n I don't want no cure for this\n You switch, I pour the Cris\n And just, stay rich, and reminisce\n While I count my chips\n\n Yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n I, ton and tender wit millionaires, gave a million stares\n Made a million scared, my beats don' knocked\n For what seemed like a million years, yeah\n This illegal life I can't avoid, I take the feds everywhere I go\n\n That's why I'm paranoid, but still I choose to ignore the fact\n I got the flawless Acs wit gats to get that enormous stack\n Joey Crack, the mack without the hat\n And all our hoes dine and ride in the back seat of my Cadillac\n\n I bet you hate it 'cuz we paid and floss, nigga we laid and lost\n T.S.'ll make the baddest crews take a loss\n Break your balls like Bahondo, call me Don Joe\n Coke slash sweaty rock, niggas drop a dime dough\n\n Booked the nine o'clock, flight to Alando\n So-called killers turned snitches like Rivono\n That nigga Gauno up in M-C, is bein' friendly\n Every time I see his wife and kids the shit tempts me\n\n My heart is empty\n Never feelin' remorse\n I got a sniper one killed in the cross\n Ready to kill your boss\n\n Yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n Yo, yo Jose Luis, smoke lah like the reverend\n Look in the skies, clouds look like coke 'n heaven\n Like whoever sittin' on pies two, gettin' high too\n Mad fly too, a thug too\n\n Yo we praise those, however you make your pesos\n Keep the shit tight just like, Jose Canseco's\n Batting stance, a majorly we glance, and gotta yell, \"What, what\"\n 'Cuz thug niggas don't dance yo\n\n I told niggas, that you did it for show\n But niggas thought you was ill yo\n Even your hoe, yo for real young blood I'm really afraid so\n Your colors got revealed and now you buy dough\n\n Impost-o's, locos, morenos, go-golos, boriquas, platin-o's\n My niggas rollin' those, fontos and hydros\n You know how that goes, DE's light it up though\n We stay smokin' it, tone-locin' it, me and Fat Joe still provoking it\n\n Yo, yo yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n Ha ha, mad rappers\n Stain off, range off, watch out\n Polic-iano's, Pabolos amigos\n Fat Joe, Fat Joe, Fat Joe, yeah yeah\n"},{"id":10381083,"name":"Misery Needs Company","trackName":"Misery Needs Company","artistName":"Fat Joe featuring N.O.R.E.","albumName":"Don Cartagena","duration":259.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Yo, yo, one's for the cash, two's for my faculty\nThree's for all the M-3's racin' across the Tapenze\nMatchin' C's followed by the white Lincoln drivin' like I ain't thinkin'\nWit my hats and lights blinkin', let the lah sink in\n\nOn the way to home base\nFirst clown in my face is gettin' thrown out the place\nWe rush shit, untouchable Don shit, that's nothin' new\nSets with stone arms just to muscle you, enough of you\n\nThat had a bad case of Joe, some even had to go\nGangsta walk and nines, at times I be the last to know\nWe laugh and joke, while we bag in the coke\nMy A done make the worst things out the cast of Different Strokes\n\nI'm addicted to street life, although it doesn't seem right\nMany criticize but yo we all go to eat right?\nAnd who's to say that I'm to blame, we only pawns in this game\nDecision, grow cocaine\n\nI don't want no cure for this\nYou switch, I pour the Cris\nAnd just, stay rich, and reminisce\nWhile I count my chips\n\nYo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nI, ton and tender wit millionaires, gave a million stares\nMade a million scared, my beats don' knocked\nFor what seemed like a million years, yeah\nThis illegal life I can't avoid, I take the feds everywhere I go\n\nThat's why I'm paranoid, but still I choose to ignore the fact\nI got the flawless Acs wit gats to get that enormous stack\nJoey Crack, the mack without the hat\nAnd all our hoes dine and ride in the back seat of my Cadillac\n\nI bet you hate it 'cuz we paid and floss, nigga we laid and lost\nT.S.'ll make the baddest crews take a loss\nBreak your balls like Bahondo, call me Don Joe\nCoke slash sweaty rock, niggas drop a dime dough\n\nBooked the nine o'clock, flight to Alando\nSo-called killers turned snitches like Rivono\nThat nigga Gauno up in M-C, is bein' friendly\nEvery time I see his wife and kids the shit tempts me\n\nMy heart is empty\nNever feelin' remorse\nI got a sniper one killed in the cross\nReady to kill your boss\n\nYo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nYo, yo Jose Luis, smoke lah like the reverend\nLook in the skies, clouds look like coke 'n heaven\nLike whoever sittin' on pies two, gettin' high too\nMad fly too, a thug too\n\nYo we praise those, however you make your pesos\nKeep the shit tight just like, Jose Canseco's\nBatting stance, a majorly we glance, and gotta yell, \"What, what\"\n'Cuz thug niggas don't dance yo\n\nI told niggas, that you did it for show\nBut niggas thought you was ill yo\nEven your hoe, yo for real young blood I'm really afraid so\nYour colors got revealed and now you buy dough\n\nImpost-o's, locos, morenos, go-golos, boriquas, platin-o's\nMy niggas rollin' those, fontos and hydros\nYou know how that goes, DE's light it up though\nWe stay smokin' it, tone-locin' it, me and Fat Joe still provoking it\n\nYo, yo yo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nHa ha, mad rappers\nStain off, range off, watch out\nPolic-iano's, Pabolos amigos\nFat Joe, Fat Joe, Fat Joe, yeah yeah","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Misery Needs Company\n artist: Fat Joe featuring N.O.R.E.\n album: Don Cartagena\n duration_ms: 259000\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n Yo, yo, one's for the cash, two's for my faculty\n Three's for all the M-3's racin' across the Tapenze\n Matchin' C's followed by the white Lincoln drivin' like I ain't thinkin'\n Wit my hats and lights blinkin', let the lah sink in\n\n On the way to home base\n First clown in my face is gettin' thrown out the place\n We rush shit, untouchable Don shit, that's nothin' new\n Sets with stone arms just to muscle you, enough of you\n\n That had a bad case of Joe, some even had to go\n Gangsta walk and nines, at times I be the last to know\n We laugh and joke, while we bag in the coke\n My A done make the worst things out the cast of Different Strokes\n\n I'm addicted to street life, although it doesn't seem right\n Many criticize but yo we all go to eat right?\n And who's to say that I'm to blame, we only pawns in this game\n Decision, grow cocaine\n\n I don't want no cure for this\n You switch, I pour the Cris\n And just, stay rich, and reminisce\n While I count my chips\n\n Yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n I, ton and tender wit millionaires, gave a million stares\n Made a million scared, my beats don' knocked\n For what seemed like a million years, yeah\n This illegal life I can't avoid, I take the feds everywhere I go\n\n That's why I'm paranoid, but still I choose to ignore the fact\n I got the flawless Acs wit gats to get that enormous stack\n Joey Crack, the mack without the hat\n And all our hoes dine and ride in the back seat of my Cadillac\n\n I bet you hate it 'cuz we paid and floss, nigga we laid and lost\n T.S.'ll make the baddest crews take a loss\n Break your balls like Bahondo, call me Don Joe\n Coke slash sweaty rock, niggas drop a dime dough\n\n Booked the nine o'clock, flight to Alando\n So-called killers turned snitches like Rivono\n That nigga Gauno up in M-C, is bein' friendly\n Every time I see his wife and kids the shit tempts me\n\n My heart is empty\n Never feelin' remorse\n I got a sniper one killed in the cross\n Ready to kill your boss\n\n Yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n Yo, yo Jose Luis, smoke lah like the reverend\n Look in the skies, clouds look like coke 'n heaven\n Like whoever sittin' on pies two, gettin' high too\n Mad fly too, a thug too\n\n Yo we praise those, however you make your pesos\n Keep the shit tight just like, Jose Canseco's\n Batting stance, a majorly we glance, and gotta yell, \"What, what\"\n 'Cuz thug niggas don't dance yo\n\n I told niggas, that you did it for show\n But niggas thought you was ill yo\n Even your hoe, yo for real young blood I'm really afraid so\n Your colors got revealed and now you buy dough\n\n Impost-o's, locos, morenos, go-golos, boriquas, platin-o's\n My niggas rollin' those, fontos and hydros\n You know how that goes, DE's light it up though\n We stay smokin' it, tone-locin' it, me and Fat Joe still provoking it\n\n Yo, yo yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n Ha ha, mad rappers\n Stain off, range off, watch out\n Polic-iano's, Pabolos amigos\n Fat Joe, Fat Joe, Fat Joe, yeah yeah\n"},{"id":10536725,"name":"Misery Needs Company","trackName":"Misery Needs Company","artistName":"Fat Joe featuring N.O.R.E.","albumName":"Don Cartagena","duration":262.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Yo, yo, one's for the cash, two's for my faculty\nThree's for all the M-3's racin' across the Tapenze\nMatchin' C's followed by the white Lincoln drivin' like I ain't thinkin'\nWit my hats and lights blinkin', let the lah sink in\n\nOn the way to home base\nFirst clown in my face is gettin' thrown out the place\nWe rush shit, untouchable Don shit, that's nothin' new\nSets with stone arms just to muscle you, enough of you\n\nThat had a bad case of Joe, some even had to go\nGangsta walk and nines, at times I be the last to know\nWe laugh and joke, while we bag in the coke\nMy A done make the worst things out the cast of Different Strokes\n\nI'm addicted to street life, although it doesn't seem right\nMany criticize but yo we all go to eat right?\nAnd who's to say that I'm to blame, we only pawns in this game\nDecision, grow cocaine\n\nI don't want no cure for this\nYou switch, I pour the Cris\nAnd just, stay rich, and reminisce\nWhile I count my chips\n\nYo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nI, ton and tender wit millionaires, gave a million stares\nMade a million scared, my beats don' knocked\nFor what seemed like a million years, yeah\nThis illegal life I can't avoid, I take the feds everywhere I go\n\nThat's why I'm paranoid, but still I choose to ignore the fact\nI got the flawless Acs wit gats to get that enormous stack\nJoey Crack, the mack without the hat\nAnd all our hoes dine and ride in the back seat of my Cadillac\n\nI bet you hate it 'cuz we paid and floss, nigga we laid and lost\nT.S.'ll make the baddest crews take a loss\nBreak your balls like Bahondo, call me Don Joe\nCoke slash sweaty rock, niggas drop a dime dough\n\nBooked the nine o'clock, flight to Alando\nSo-called killers turned snitches like Rivono\nThat nigga Gauno up in M-C, is bein' friendly\nEvery time I see his wife and kids the shit tempts me\n\nMy heart is empty\nNever feelin' remorse\nI got a sniper one killed in the cross\nReady to kill your boss\n\nYo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nYo, yo Jose Luis, smoke lah like the reverend\nLook in the skies, clouds look like coke 'n heaven\nLike whoever sittin' on pies two, gettin' high too\nMad fly too, a thug too\n\nYo we praise those, however you make your pesos\nKeep the shit tight just like, Jose Canseco's\nBatting stance, a majorly we glance, and gotta yell, \"What, what\"\n'Cuz thug niggas don't dance yo\n\nI told niggas, that you did it for show\nBut niggas thought you was ill yo\nEven your hoe, yo for real young blood I'm really afraid so\nYour colors got revealed and now you buy dough\n\nImpost-o's, locos, morenos, go-golos, boriquas, platin-o's\nMy niggas rollin' those, fontos and hydros\nYou know how that goes, DE's light it up though\nWe stay smokin' it, tone-locin' it, me and Fat Joe still provoking it\n\nYo, yo yo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nHa ha, mad rappers\nStain off, range off, watch out\nPolic-iano's, Pabolos amigos\nFat Joe, Fat Joe, Fat Joe, yeah yeah","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Misery Needs Company\n artist: Fat Joe featuring N.O.R.E.\n album: Don Cartagena\n duration_ms: 262000\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n Yo, yo, one's for the cash, two's for my faculty\n Three's for all the M-3's racin' across the Tapenze\n Matchin' C's followed by the white Lincoln drivin' like I ain't thinkin'\n Wit my hats and lights blinkin', let the lah sink in\n\n On the way to home base\n First clown in my face is gettin' thrown out the place\n We rush shit, untouchable Don shit, that's nothin' new\n Sets with stone arms just to muscle you, enough of you\n\n That had a bad case of Joe, some even had to go\n Gangsta walk and nines, at times I be the last to know\n We laugh and joke, while we bag in the coke\n My A done make the worst things out the cast of Different Strokes\n\n I'm addicted to street life, although it doesn't seem right\n Many criticize but yo we all go to eat right?\n And who's to say that I'm to blame, we only pawns in this game\n Decision, grow cocaine\n\n I don't want no cure for this\n You switch, I pour the Cris\n And just, stay rich, and reminisce\n While I count my chips\n\n Yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n I, ton and tender wit millionaires, gave a million stares\n Made a million scared, my beats don' knocked\n For what seemed like a million years, yeah\n This illegal life I can't avoid, I take the feds everywhere I go\n\n That's why I'm paranoid, but still I choose to ignore the fact\n I got the flawless Acs wit gats to get that enormous stack\n Joey Crack, the mack without the hat\n And all our hoes dine and ride in the back seat of my Cadillac\n\n I bet you hate it 'cuz we paid and floss, nigga we laid and lost\n T.S.'ll make the baddest crews take a loss\n Break your balls like Bahondo, call me Don Joe\n Coke slash sweaty rock, niggas drop a dime dough\n\n Booked the nine o'clock, flight to Alando\n So-called killers turned snitches like Rivono\n That nigga Gauno up in M-C, is bein' friendly\n Every time I see his wife and kids the shit tempts me\n\n My heart is empty\n Never feelin' remorse\n I got a sniper one killed in the cross\n Ready to kill your boss\n\n Yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n Yo, yo Jose Luis, smoke lah like the reverend\n Look in the skies, clouds look like coke 'n heaven\n Like whoever sittin' on pies two, gettin' high too\n Mad fly too, a thug too\n\n Yo we praise those, however you make your pesos\n Keep the shit tight just like, Jose Canseco's\n Batting stance, a majorly we glance, and gotta yell, \"What, what\"\n 'Cuz thug niggas don't dance yo\n\n I told niggas, that you did it for show\n But niggas thought you was ill yo\n Even your hoe, yo for real young blood I'm really afraid so\n Your colors got revealed and now you buy dough\n\n Impost-o's, locos, morenos, go-golos, boriquas, platin-o's\n My niggas rollin' those, fontos and hydros\n You know how that goes, DE's light it up though\n We stay smokin' it, tone-locin' it, me and Fat Joe still provoking it\n\n Yo, yo yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n Ha ha, mad rappers\n Stain off, range off, watch out\n Polic-iano's, Pabolos amigos\n Fat Joe, Fat Joe, Fat Joe, yeah yeah\n"},{"id":6307465,"name":"Misery Needs Company (feat. N.O.R.E.)","trackName":"Misery Needs Company (feat. N.O.R.E.)","artistName":"Fat Joe","albumName":"Don Cartagena","duration":260.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Yo, yo, one's for the cash, two's for my faculty\nThree's for all the M-3's racin' across the Tapenze\nMatchin' C's followed by the white Lincoln drivin' like I ain't thinkin'\nWit my hats and lights blinkin', let the lah sink in\n\nOn the way to home base\nFirst clown in my face is gettin' thrown out the place\nWe rush shit, untouchable Don shit, that's nothin' new\nSets with stone arms just to muscle you, enough of you\n\nThat had a bad case of Joe, some even had to go\nGangsta walk and nines, at times I be the last to know\nWe laugh and joke, while we bag in the coke\nMy A done make the worst things out the cast of Different Strokes\n\nI'm addicted to street life, although it doesn't seem right\nMany criticize but yo we all go to eat right?\nAnd who's to say that I'm to blame, we only pawns in this game\nDecision, grow cocaine\n\nI don't want no cure for this\nYou switch, I pour the Cris\nAnd just, stay rich, and reminisce\nWhile I count my chips\n\nYo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nI, ton and tender wit millionaires, gave a million stares\nMade a million scared, my beats don' knocked\nFor what seemed like a million years, yeah\nThis illegal life I can't avoid, I take the feds everywhere I go\n\nThat's why I'm paranoid, but still I choose to ignore the fact\nI got the flawless Acs wit gats to get that enormous stack\nJoey Crack, the mack without the hat\nAnd all our hoes dine and ride in the back seat of my Cadillac\n\nI bet you hate it 'cuz we paid and floss, nigga we laid and lost\nT.S.'ll make the baddest crews take a loss\nBreak your balls like Bahondo, call me Don Joe\nCoke slash sweaty rock, niggas drop a dime dough\n\nBooked the nine o'clock, flight to Alando\nSo-called killers turned snitches like Rivono\nThat nigga Gauno up in M-C, is bein' friendly\nEvery time I see his wife and kids the shit tempts me\n\nMy heart is empty\nNever feelin' remorse\nI got a sniper one killed in the cross\nReady to kill your boss\n\nYo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nYo, yo Jose Luis, smoke lah like the reverend\nLook in the skies, clouds look like coke 'n heaven\nLike whoever sittin' on pies two, gettin' high too\nMad fly too, a thug too\n\nYo we praise those, however you make your pesos\nKeep the shit tight just like, Jose Canseco's\nBatting stance, a majorly we glance, and gotta yell, \"What, what\"\n'Cuz thug niggas don't dance yo\n\nI told niggas, that you did it for show\nBut niggas thought you was ill yo\nEven your hoe, yo for real young blood I'm really afraid so\nYour colors got revealed and now you buy dough\n\nImpost-o's, locos, morenos, go-golos, boriquas, platin-o's\nMy niggas rollin' those, fontos and hydros\nYou know how that goes, DE's light it up though\nWe stay smokin' it, tone-locin' it, me and Fat Joe still provoking it\n\nYo, yo yo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nHa ha, mad rappers\nStain off, range off, watch out\nPolic-iano's, Pabolos amigos\nFat Joe, Fat Joe, Fat Joe, yeah yeah","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Misery Needs Company (feat. N.O.R.E.)\n artist: Fat Joe\n album: Don Cartagena\n duration_ms: 260000\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n Yo, yo, one's for the cash, two's for my faculty\n Three's for all the M-3's racin' across the Tapenze\n Matchin' C's followed by the white Lincoln drivin' like I ain't thinkin'\n Wit my hats and lights blinkin', let the lah sink in\n\n On the way to home base\n First clown in my face is gettin' thrown out the place\n We rush shit, untouchable Don shit, that's nothin' new\n Sets with stone arms just to muscle you, enough of you\n\n That had a bad case of Joe, some even had to go\n Gangsta walk and nines, at times I be the last to know\n We laugh and joke, while we bag in the coke\n My A done make the worst things out the cast of Different Strokes\n\n I'm addicted to street life, although it doesn't seem right\n Many criticize but yo we all go to eat right?\n And who's to say that I'm to blame, we only pawns in this game\n Decision, grow cocaine\n\n I don't want no cure for this\n You switch, I pour the Cris\n And just, stay rich, and reminisce\n While I count my chips\n\n Yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n I, ton and tender wit millionaires, gave a million stares\n Made a million scared, my beats don' knocked\n For what seemed like a million years, yeah\n This illegal life I can't avoid, I take the feds everywhere I go\n\n That's why I'm paranoid, but still I choose to ignore the fact\n I got the flawless Acs wit gats to get that enormous stack\n Joey Crack, the mack without the hat\n And all our hoes dine and ride in the back seat of my Cadillac\n\n I bet you hate it 'cuz we paid and floss, nigga we laid and lost\n T.S.'ll make the baddest crews take a loss\n Break your balls like Bahondo, call me Don Joe\n Coke slash sweaty rock, niggas drop a dime dough\n\n Booked the nine o'clock, flight to Alando\n So-called killers turned snitches like Rivono\n That nigga Gauno up in M-C, is bein' friendly\n Every time I see his wife and kids the shit tempts me\n\n My heart is empty\n Never feelin' remorse\n I got a sniper one killed in the cross\n Ready to kill your boss\n\n Yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n Yo, yo Jose Luis, smoke lah like the reverend\n Look in the skies, clouds look like coke 'n heaven\n Like whoever sittin' on pies two, gettin' high too\n Mad fly too, a thug too\n\n Yo we praise those, however you make your pesos\n Keep the shit tight just like, Jose Canseco's\n Batting stance, a majorly we glance, and gotta yell, \"What, what\"\n 'Cuz thug niggas don't dance yo\n\n I told niggas, that you did it for show\n But niggas thought you was ill yo\n Even your hoe, yo for real young blood I'm really afraid so\n Your colors got revealed and now you buy dough\n\n Impost-o's, locos, morenos, go-golos, boriquas, platin-o's\n My niggas rollin' those, fontos and hydros\n You know how that goes, DE's light it up though\n We stay smokin' it, tone-locin' it, me and Fat Joe still provoking it\n\n Yo, yo yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n Ha ha, mad rappers\n Stain off, range off, watch out\n Polic-iano's, Pabolos amigos\n Fat Joe, Fat Joe, Fat Joe, yeah yeah\n"},{"id":8459473,"name":"Misery Needs Company (feat. N.O.R.E.)","trackName":"Misery Needs Company (feat. N.O.R.E.)","artistName":"Fat Joe/N.O.R.E.","albumName":"Don Cartagena","duration":260.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Yo, yo, one's for the cash, two's for my faculty\nThree's for all the M-3's racin' across the Tapenze\nMatchin' C's followed by the white Lincoln drivin' like I ain't thinkin'\nWit my hats and lights blinkin', let the lah sink in\n\nOn the way to home base\nFirst clown in my face is gettin' thrown out the place\nWe rush shit, untouchable Don shit, that's nothin' new\nSets with stone arms just to muscle you, enough of you\n\nThat had a bad case of Joe, some even had to go\nGangsta walk and nines, at times I be the last to know\nWe laugh and joke, while we bag in the coke\nMy A done make the worst things out the cast of Different Strokes\n\nI'm addicted to street life, although it doesn't seem right\nMany criticize but yo we all go to eat right?\nAnd who's to say that I'm to blame, we only pawns in this game\nDecision, grow cocaine\n\nI don't want no cure for this\nYou switch, I pour the Cris\nAnd just, stay rich, and reminisce\nWhile I count my chips\n\nYo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nI, ton and tender wit millionaires, gave a million stares\nMade a million scared, my beats don' knocked\nFor what seemed like a million years, yeah\nThis illegal life I can't avoid, I take the feds everywhere I go\n\nThat's why I'm paranoid, but still I choose to ignore the fact\nI got the flawless Acs wit gats to get that enormous stack\nJoey Crack, the mack without the hat\nAnd all our hoes dine and ride in the back seat of my Cadillac\n\nI bet you hate it 'cuz we paid and floss, nigga we laid and lost\nT.S.'ll make the baddest crews take a loss\nBreak your balls like Bahondo, call me Don Joe\nCoke slash sweaty rock, niggas drop a dime dough\n\nBooked the nine o'clock, flight to Alando\nSo-called killers turned snitches like Rivono\nThat nigga Gauno up in M-C, is bein' friendly\nEvery time I see his wife and kids the shit tempts me\n\nMy heart is empty\nNever feelin' remorse\nI got a sniper one killed in the cross\nReady to kill your boss\n\nYo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nYo, yo Jose Luis, smoke lah like the reverend\nLook in the skies, clouds look like coke 'n heaven\nLike whoever sittin' on pies two, gettin' high too\nMad fly too, a thug too\n\nYo we praise those, however you make your pesos\nKeep the shit tight just like, Jose Canseco's\nBatting stance, a majorly we glance, and gotta yell, \"What, what\"\n'Cuz thug niggas don't dance yo\n\nI told niggas, that you did it for show\nBut niggas thought you was ill yo\nEven your hoe, yo for real young blood I'm really afraid so\nYour colors got revealed and now you buy dough\n\nImpost-o's, locos, morenos, go-golos, boriquas, platin-o's\nMy niggas rollin' those, fontos and hydros\nYou know how that goes, DE's light it up though\nWe stay smokin' it, tone-locin' it, me and Fat Joe still provoking it\n\nYo, yo yo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nHa ha, mad rappers\nStain off, range off, watch out\nPolic-iano's, Pabolos amigos\nFat Joe, Fat Joe, Fat Joe, yeah yeah","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Misery Needs Company (feat. N.O.R.E.)\n artist: Fat Joe/N.O.R.E.\n album: Don Cartagena\n duration_ms: 260000\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n Yo, yo, one's for the cash, two's for my faculty\n Three's for all the M-3's racin' across the Tapenze\n Matchin' C's followed by the white Lincoln drivin' like I ain't thinkin'\n Wit my hats and lights blinkin', let the lah sink in\n\n On the way to home base\n First clown in my face is gettin' thrown out the place\n We rush shit, untouchable Don shit, that's nothin' new\n Sets with stone arms just to muscle you, enough of you\n\n That had a bad case of Joe, some even had to go\n Gangsta walk and nines, at times I be the last to know\n We laugh and joke, while we bag in the coke\n My A done make the worst things out the cast of Different Strokes\n\n I'm addicted to street life, although it doesn't seem right\n Many criticize but yo we all go to eat right?\n And who's to say that I'm to blame, we only pawns in this game\n Decision, grow cocaine\n\n I don't want no cure for this\n You switch, I pour the Cris\n And just, stay rich, and reminisce\n While I count my chips\n\n Yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n I, ton and tender wit millionaires, gave a million stares\n Made a million scared, my beats don' knocked\n For what seemed like a million years, yeah\n This illegal life I can't avoid, I take the feds everywhere I go\n\n That's why I'm paranoid, but still I choose to ignore the fact\n I got the flawless Acs wit gats to get that enormous stack\n Joey Crack, the mack without the hat\n And all our hoes dine and ride in the back seat of my Cadillac\n\n I bet you hate it 'cuz we paid and floss, nigga we laid and lost\n T.S.'ll make the baddest crews take a loss\n Break your balls like Bahondo, call me Don Joe\n Coke slash sweaty rock, niggas drop a dime dough\n\n Booked the nine o'clock, flight to Alando\n So-called killers turned snitches like Rivono\n That nigga Gauno up in M-C, is bein' friendly\n Every time I see his wife and kids the shit tempts me\n\n My heart is empty\n Never feelin' remorse\n I got a sniper one killed in the cross\n Ready to kill your boss\n\n Yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n Yo, yo Jose Luis, smoke lah like the reverend\n Look in the skies, clouds look like coke 'n heaven\n Like whoever sittin' on pies two, gettin' high too\n Mad fly too, a thug too\n\n Yo we praise those, however you make your pesos\n Keep the shit tight just like, Jose Canseco's\n Batting stance, a majorly we glance, and gotta yell, \"What, what\"\n 'Cuz thug niggas don't dance yo\n\n I told niggas, that you did it for show\n But niggas thought you was ill yo\n Even your hoe, yo for real young blood I'm really afraid so\n Your colors got revealed and now you buy dough\n\n Impost-o's, locos, morenos, go-golos, boriquas, platin-o's\n My niggas rollin' those, fontos and hydros\n You know how that goes, DE's light it up though\n We stay smokin' it, tone-locin' it, me and Fat Joe still provoking it\n\n Yo, yo yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n Ha ha, mad rappers\n Stain off, range off, watch out\n Polic-iano's, Pabolos amigos\n Fat Joe, Fat Joe, Fat Joe, yeah yeah\n"},{"id":4698845,"name":"Misery Needs Company (feat. N.O.R.E.)","trackName":"Misery Needs Company (feat. N.O.R.E.)","artistName":"Fat Joe feat. N.O.R.E.","albumName":"Don Cartagena","duration":260.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Yo, yo, one's for the cash, two's for my faculty\nThree's for all the M-3's racin' across the Tapenze\nMatchin' C's followed by the white Lincoln drivin' like I ain't thinkin'\nWit my hats and lights blinkin', let the lah sink in\n\nOn the way to home base\nFirst clown in my face is gettin' thrown out the place\nWe rush shit, untouchable Don shit, that's nothin' new\nSets with stone arms just to muscle you, enough of you\n\nThat had a bad case of Joe, some even had to go\nGangsta walk and nines, at times I be the last to know\nWe laugh and joke, while we bag in the coke\nMy A done make the worst things out the cast of Different Strokes\n\nI'm addicted to street life, although it doesn't seem right\nMany criticize but yo we all go to eat right?\nAnd who's to say that I'm to blame, we only pawns in this game\nDecision, grow cocaine\n\nI don't want no cure for this\nYou switch, I pour the Cris\nAnd just, stay rich, and reminisce\nWhile I count my chips\n\nYo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nI, ton and tender wit millionaires, gave a million stares\nMade a million scared, my beats don' knocked\nFor what seemed like a million years, yeah\nThis illegal life I can't avoid, I take the feds everywhere I go\n\nThat's why I'm paranoid, but still I choose to ignore the fact\nI got the flawless Acs wit gats to get that enormous stack\nJoey Crack, the mack without the hat\nAnd all our hoes dine and ride in the back seat of my Cadillac\n\nI bet you hate it 'cuz we paid and floss, nigga we laid and lost\nT.S.'ll make the baddest crews take a loss\nBreak your balls like Bahondo, call me Don Joe\nCoke slash sweaty rock, niggas drop a dime dough\n\nBooked the nine o'clock, flight to Alando\nSo-called killers turned snitches like Rivono\nThat nigga Gauno up in M-C, is bein' friendly\nEvery time I see his wife and kids the shit tempts me\n\nMy heart is empty\nNever feelin' remorse\nI got a sniper one killed in the cross\nReady to kill your boss\n\nYo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nYo, yo Jose Luis, smoke lah like the reverend\nLook in the skies, clouds look like coke 'n heaven\nLike whoever sittin' on pies two, gettin' high too\nMad fly too, a thug too\n\nYo we praise those, however you make your pesos\nKeep the shit tight just like, Jose Canseco's\nBatting stance, a majorly we glance, and gotta yell, \"What, what\"\n'Cuz thug niggas don't dance yo\n\nI told niggas, that you did it for show\nBut niggas thought you was ill yo\nEven your hoe, yo for real young blood I'm really afraid so\nYour colors got revealed and now you buy dough\n\nImpost-o's, locos, morenos, go-golos, boriquas, platin-o's\nMy niggas rollin' those, fontos and hydros\nYou know how that goes, DE's light it up though\nWe stay smokin' it, tone-locin' it, me and Fat Joe still provoking it\n\nYo, yo yo, you scared to death, misery need company\nCrab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\nEven wit a record deal, our guns still peal\nBreak a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\nThrow the Range off, police-iano\nWatch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\nThe funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\nAnd you wonder why you can't find us\n\nHa ha, mad rappers\nStain off, range off, watch out\nPolic-iano's, Pabolos amigos\nFat Joe, Fat Joe, Fat Joe, yeah yeah","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Misery Needs Company (feat. N.O.R.E.)\n artist: Fat Joe feat. N.O.R.E.\n album: Don Cartagena\n duration_ms: 260000\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n Yo, yo, one's for the cash, two's for my faculty\n Three's for all the M-3's racin' across the Tapenze\n Matchin' C's followed by the white Lincoln drivin' like I ain't thinkin'\n Wit my hats and lights blinkin', let the lah sink in\n\n On the way to home base\n First clown in my face is gettin' thrown out the place\n We rush shit, untouchable Don shit, that's nothin' new\n Sets with stone arms just to muscle you, enough of you\n\n That had a bad case of Joe, some even had to go\n Gangsta walk and nines, at times I be the last to know\n We laugh and joke, while we bag in the coke\n My A done make the worst things out the cast of Different Strokes\n\n I'm addicted to street life, although it doesn't seem right\n Many criticize but yo we all go to eat right?\n And who's to say that I'm to blame, we only pawns in this game\n Decision, grow cocaine\n\n I don't want no cure for this\n You switch, I pour the Cris\n And just, stay rich, and reminisce\n While I count my chips\n\n Yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n I, ton and tender wit millionaires, gave a million stares\n Made a million scared, my beats don' knocked\n For what seemed like a million years, yeah\n This illegal life I can't avoid, I take the feds everywhere I go\n\n That's why I'm paranoid, but still I choose to ignore the fact\n I got the flawless Acs wit gats to get that enormous stack\n Joey Crack, the mack without the hat\n And all our hoes dine and ride in the back seat of my Cadillac\n\n I bet you hate it 'cuz we paid and floss, nigga we laid and lost\n T.S.'ll make the baddest crews take a loss\n Break your balls like Bahondo, call me Don Joe\n Coke slash sweaty rock, niggas drop a dime dough\n\n Booked the nine o'clock, flight to Alando\n So-called killers turned snitches like Rivono\n That nigga Gauno up in M-C, is bein' friendly\n Every time I see his wife and kids the shit tempts me\n\n My heart is empty\n Never feelin' remorse\n I got a sniper one killed in the cross\n Ready to kill your boss\n\n Yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n Yo, yo Jose Luis, smoke lah like the reverend\n Look in the skies, clouds look like coke 'n heaven\n Like whoever sittin' on pies two, gettin' high too\n Mad fly too, a thug too\n\n Yo we praise those, however you make your pesos\n Keep the shit tight just like, Jose Canseco's\n Batting stance, a majorly we glance, and gotta yell, \"What, what\"\n 'Cuz thug niggas don't dance yo\n\n I told niggas, that you did it for show\n But niggas thought you was ill yo\n Even your hoe, yo for real young blood I'm really afraid so\n Your colors got revealed and now you buy dough\n\n Impost-o's, locos, morenos, go-golos, boriquas, platin-o's\n My niggas rollin' those, fontos and hydros\n You know how that goes, DE's light it up though\n We stay smokin' it, tone-locin' it, me and Fat Joe still provoking it\n\n Yo, yo yo, you scared to death, misery need company\n Crab slackers, niggas actin' like they mad rappers\n Even wit a record deal, our guns still peal\n Break a piece of your brain, wipe the stain\n\n Throw the Range off, police-iano\n Watch for Hondo, they lookin' at our poster now, playin' us closer now\n The funds follow us, what, these bitches swallow us\n And you wonder why you can't find us\n\n Ha ha, mad rappers\n Stain off, range off, watch out\n Polic-iano's, Pabolos amigos\n Fat Joe, Fat Joe, Fat Joe, yeah yeah\n"}]