[{"id":20744095,"name":"W.M.D.","trackName":"W.M.D.","artistName":"Heltah Skeltah","albumName":"D.I.R.T. (Da Incredible Rap Team)","duration":202.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Yo, two-two-two, five thirty-two, thirty-eight\nFour-four-four, five, increase the murder rate\nGreat, shit can vertebrae, fuck up your backbone\nSnatch ya backpack, nigga, fuck up your wack poems\nYou can't rap, slap his natch with the black chrome\nThis whipping was a warning, so ya take your ass back home\nNigga, see I pop shit with the same kinda guns that T.I. got knocked with\nExtra clip carrier, quick to click burry ya\nBoth talk tough, but bitch, I'mma bit scarier\nUh, Rambo guns, Commando guns\nCatch you at the beach, will heat up your sandals, son\nFuck with a vet, best believe you fuck with the best\nPut a slug in the revolver that'll fuck up your flesh\nPut a slug in the revolver and play Russian Roulette\nFuck it, I try, I do it, fuck if you die\nRuck, is the, luckiest fucker alive\nI went from nothing to something a couple of times\nI got a gun with a nozzle pump, cock back, we dump\nLift ya, who said white men can't jump\nI know, dead men talk cuz niggas get caught\nBut if ya, body a juror then a killa gon' talk\nDo ya biddy bop to the block, goodbye to your tail\nShit, a city cop, city shots, I am Sean Bell\nSemi auto four, leave your head looking real gory\nBe a ghost before Halloween, that's true story\nThat I blink like a transporter moving your order\nQuarterback spiral like bullets hit your autora\nWe ain't here to warn 'em, bring the water trigger, we squeezin'\nTwenty minute shootouts, clip empty we leaving\nWhen I jump in the porsche, hop in the charger\nFans can't catch the boy, I'm an artful dodger\nYou know who in charge, get your whole team washed\nThen go in and buy guns with the money from these bars\nYeah, the flow rapper, forties and automatic\nArm tatted, chron' addict, it's on when the God rapping\nThe dog grabbing, my paws, palming the double action\nPump blasting, punk bastards, slump backwards\nRap mastered, got cash? They all plastic\nSince graphics, all of my cons, all savage\nLord of War, Nicholas Cage, sick cannons\nSpit talents, til we the last Clik standing\nTimbs branded, scuffed up from kicking asses\nBucktown, we shoot first, then ask questions\nThis is my gun, this is my weapon\nThis is for fun, this is for sending niggas to heaven\nSing 'em a sermon, I heard somebody needed a reverend\nHeard he was telling, the bird, he sent a word to my brethren\nParabellum to the back of your melon\nYou want the rest? See the news at eleven\nIt go nine millimeter, mack 10, mack 11, twelve gauge\nHave your monkey maggot ass on channel seven\nTelling like, they shooting, that just how we making you Duck Down\nThis go round, what up now? He said, what, now?\nYou the old mattress bout to get drugged out\nLike me, I'm so addictive, I'm the newest drug out\nWith guns out, ignorant birds, we dumb foul\nRun out of shells and you ingrown hairs get plucked out\nGet smacked with a cap and come loud\nRock a pocket rocket, put a drop top on Run's house\nI ain't talking bout horizons when I say 'sun down'\nSon, down! down for the count, it was just for one round\nGive me two of those gats that Bruno had\nOn Pluto now, and only on them who hold gat\nAin't that false advertisement? I should sue those fags\nI'm just playing, you know that!\nFuck around these days, these dirty DA's'll do your raps\nNot guilty, but I do know gats, think about it like\nSeriously... is it true or all raps\nWhen I say I put a hole the size of my boot in your back","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: W.M.D.\n  artist: Heltah Skeltah\n  album: D.I.R.T. (Da Incredible Rap Team)\n  duration_ms: 202000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Yo, two-two-two, five thirty-two, thirty-eight\n  Four-four-four, five, increase the murder rate\n  Great, shit can vertebrae, fuck up your backbone\n  Snatch ya backpack, nigga, fuck up your wack poems\n  You can't rap, slap his natch with the black chrome\n  This whipping was a warning, so ya take your ass back home\n  Nigga, see I pop shit with the same kinda guns that T.I. got knocked with\n  Extra clip carrier, quick to click burry ya\n  Both talk tough, but bitch, I'mma bit scarier\n  Uh, Rambo guns, Commando guns\n  Catch you at the beach, will heat up your sandals, son\n  Fuck with a vet, best believe you fuck with the best\n  Put a slug in the revolver that'll fuck up your flesh\n  Put a slug in the revolver and play Russian Roulette\n  Fuck it, I try, I do it, fuck if you die\n  Ruck, is the, luckiest fucker alive\n  I went from nothing to something a couple of times\n  I got a gun with a nozzle pump, cock back, we dump\n  Lift ya, who said white men can't jump\n  I know, dead men talk cuz niggas get caught\n  But if ya, body a juror then a killa gon' talk\n  Do ya biddy bop to the block, goodbye to your tail\n  Shit, a city cop, city shots, I am Sean Bell\n  Semi auto four, leave your head looking real gory\n  Be a ghost before Halloween, that's true story\n  That I blink like a transporter moving your order\n  Quarterback spiral like bullets hit your autora\n  We ain't here to warn 'em, bring the water trigger, we squeezin'\n  Twenty minute shootouts, clip empty we leaving\n  When I jump in the porsche, hop in the charger\n  Fans can't catch the boy, I'm an artful dodger\n  You know who in charge, get your whole team washed\n  Then go in and buy guns with the money from these bars\n  Yeah, the flow rapper, forties and automatic\n  Arm tatted, chron' addict, it's on when the God rapping\n  The dog grabbing, my paws, palming the double action\n  Pump blasting, punk bastards, slump backwards\n  Rap mastered, got cash? They all plastic\n  Since graphics, all of my cons, all savage\n  Lord of War, Nicholas Cage, sick cannons\n  Spit talents, til we the last Clik standing\n  Timbs branded, scuffed up from kicking asses\n  Bucktown, we shoot first, then ask questions\n  This is my gun, this is my weapon\n  This is for fun, this is for sending niggas to heaven\n  Sing 'em a sermon, I heard somebody needed a reverend\n  Heard he was telling, the bird, he sent a word to my brethren\n  Parabellum to the back of your melon\n  You want the rest? See the news at eleven\n  It go nine millimeter, mack 10, mack 11, twelve gauge\n  Have your monkey maggot ass on channel seven\n  Telling like, they shooting, that just how we making you Duck Down\n  This go round, what up now? He said, what, now?\n  You the old mattress bout to get drugged out\n  Like me, I'm so addictive, I'm the newest drug out\n  With guns out, ignorant birds, we dumb foul\n  Run out of shells and you ingrown hairs get plucked out\n  Get smacked with a cap and come loud\n  Rock a pocket rocket, put a drop top on Run's house\n  I ain't talking bout horizons when I say 'sun down'\n  Son, down! down for the count, it was just for one round\n  Give me two of those gats that Bruno had\n  On Pluto now, and only on them who hold gat\n  Ain't that false advertisement? I should sue those fags\n  I'm just playing, you know that!\n  Fuck around these days, these dirty DA's'll do your raps\n  Not guilty, but I do know gats, think about it like\n  Seriously... is it true or all raps\n  When I say I put a hole the size of my boot in your back\n"},{"id":10546343,"name":"W.M.D.","trackName":"W.M.D.","artistName":"Heltah Skeltah","albumName":"D.I.R.T. (Da Incredible Rap Team)","duration":195.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Yo, two-two-two, five thirty-two, thirty-eight\nFour-four-four, five, increase the murder rate\nGreat, shit can vertebrae, fuck up your backbone\nSnatch ya backpack, nigga, fuck up your wack poems\nYou can't rap, slap his natch with the black chrome\nThis whipping was a warning, so ya take your ass back home\nNigga, see I pop shit with the same kinda guns that T.I. got knocked with\nExtra clip carrier, quick to click burry ya\nBoth talk tough, but bitch, I'mma bit scarier\nUh, Rambo guns, Commando guns\nCatch you at the beach, will heat up your sandals, son\nFuck with a vet, best believe you fuck with the best\nPut a slug in the revolver that'll fuck up your flesh\nPut a slug in the revolver and play Russian Roulette\nFuck it, I try, I do it, fuck if you die\nRuck, is the, luckiest fucker alive\nI went from nothing to something a couple of times\nI got a gun with a nozzle pump, cock back, we dump\nLift ya, who said white men can't jump\nI know, dead men talk cuz niggas get caught\nBut if ya, body a juror then a killa gon' talk\nDo ya biddy bop to the block, goodbye to your tail\nShit, a city cop, city shots, I am Sean Bell\nSemi auto four, leave your head looking real gory\nBe a ghost before Halloween, that's true story\nThat I blink like a transporter moving your order\nQuarterback spiral like bullets hit your autora\nWe ain't here to warn 'em, bring the water trigger, we squeezin'\nTwenty minute shootouts, clip empty we leaving\nWhen I jump in the porsche, hop in the charger\nFans can't catch the boy, I'm an artful dodger\nYou know who in charge, get your whole team washed\nThen go in and buy guns with the money from these bars\nYeah, the flow rapper, forties and automatic\nArm tatted, chron' addict, it's on when the God rapping\nThe dog grabbing, my paws, palming the double action\nPump blasting, punk bastards, slump backwards\nRap mastered, got cash? They all plastic\nSince graphics, all of my cons, all savage\nLord of War, Nicholas Cage, sick cannons\nSpit talents, til we the last Clik standing\nTimbs branded, scuffed up from kicking asses\nBucktown, we shoot first, then ask questions\nThis is my gun, this is my weapon\nThis is for fun, this is for sending niggas to heaven\nSing 'em a sermon, I heard somebody needed a reverend\nHeard he was telling, the bird, he sent a word to my brethren\nParabellum to the back of your melon\nYou want the rest? See the news at eleven\nIt go nine millimeter, mack 10, mack 11, twelve gauge\nHave your monkey maggot ass on channel seven\nTelling like, they shooting, that just how we making you Duck Down\nThis go round, what up now? He said, what, now?\nYou the old mattress bout to get drugged out\nLike me, I'm so addictive, I'm the newest drug out\nWith guns out, ignorant birds, we dumb foul\nRun out of shells and you ingrown hairs get plucked out\nGet smacked with a cap and come loud\nRock a pocket rocket, put a drop top on Run's house\nI ain't talking bout horizons when I say 'sun down'\nSon, down! down for the count, it was just for one round\nGive me two of those gats that Bruno had\nOn Pluto now, and only on them who hold gat\nAin't that false advertisement? I should sue those fags\nI'm just playing, you know that!\nFuck around these days, these dirty DA's'll do your raps\nNot guilty, but I do know gats, think about it like\nSeriously... is it true or all raps\nWhen I say I put a hole the size of my boot in your back","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: W.M.D.\n  artist: Heltah Skeltah\n  album: D.I.R.T. (Da Incredible Rap Team)\n  duration_ms: 195000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Yo, two-two-two, five thirty-two, thirty-eight\n  Four-four-four, five, increase the murder rate\n  Great, shit can vertebrae, fuck up your backbone\n  Snatch ya backpack, nigga, fuck up your wack poems\n  You can't rap, slap his natch with the black chrome\n  This whipping was a warning, so ya take your ass back home\n  Nigga, see I pop shit with the same kinda guns that T.I. got knocked with\n  Extra clip carrier, quick to click burry ya\n  Both talk tough, but bitch, I'mma bit scarier\n  Uh, Rambo guns, Commando guns\n  Catch you at the beach, will heat up your sandals, son\n  Fuck with a vet, best believe you fuck with the best\n  Put a slug in the revolver that'll fuck up your flesh\n  Put a slug in the revolver and play Russian Roulette\n  Fuck it, I try, I do it, fuck if you die\n  Ruck, is the, luckiest fucker alive\n  I went from nothing to something a couple of times\n  I got a gun with a nozzle pump, cock back, we dump\n  Lift ya, who said white men can't jump\n  I know, dead men talk cuz niggas get caught\n  But if ya, body a juror then a killa gon' talk\n  Do ya biddy bop to the block, goodbye to your tail\n  Shit, a city cop, city shots, I am Sean Bell\n  Semi auto four, leave your head looking real gory\n  Be a ghost before Halloween, that's true story\n  That I blink like a transporter moving your order\n  Quarterback spiral like bullets hit your autora\n  We ain't here to warn 'em, bring the water trigger, we squeezin'\n  Twenty minute shootouts, clip empty we leaving\n  When I jump in the porsche, hop in the charger\n  Fans can't catch the boy, I'm an artful dodger\n  You know who in charge, get your whole team washed\n  Then go in and buy guns with the money from these bars\n  Yeah, the flow rapper, forties and automatic\n  Arm tatted, chron' addict, it's on when the God rapping\n  The dog grabbing, my paws, palming the double action\n  Pump blasting, punk bastards, slump backwards\n  Rap mastered, got cash? They all plastic\n  Since graphics, all of my cons, all savage\n  Lord of War, Nicholas Cage, sick cannons\n  Spit talents, til we the last Clik standing\n  Timbs branded, scuffed up from kicking asses\n  Bucktown, we shoot first, then ask questions\n  This is my gun, this is my weapon\n  This is for fun, this is for sending niggas to heaven\n  Sing 'em a sermon, I heard somebody needed a reverend\n  Heard he was telling, the bird, he sent a word to my brethren\n  Parabellum to the back of your melon\n  You want the rest? See the news at eleven\n  It go nine millimeter, mack 10, mack 11, twelve gauge\n  Have your monkey maggot ass on channel seven\n  Telling like, they shooting, that just how we making you Duck Down\n  This go round, what up now? He said, what, now?\n  You the old mattress bout to get drugged out\n  Like me, I'm so addictive, I'm the newest drug out\n  With guns out, ignorant birds, we dumb foul\n  Run out of shells and you ingrown hairs get plucked out\n  Get smacked with a cap and come loud\n  Rock a pocket rocket, put a drop top on Run's house\n  I ain't talking bout horizons when I say 'sun down'\n  Son, down! down for the count, it was just for one round\n  Give me two of those gats that Bruno had\n  On Pluto now, and only on them who hold gat\n  Ain't that false advertisement? I should sue those fags\n  I'm just playing, you know that!\n  Fuck around these days, these dirty DA's'll do your raps\n  Not guilty, but I do know gats, think about it like\n  Seriously... is it true or all raps\n  When I say I put a hole the size of my boot in your back\n"},{"id":28430275,"name":"W.M.D. (feat Smif n Wessun)","trackName":"W.M.D. (feat Smif n Wessun)","artistName":"Heltah Skeltah","albumName":"D.I.R.T.","duration":195.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Yo, two-two-two, five thirty-two, thirty-eight\nFour-four-four, five, increase the murder rate\nGreat, shit can vertebrae, fuck up your backbone\nSnatch ya backpack, nigga, fuck up your wack poems\nYou can't rap, slap his natch with the black chrome\nThis whipping was a warning, so ya take your ass back home\nNigga, see I pop shit with the same kinda guns that T.I. got knocked with\nExtra clip carrier, quick to click burry ya\nBoth talk tough, but bitch, I'mma bit scarier\nUh, Rambo guns, Commando guns\nCatch you at the beach, will heat up your sandals, son\nFuck with a vet, best believe you fuck with the best\nPut a slug in the revolver that'll fuck up your flesh\nPut a slug in the revolver and play Russian Roulette\nFuck it, I try, I do it, fuck if you die\nRuck, is the, luckiest fucker alive\nI went from nothing to something a couple of times\nI got a gun with a nozzle pump, cock back, we dump\nLift ya, who said white men can't jump\nI know, dead men talk cuz niggas get caught\nBut if ya, body a juror then a killa gon' talk\nDo ya biddy bop to the block, goodbye to your tail\nShit, a city cop, city shots, I am Sean Bell\nSemi auto four, leave your head looking real gory\nBe a ghost before Halloween, that's true story\nThat I blink like a transporter moving your order\nQuarterback spiral like bullets hit your autora\nWe ain't here to warn 'em, bring the water trigger, we squeezin'\nTwenty minute shootouts, clip empty we leaving\nWhen I jump in the porsche, hop in the charger\nFans can't catch the boy, I'm an artful dodger\nYou know who in charge, get your whole team washed\nThen go in and buy guns with the money from these bars\nYeah, the flow rapper, forties and automatic\nArm tatted, chron' addict, it's on when the God rapping\nThe dog grabbing, my paws, palming the double action\nPump blasting, punk bastards, slump backwards\nRap mastered, got cash? They all plastic\nSince graphics, all of my cons, all savage\nLord of War, Nicholas Cage, sick cannons\nSpit talents, til we the last Clik standing\nTimbs branded, scuffed up from kicking asses\nBucktown, we shoot first, then ask questions\nThis is my gun, this is my weapon\nThis is for fun, this is for sending niggas to heaven\nSing 'em a sermon, I heard somebody needed a reverend\nHeard he was telling, the bird, he sent a word to my brethren\nParabellum to the back of your melon\nYou want the rest? See the news at eleven\nIt go nine millimeter, mack 10, mack 11, twelve gauge\nHave your monkey maggot ass on channel seven\nTelling like, they shooting, that just how we making you Duck Down\nThis go round, what up now? He said, what, now?\nYou the old mattress bout to get drugged out\nLike me, I'm so addictive, I'm the newest drug out\nWith guns out, ignorant birds, we dumb foul\nRun out of shells and you ingrown hairs get plucked out\nGet smacked with a cap and come loud\nRock a pocket rocket, put a drop top on Run's house\nI ain't talking bout horizons when I say 'sun down'\nSon, down! down for the count, it was just for one round\nGive me two of those gats that Bruno had\nOn Pluto now, and only on them who hold gat\nAin't that false advertisement? I should sue those fags\nI'm just playing, you know that!\nFuck around these days, these dirty DA's'll do your raps\nNot guilty, but I do know gats, think about it like\nSeriously... is it true or all raps\nWhen I say I put a hole the size of my boot in your back","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: W.M.D. (feat Smif n Wessun)\n  artist: Heltah Skeltah\n  album: D.I.R.T.\n  duration_ms: 195000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Yo, two-two-two, five thirty-two, thirty-eight\n  Four-four-four, five, increase the murder rate\n  Great, shit can vertebrae, fuck up your backbone\n  Snatch ya backpack, nigga, fuck up your wack poems\n  You can't rap, slap his natch with the black chrome\n  This whipping was a warning, so ya take your ass back home\n  Nigga, see I pop shit with the same kinda guns that T.I. got knocked with\n  Extra clip carrier, quick to click burry ya\n  Both talk tough, but bitch, I'mma bit scarier\n  Uh, Rambo guns, Commando guns\n  Catch you at the beach, will heat up your sandals, son\n  Fuck with a vet, best believe you fuck with the best\n  Put a slug in the revolver that'll fuck up your flesh\n  Put a slug in the revolver and play Russian Roulette\n  Fuck it, I try, I do it, fuck if you die\n  Ruck, is the, luckiest fucker alive\n  I went from nothing to something a couple of times\n  I got a gun with a nozzle pump, cock back, we dump\n  Lift ya, who said white men can't jump\n  I know, dead men talk cuz niggas get caught\n  But if ya, body a juror then a killa gon' talk\n  Do ya biddy bop to the block, goodbye to your tail\n  Shit, a city cop, city shots, I am Sean Bell\n  Semi auto four, leave your head looking real gory\n  Be a ghost before Halloween, that's true story\n  That I blink like a transporter moving your order\n  Quarterback spiral like bullets hit your autora\n  We ain't here to warn 'em, bring the water trigger, we squeezin'\n  Twenty minute shootouts, clip empty we leaving\n  When I jump in the porsche, hop in the charger\n  Fans can't catch the boy, I'm an artful dodger\n  You know who in charge, get your whole team washed\n  Then go in and buy guns with the money from these bars\n  Yeah, the flow rapper, forties and automatic\n  Arm tatted, chron' addict, it's on when the God rapping\n  The dog grabbing, my paws, palming the double action\n  Pump blasting, punk bastards, slump backwards\n  Rap mastered, got cash? They all plastic\n  Since graphics, all of my cons, all savage\n  Lord of War, Nicholas Cage, sick cannons\n  Spit talents, til we the last Clik standing\n  Timbs branded, scuffed up from kicking asses\n  Bucktown, we shoot first, then ask questions\n  This is my gun, this is my weapon\n  This is for fun, this is for sending niggas to heaven\n  Sing 'em a sermon, I heard somebody needed a reverend\n  Heard he was telling, the bird, he sent a word to my brethren\n  Parabellum to the back of your melon\n  You want the rest? See the news at eleven\n  It go nine millimeter, mack 10, mack 11, twelve gauge\n  Have your monkey maggot ass on channel seven\n  Telling like, they shooting, that just how we making you Duck Down\n  This go round, what up now? He said, what, now?\n  You the old mattress bout to get drugged out\n  Like me, I'm so addictive, I'm the newest drug out\n  With guns out, ignorant birds, we dumb foul\n  Run out of shells and you ingrown hairs get plucked out\n  Get smacked with a cap and come loud\n  Rock a pocket rocket, put a drop top on Run's house\n  I ain't talking bout horizons when I say 'sun down'\n  Son, down! down for the count, it was just for one round\n  Give me two of those gats that Bruno had\n  On Pluto now, and only on them who hold gat\n  Ain't that false advertisement? I should sue those fags\n  I'm just playing, you know that!\n  Fuck around these days, these dirty DA's'll do your raps\n  Not guilty, but I do know gats, think about it like\n  Seriously... is it true or all raps\n  When I say I put a hole the size of my boot in your back\n"},{"id":12336289,"name":"W.M.D. (feat. Smif N Wessun) (prod. by M-Phazes)","trackName":"W.M.D. (feat. Smif N Wessun) (prod. by M-Phazes)","artistName":"Heltah Skeltah","albumName":"D.I.R.T.","duration":195.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Yo, two-two-two, five thirty-two, thirty-eight\nFour-four-four, five, increase the murder rate\nGreat, shit can vertebrae, fuck up your backbone\nSnatch ya backpack, nigga, fuck up your wack poems\nYou can't rap, slap his natch with the black chrome\nThis whipping was a warning, so ya take your ass back home\nNigga, see I pop shit with the same kinda guns that T.I. got knocked with\nExtra clip carrier, quick to click burry ya\nBoth talk tough, but bitch, I'mma bit scarier\nUh, Rambo guns, Commando guns\nCatch you at the beach, will heat up your sandals, son\nFuck with a vet, best believe you fuck with the best\nPut a slug in the revolver that'll fuck up your flesh\nPut a slug in the revolver and play Russian Roulette\nFuck it, I try, I do it, fuck if you die\nRuck, is the, luckiest fucker alive\nI went from nothing to something a couple of times\nI got a gun with a nozzle pump, cock back, we dump\nLift ya, who said white men can't jump\nI know, dead men talk cuz niggas get caught\nBut if ya, body a juror then a killa gon' talk\nDo ya biddy bop to the block, goodbye to your tail\nShit, a city cop, city shots, I am Sean Bell\nSemi auto four, leave your head looking real gory\nBe a ghost before Halloween, that's true story\nThat I blink like a transporter moving your order\nQuarterback spiral like bullets hit your autora\nWe ain't here to warn 'em, bring the water trigger, we squeezin'\nTwenty minute shootouts, clip empty we leaving\nWhen I jump in the porsche, hop in the charger\nFans can't catch the boy, I'm an artful dodger\nYou know who in charge, get your whole team washed\nThen go in and buy guns with the money from these bars\nYeah, the flow rapper, forties and automatic\nArm tatted, chron' addict, it's on when the God rapping\nThe dog grabbing, my paws, palming the double action\nPump blasting, punk bastards, slump backwards\nRap mastered, got cash? They all plastic\nSince graphics, all of my cons, all savage\nLord of War, Nicholas Cage, sick cannons\nSpit talents, til we the last Clik standing\nTimbs branded, scuffed up from kicking asses\nBucktown, we shoot first, then ask questions\nThis is my gun, this is my weapon\nThis is for fun, this is for sending niggas to heaven\nSing 'em a sermon, I heard somebody needed a reverend\nHeard he was telling, the bird, he sent a word to my brethren\nParabellum to the back of your melon\nYou want the rest? See the news at eleven\nIt go nine millimeter, mack 10, mack 11, twelve gauge\nHave your monkey maggot ass on channel seven\nTelling like, they shooting, that just how we making you Duck Down\nThis go round, what up now? He said, what, now?\nYou the old mattress bout to get drugged out\nLike me, I'm so addictive, I'm the newest drug out\nWith guns out, ignorant birds, we dumb foul\nRun out of shells and you ingrown hairs get plucked out\nGet smacked with a cap and come loud\nRock a pocket rocket, put a drop top on Run's house\nI ain't talking bout horizons when I say 'sun down'\nSon, down! down for the count, it was just for one round\nGive me two of those gats that Bruno had\nOn Pluto now, and only on them who hold gat\nAin't that false advertisement? I should sue those fags\nI'm just playing, you know that!\nFuck around these days, these dirty DA's'll do your raps\nNot guilty, but I do know gats, think about it like\nSeriously... is it true or all raps\nWhen I say I put a hole the size of my boot in your back","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: W.M.D. (feat. Smif N Wessun) (prod. by M-Phazes)\n  artist: Heltah Skeltah\n  album: D.I.R.T.\n  duration_ms: 195000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Yo, two-two-two, five thirty-two, thirty-eight\n  Four-four-four, five, increase the murder rate\n  Great, shit can vertebrae, fuck up your backbone\n  Snatch ya backpack, nigga, fuck up your wack poems\n  You can't rap, slap his natch with the black chrome\n  This whipping was a warning, so ya take your ass back home\n  Nigga, see I pop shit with the same kinda guns that T.I. got knocked with\n  Extra clip carrier, quick to click burry ya\n  Both talk tough, but bitch, I'mma bit scarier\n  Uh, Rambo guns, Commando guns\n  Catch you at the beach, will heat up your sandals, son\n  Fuck with a vet, best believe you fuck with the best\n  Put a slug in the revolver that'll fuck up your flesh\n  Put a slug in the revolver and play Russian Roulette\n  Fuck it, I try, I do it, fuck if you die\n  Ruck, is the, luckiest fucker alive\n  I went from nothing to something a couple of times\n  I got a gun with a nozzle pump, cock back, we dump\n  Lift ya, who said white men can't jump\n  I know, dead men talk cuz niggas get caught\n  But if ya, body a juror then a killa gon' talk\n  Do ya biddy bop to the block, goodbye to your tail\n  Shit, a city cop, city shots, I am Sean Bell\n  Semi auto four, leave your head looking real gory\n  Be a ghost before Halloween, that's true story\n  That I blink like a transporter moving your order\n  Quarterback spiral like bullets hit your autora\n  We ain't here to warn 'em, bring the water trigger, we squeezin'\n  Twenty minute shootouts, clip empty we leaving\n  When I jump in the porsche, hop in the charger\n  Fans can't catch the boy, I'm an artful dodger\n  You know who in charge, get your whole team washed\n  Then go in and buy guns with the money from these bars\n  Yeah, the flow rapper, forties and automatic\n  Arm tatted, chron' addict, it's on when the God rapping\n  The dog grabbing, my paws, palming the double action\n  Pump blasting, punk bastards, slump backwards\n  Rap mastered, got cash? They all plastic\n  Since graphics, all of my cons, all savage\n  Lord of War, Nicholas Cage, sick cannons\n  Spit talents, til we the last Clik standing\n  Timbs branded, scuffed up from kicking asses\n  Bucktown, we shoot first, then ask questions\n  This is my gun, this is my weapon\n  This is for fun, this is for sending niggas to heaven\n  Sing 'em a sermon, I heard somebody needed a reverend\n  Heard he was telling, the bird, he sent a word to my brethren\n  Parabellum to the back of your melon\n  You want the rest? See the news at eleven\n  It go nine millimeter, mack 10, mack 11, twelve gauge\n  Have your monkey maggot ass on channel seven\n  Telling like, they shooting, that just how we making you Duck Down\n  This go round, what up now? He said, what, now?\n  You the old mattress bout to get drugged out\n  Like me, I'm so addictive, I'm the newest drug out\n  With guns out, ignorant birds, we dumb foul\n  Run out of shells and you ingrown hairs get plucked out\n  Get smacked with a cap and come loud\n  Rock a pocket rocket, put a drop top on Run's house\n  I ain't talking bout horizons when I say 'sun down'\n  Son, down! down for the count, it was just for one round\n  Give me two of those gats that Bruno had\n  On Pluto now, and only on them who hold gat\n  Ain't that false advertisement? I should sue those fags\n  I'm just playing, you know that!\n  Fuck around these days, these dirty DA's'll do your raps\n  Not guilty, but I do know gats, think about it like\n  Seriously... is it true or all raps\n  When I say I put a hole the size of my boot in your back\n"},{"id":29750664,"name":"W.M.D. (Feat. Smif N Wessun)","trackName":"W.M.D. (Feat. Smif N Wessun)","artistName":"Heltah Skeltah","albumName":"D.I.R.T. (Da Incredible Rap Team)","duration":202.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Yo, two-two-two, five thirty-two, thirty-eight\nFour-four-four, five, increase the murder rate\nGreat, shit can vertebrae, fuck up your backbone\nSnatch ya backpack, nigga, fuck up your wack poems\nYou can't rap, slap his natch with the black chrome\nThis whipping was a warning, so ya take your ass back home\nNigga, see I pop shit with the same kinda guns that T.I. got knocked with\nExtra clip carrier, quick to click burry ya\nBoth talk tough, but bitch, I'mma bit scarier\nUh, Rambo guns, Commando guns\nCatch you at the beach, will heat up your sandals, son\nFuck with a vet, best believe you fuck with the best\nPut a slug in the revolver that'll fuck up your flesh\nPut a slug in the revolver and play Russian Roulette\nFuck it, I try, I do it, fuck if you die\nRuck, is the, luckiest fucker alive\nI went from nothing to something a couple of times\nI got a gun with a nozzle pump, cock back, we dump\nLift ya, who said white men can't jump\nI know, dead men talk cuz niggas get caught\nBut if ya, body a juror then a killa gon' talk\nDo ya biddy bop to the block, goodbye to your tail\nShit, a city cop, city shots, I am Sean Bell\nSemi auto four, leave your head looking real gory\nBe a ghost before Halloween, that's true story\nThat I blink like a transporter moving your order\nQuarterback spiral like bullets hit your autora\nWe ain't here to warn 'em, bring the water trigger, we squeezin'\nTwenty minute shootouts, clip empty we leaving\nWhen I jump in the porsche, hop in the charger\nFans can't catch the boy, I'm an artful dodger\nYou know who in charge, get your whole team washed\nThen go in and buy guns with the money from these bars\nYeah, the flow rapper, forties and automatic\nArm tatted, chron' addict, it's on when the God rapping\nThe dog grabbing, my paws, palming the double action\nPump blasting, punk bastards, slump backwards\nRap mastered, got cash? They all plastic\nSince graphics, all of my cons, all savage\nLord of War, Nicholas Cage, sick cannons\nSpit talents, til we the last Clik standing\nTimbs branded, scuffed up from kicking asses\nBucktown, we shoot first, then ask questions\nThis is my gun, this is my weapon\nThis is for fun, this is for sending niggas to heaven\nSing 'em a sermon, I heard somebody needed a reverend\nHeard he was telling, the bird, he sent a word to my brethren\nParabellum to the back of your melon\nYou want the rest? See the news at eleven\nIt go nine millimeter, mack 10, mack 11, twelve gauge\nHave your monkey maggot ass on channel seven\nTelling like, they shooting, that just how we making you Duck Down\nThis go round, what up now? He said, what, now?\nYou the old mattress bout to get drugged out\nLike me, I'm so addictive, I'm the newest drug out\nWith guns out, ignorant birds, we dumb foul\nRun out of shells and you ingrown hairs get plucked out\nGet smacked with a cap and come loud\nRock a pocket rocket, put a drop top on Run's house\nI ain't talking bout horizons when I say 'sun down'\nSon, down! down for the count, it was just for one round\nGive me two of those gats that Bruno had\nOn Pluto now, and only on them who hold gat\nAin't that false advertisement? I should sue those fags\nI'm just playing, you know that!\nFuck around these days, these dirty DA's'll do your raps\nNot guilty, but I do know gats, think about it like\nSeriously... is it true or all raps\nWhen I say I put a hole the size of my boot in your back","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: W.M.D. (Feat. Smif N Wessun)\n  artist: Heltah Skeltah\n  album: D.I.R.T. (Da Incredible Rap Team)\n  duration_ms: 202000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Yo, two-two-two, five thirty-two, thirty-eight\n  Four-four-four, five, increase the murder rate\n  Great, shit can vertebrae, fuck up your backbone\n  Snatch ya backpack, nigga, fuck up your wack poems\n  You can't rap, slap his natch with the black chrome\n  This whipping was a warning, so ya take your ass back home\n  Nigga, see I pop shit with the same kinda guns that T.I. got knocked with\n  Extra clip carrier, quick to click burry ya\n  Both talk tough, but bitch, I'mma bit scarier\n  Uh, Rambo guns, Commando guns\n  Catch you at the beach, will heat up your sandals, son\n  Fuck with a vet, best believe you fuck with the best\n  Put a slug in the revolver that'll fuck up your flesh\n  Put a slug in the revolver and play Russian Roulette\n  Fuck it, I try, I do it, fuck if you die\n  Ruck, is the, luckiest fucker alive\n  I went from nothing to something a couple of times\n  I got a gun with a nozzle pump, cock back, we dump\n  Lift ya, who said white men can't jump\n  I know, dead men talk cuz niggas get caught\n  But if ya, body a juror then a killa gon' talk\n  Do ya biddy bop to the block, goodbye to your tail\n  Shit, a city cop, city shots, I am Sean Bell\n  Semi auto four, leave your head looking real gory\n  Be a ghost before Halloween, that's true story\n  That I blink like a transporter moving your order\n  Quarterback spiral like bullets hit your autora\n  We ain't here to warn 'em, bring the water trigger, we squeezin'\n  Twenty minute shootouts, clip empty we leaving\n  When I jump in the porsche, hop in the charger\n  Fans can't catch the boy, I'm an artful dodger\n  You know who in charge, get your whole team washed\n  Then go in and buy guns with the money from these bars\n  Yeah, the flow rapper, forties and automatic\n  Arm tatted, chron' addict, it's on when the God rapping\n  The dog grabbing, my paws, palming the double action\n  Pump blasting, punk bastards, slump backwards\n  Rap mastered, got cash? They all plastic\n  Since graphics, all of my cons, all savage\n  Lord of War, Nicholas Cage, sick cannons\n  Spit talents, til we the last Clik standing\n  Timbs branded, scuffed up from kicking asses\n  Bucktown, we shoot first, then ask questions\n  This is my gun, this is my weapon\n  This is for fun, this is for sending niggas to heaven\n  Sing 'em a sermon, I heard somebody needed a reverend\n  Heard he was telling, the bird, he sent a word to my brethren\n  Parabellum to the back of your melon\n  You want the rest? See the news at eleven\n  It go nine millimeter, mack 10, mack 11, twelve gauge\n  Have your monkey maggot ass on channel seven\n  Telling like, they shooting, that just how we making you Duck Down\n  This go round, what up now? He said, what, now?\n  You the old mattress bout to get drugged out\n  Like me, I'm so addictive, I'm the newest drug out\n  With guns out, ignorant birds, we dumb foul\n  Run out of shells and you ingrown hairs get plucked out\n  Get smacked with a cap and come loud\n  Rock a pocket rocket, put a drop top on Run's house\n  I ain't talking bout horizons when I say 'sun down'\n  Son, down! down for the count, it was just for one round\n  Give me two of those gats that Bruno had\n  On Pluto now, and only on them who hold gat\n  Ain't that false advertisement? I should sue those fags\n  I'm just playing, you know that!\n  Fuck around these days, these dirty DA's'll do your raps\n  Not guilty, but I do know gats, think about it like\n  Seriously... is it true or all raps\n  When I say I put a hole the size of my boot in your back\n"},{"id":32548499,"name":"W.M.D. ft. Smif N Wessun","trackName":"W.M.D. ft. Smif N Wessun","artistName":"Heltah Skeltah","albumName":"D.I.R.T. (Da Incredible Rap Team)","duration":196.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Yo, two-two-two, five thirty-two, thirty-eight\nFour-four-four, five, increase the murder rate\nGreat, shit can vertebrae, fuck up your backbone\nSnatch ya backpack, nigga, fuck up your wack poems\nYou can't rap, slap his natch with the black chrome\nThis whipping was a warning, so ya take your ass back home\nNigga, see I pop shit with the same kinda guns that T.I. got knocked with\nExtra clip carrier, quick to click burry ya\nBoth talk tough, but bitch, I'mma bit scarier\nUh, Rambo guns, Commando guns\nCatch you at the beach, will heat up your sandals, son\nFuck with a vet, best believe you fuck with the best\nPut a slug in the revolver that'll fuck up your flesh\nPut a slug in the revolver and play Russian Roulette\nFuck it, I try, I do it, fuck if you die\nRuck, is the, luckiest fucker alive\nI went from nothing to something a couple of times\nI got a gun with a nozzle pump, cock back, we dump\nLift ya, who said white men can't jump\nI know, dead men talk cuz niggas get caught\nBut if ya, body a juror then a killa gon' talk\nDo ya biddy bop to the block, goodbye to your tail\nShit, a city cop, city shots, I am Sean Bell\nSemi auto four, leave your head looking real gory\nBe a ghost before Halloween, that's true story\nThat I blink like a transporter moving your order\nQuarterback spiral like bullets hit your autora\nWe ain't here to warn 'em, bring the water trigger, we squeezin'\nTwenty minute shootouts, clip empty we leaving\nWhen I jump in the porsche, hop in the charger\nFans can't catch the boy, I'm an artful dodger\nYou know who in charge, get your whole team washed\nThen go in and buy guns with the money from these bars\nYeah, the flow rapper, forties and automatic\nArm tatted, chron' addict, it's on when the God rapping\nThe dog grabbing, my paws, palming the double action\nPump blasting, punk bastards, slump backwards\nRap mastered, got cash? They all plastic\nSince graphics, all of my cons, all savage\nLord of War, Nicholas Cage, sick cannons\nSpit talents, til we the last Clik standing\nTimbs branded, scuffed up from kicking asses\nBucktown, we shoot first, then ask questions\nThis is my gun, this is my weapon\nThis is for fun, this is for sending niggas to heaven\nSing 'em a sermon, I heard somebody needed a reverend\nHeard he was telling, the bird, he sent a word to my brethren\nParabellum to the back of your melon\nYou want the rest? See the news at eleven\nIt go nine millimeter, mack 10, mack 11, twelve gauge\nHave your monkey maggot ass on channel seven\nTelling like, they shooting, that just how we making you Duck Down\nThis go round, what up now? He said, what, now?\nYou the old mattress bout to get drugged out\nLike me, I'm so addictive, I'm the newest drug out\nWith guns out, ignorant birds, we dumb foul\nRun out of shells and you ingrown hairs get plucked out\nGet smacked with a cap and come loud\nRock a pocket rocket, put a drop top on Run's house\nI ain't talking bout horizons when I say 'sun down'\nSon, down! down for the count, it was just for one round\nGive me two of those gats that Bruno had\nOn Pluto now, and only on them who hold gat\nAin't that false advertisement? I should sue those fags\nI'm just playing, you know that!\nFuck around these days, these dirty DA's'll do your raps\nNot guilty, but I do know gats, think about it like\nSeriously... is it true or all raps\nWhen I say I put a hole the size of my boot in your back","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: W.M.D. ft. Smif N Wessun\n  artist: Heltah Skeltah\n  album: D.I.R.T. (Da Incredible Rap Team)\n  duration_ms: 196000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Yo, two-two-two, five thirty-two, thirty-eight\n  Four-four-four, five, increase the murder rate\n  Great, shit can vertebrae, fuck up your backbone\n  Snatch ya backpack, nigga, fuck up your wack poems\n  You can't rap, slap his natch with the black chrome\n  This whipping was a warning, so ya take your ass back home\n  Nigga, see I pop shit with the same kinda guns that T.I. got knocked with\n  Extra clip carrier, quick to click burry ya\n  Both talk tough, but bitch, I'mma bit scarier\n  Uh, Rambo guns, Commando guns\n  Catch you at the beach, will heat up your sandals, son\n  Fuck with a vet, best believe you fuck with the best\n  Put a slug in the revolver that'll fuck up your flesh\n  Put a slug in the revolver and play Russian Roulette\n  Fuck it, I try, I do it, fuck if you die\n  Ruck, is the, luckiest fucker alive\n  I went from nothing to something a couple of times\n  I got a gun with a nozzle pump, cock back, we dump\n  Lift ya, who said white men can't jump\n  I know, dead men talk cuz niggas get caught\n  But if ya, body a juror then a killa gon' talk\n  Do ya biddy bop to the block, goodbye to your tail\n  Shit, a city cop, city shots, I am Sean Bell\n  Semi auto four, leave your head looking real gory\n  Be a ghost before Halloween, that's true story\n  That I blink like a transporter moving your order\n  Quarterback spiral like bullets hit your autora\n  We ain't here to warn 'em, bring the water trigger, we squeezin'\n  Twenty minute shootouts, clip empty we leaving\n  When I jump in the porsche, hop in the charger\n  Fans can't catch the boy, I'm an artful dodger\n  You know who in charge, get your whole team washed\n  Then go in and buy guns with the money from these bars\n  Yeah, the flow rapper, forties and automatic\n  Arm tatted, chron' addict, it's on when the God rapping\n  The dog grabbing, my paws, palming the double action\n  Pump blasting, punk bastards, slump backwards\n  Rap mastered, got cash? They all plastic\n  Since graphics, all of my cons, all savage\n  Lord of War, Nicholas Cage, sick cannons\n  Spit talents, til we the last Clik standing\n  Timbs branded, scuffed up from kicking asses\n  Bucktown, we shoot first, then ask questions\n  This is my gun, this is my weapon\n  This is for fun, this is for sending niggas to heaven\n  Sing 'em a sermon, I heard somebody needed a reverend\n  Heard he was telling, the bird, he sent a word to my brethren\n  Parabellum to the back of your melon\n  You want the rest? See the news at eleven\n  It go nine millimeter, mack 10, mack 11, twelve gauge\n  Have your monkey maggot ass on channel seven\n  Telling like, they shooting, that just how we making you Duck Down\n  This go round, what up now? He said, what, now?\n  You the old mattress bout to get drugged out\n  Like me, I'm so addictive, I'm the newest drug out\n  With guns out, ignorant birds, we dumb foul\n  Run out of shells and you ingrown hairs get plucked out\n  Get smacked with a cap and come loud\n  Rock a pocket rocket, put a drop top on Run's house\n  I ain't talking bout horizons when I say 'sun down'\n  Son, down! down for the count, it was just for one round\n  Give me two of those gats that Bruno had\n  On Pluto now, and only on them who hold gat\n  Ain't that false advertisement? I should sue those fags\n  I'm just playing, you know that!\n  Fuck around these days, these dirty DA's'll do your raps\n  Not guilty, but I do know gats, think about it like\n  Seriously... is it true or all raps\n  When I say I put a hole the size of my boot in your back\n"},{"id":15935999,"name":"W.M.D. feat. Smif‐n‐Wessun","trackName":"W.M.D. feat. Smif‐n‐Wessun","artistName":"Heltah Skeltah","albumName":"D.I.R.T. (Da Incredible Rap Team)","duration":195.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Yo, two-two-two, five thirty-two, thirty-eight\nFour-four-four, five, increase the murder rate\nGreat, shit can vertebrae, fuck up your backbone\nSnatch ya backpack, nigga, fuck up your wack poems\nYou can't rap, slap his natch with the black chrome\nThis whipping was a warning, so ya take your ass back home\nNigga, see I pop shit with the same kinda guns that T.I. got knocked with\nExtra clip carrier, quick to click burry ya\nBoth talk tough, but bitch, I'mma bit scarier\nUh, Rambo guns, Commando guns\nCatch you at the beach, will heat up your sandals, son\nFuck with a vet, best believe you fuck with the best\nPut a slug in the revolver that'll fuck up your flesh\nPut a slug in the revolver and play Russian Roulette\nFuck it, I try, I do it, fuck if you die\nRuck, is the, luckiest fucker alive\nI went from nothing to something a couple of times\nI got a gun with a nozzle pump, cock back, we dump\nLift ya, who said white men can't jump\nI know, dead men talk cuz niggas get caught\nBut if ya, body a juror then a killa gon' talk\nDo ya biddy bop to the block, goodbye to your tail\nShit, a city cop, city shots, I am Sean Bell\nSemi auto four, leave your head looking real gory\nBe a ghost before Halloween, that's true story\nThat I blink like a transporter moving your order\nQuarterback spiral like bullets hit your autora\nWe ain't here to warn 'em, bring the water trigger, we squeezin'\nTwenty minute shootouts, clip empty we leaving\nWhen I jump in the porsche, hop in the charger\nFans can't catch the boy, I'm an artful dodger\nYou know who in charge, get your whole team washed\nThen go in and buy guns with the money from these bars\nYeah, the flow rapper, forties and automatic\nArm tatted, chron' addict, it's on when the God rapping\nThe dog grabbing, my paws, palming the double action\nPump blasting, punk bastards, slump backwards\nRap mastered, got cash? They all plastic\nSince graphics, all of my cons, all savage\nLord of War, Nicholas Cage, sick cannons\nSpit talents, til we the last Clik standing\nTimbs branded, scuffed up from kicking asses\nBucktown, we shoot first, then ask questions\nThis is my gun, this is my weapon\nThis is for fun, this is for sending niggas to heaven\nSing 'em a sermon, I heard somebody needed a reverend\nHeard he was telling, the bird, he sent a word to my brethren\nParabellum to the back of your melon\nYou want the rest? See the news at eleven\nIt go nine millimeter, mack 10, mack 11, twelve gauge\nHave your monkey maggot ass on channel seven\nTelling like, they shooting, that just how we making you Duck Down\nThis go round, what up now? He said, what, now?\nYou the old mattress bout to get drugged out\nLike me, I'm so addictive, I'm the newest drug out\nWith guns out, ignorant birds, we dumb foul\nRun out of shells and you ingrown hairs get plucked out\nGet smacked with a cap and come loud\nRock a pocket rocket, put a drop top on Run's house\nI ain't talking bout horizons when I say 'sun down'\nSon, down! down for the count, it was just for one round\nGive me two of those gats that Bruno had\nOn Pluto now, and only on them who hold gat\nAin't that false advertisement? I should sue those fags\nI'm just playing, you know that!\nFuck around these days, these dirty DA's'll do your raps\nNot guilty, but I do know gats, think about it like\nSeriously... is it true or all raps\nWhen I say I put a hole the size of my boot in your back","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: W.M.D. feat. Smif‐n‐Wessun\n  artist: Heltah Skeltah\n  album: D.I.R.T. (Da Incredible Rap Team)\n  duration_ms: 195000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Yo, two-two-two, five thirty-two, thirty-eight\n  Four-four-four, five, increase the murder rate\n  Great, shit can vertebrae, fuck up your backbone\n  Snatch ya backpack, nigga, fuck up your wack poems\n  You can't rap, slap his natch with the black chrome\n  This whipping was a warning, so ya take your ass back home\n  Nigga, see I pop shit with the same kinda guns that T.I. got knocked with\n  Extra clip carrier, quick to click burry ya\n  Both talk tough, but bitch, I'mma bit scarier\n  Uh, Rambo guns, Commando guns\n  Catch you at the beach, will heat up your sandals, son\n  Fuck with a vet, best believe you fuck with the best\n  Put a slug in the revolver that'll fuck up your flesh\n  Put a slug in the revolver and play Russian Roulette\n  Fuck it, I try, I do it, fuck if you die\n  Ruck, is the, luckiest fucker alive\n  I went from nothing to something a couple of times\n  I got a gun with a nozzle pump, cock back, we dump\n  Lift ya, who said white men can't jump\n  I know, dead men talk cuz niggas get caught\n  But if ya, body a juror then a killa gon' talk\n  Do ya biddy bop to the block, goodbye to your tail\n  Shit, a city cop, city shots, I am Sean Bell\n  Semi auto four, leave your head looking real gory\n  Be a ghost before Halloween, that's true story\n  That I blink like a transporter moving your order\n  Quarterback spiral like bullets hit your autora\n  We ain't here to warn 'em, bring the water trigger, we squeezin'\n  Twenty minute shootouts, clip empty we leaving\n  When I jump in the porsche, hop in the charger\n  Fans can't catch the boy, I'm an artful dodger\n  You know who in charge, get your whole team washed\n  Then go in and buy guns with the money from these bars\n  Yeah, the flow rapper, forties and automatic\n  Arm tatted, chron' addict, it's on when the God rapping\n  The dog grabbing, my paws, palming the double action\n  Pump blasting, punk bastards, slump backwards\n  Rap mastered, got cash? They all plastic\n  Since graphics, all of my cons, all savage\n  Lord of War, Nicholas Cage, sick cannons\n  Spit talents, til we the last Clik standing\n  Timbs branded, scuffed up from kicking asses\n  Bucktown, we shoot first, then ask questions\n  This is my gun, this is my weapon\n  This is for fun, this is for sending niggas to heaven\n  Sing 'em a sermon, I heard somebody needed a reverend\n  Heard he was telling, the bird, he sent a word to my brethren\n  Parabellum to the back of your melon\n  You want the rest? See the news at eleven\n  It go nine millimeter, mack 10, mack 11, twelve gauge\n  Have your monkey maggot ass on channel seven\n  Telling like, they shooting, that just how we making you Duck Down\n  This go round, what up now? He said, what, now?\n  You the old mattress bout to get drugged out\n  Like me, I'm so addictive, I'm the newest drug out\n  With guns out, ignorant birds, we dumb foul\n  Run out of shells and you ingrown hairs get plucked out\n  Get smacked with a cap and come loud\n  Rock a pocket rocket, put a drop top on Run's house\n  I ain't talking bout horizons when I say 'sun down'\n  Son, down! down for the count, it was just for one round\n  Give me two of those gats that Bruno had\n  On Pluto now, and only on them who hold gat\n  Ain't that false advertisement? I should sue those fags\n  I'm just playing, you know that!\n  Fuck around these days, these dirty DA's'll do your raps\n  Not guilty, but I do know gats, think about it like\n  Seriously... is it true or all raps\n  When I say I put a hole the size of my boot in your back\n"},{"id":28463177,"name":"W.M.D. (feat. Smif-N-Wessun)","trackName":"W.M.D. (feat. Smif-N-Wessun)","artistName":"Heltah Skeltah","albumName":"D.I.R.T. (Da Incredible Rap Team)","duration":195.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Yo, two-two-two, five thirty-two, thirty-eight\nFour-four-four, five, increase the murder rate\nGreat, shit can vertebrae, fuck up your backbone\nSnatch ya backpack, nigga, fuck up your wack poems\nYou can't rap, slap his natch with the black chrome\nThis whipping was a warning, so ya take your ass back home\nNigga, see I pop shit with the same kinda guns that T.I. got knocked with\nExtra clip carrier, quick to click burry ya\nBoth talk tough, but bitch, I'mma bit scarier\nUh, Rambo guns, Commando guns\nCatch you at the beach, will heat up your sandals, son\nFuck with a vet, best believe you fuck with the best\nPut a slug in the revolver that'll fuck up your flesh\nPut a slug in the revolver and play Russian Roulette\nFuck it, I try, I do it, fuck if you die\nRuck, is the, luckiest fucker alive\nI went from nothing to something a couple of times\nI got a gun with a nozzle pump, cock back, we dump\nLift ya, who said white men can't jump\nI know, dead men talk cuz niggas get caught\nBut if ya, body a juror then a killa gon' talk\nDo ya biddy bop to the block, goodbye to your tail\nShit, a city cop, city shots, I am Sean Bell\nSemi auto four, leave your head looking real gory\nBe a ghost before Halloween, that's true story\nThat I blink like a transporter moving your order\nQuarterback spiral like bullets hit your autora\nWe ain't here to warn 'em, bring the water trigger, we squeezin'\nTwenty minute shootouts, clip empty we leaving\nWhen I jump in the porsche, hop in the charger\nFans can't catch the boy, I'm an artful dodger\nYou know who in charge, get your whole team washed\nThen go in and buy guns with the money from these bars\nYeah, the flow rapper, forties and automatic\nArm tatted, chron' addict, it's on when the God rapping\nThe dog grabbing, my paws, palming the double action\nPump blasting, punk bastards, slump backwards\nRap mastered, got cash? They all plastic\nSince graphics, all of my cons, all savage\nLord of War, Nicholas Cage, sick cannons\nSpit talents, til we the last Clik standing\nTimbs branded, scuffed up from kicking asses\nBucktown, we shoot first, then ask questions\nThis is my gun, this is my weapon\nThis is for fun, this is for sending niggas to heaven\nSing 'em a sermon, I heard somebody needed a reverend\nHeard he was telling, the bird, he sent a word to my brethren\nParabellum to the back of your melon\nYou want the rest? See the news at eleven\nIt go nine millimeter, mack 10, mack 11, twelve gauge\nHave your monkey maggot ass on channel seven\nTelling like, they shooting, that just how we making you Duck Down\nThis go round, what up now? He said, what, now?\nYou the old mattress bout to get drugged out\nLike me, I'm so addictive, I'm the newest drug out\nWith guns out, ignorant birds, we dumb foul\nRun out of shells and you ingrown hairs get plucked out\nGet smacked with a cap and come loud\nRock a pocket rocket, put a drop top on Run's house\nI ain't talking bout horizons when I say 'sun down'\nSon, down! down for the count, it was just for one round\nGive me two of those gats that Bruno had\nOn Pluto now, and only on them who hold gat\nAin't that false advertisement? I should sue those fags\nI'm just playing, you know that!\nFuck around these days, these dirty DA's'll do your raps\nNot guilty, but I do know gats, think about it like\nSeriously... is it true or all raps\nWhen I say I put a hole the size of my boot in your back","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: W.M.D. (feat. Smif-N-Wessun)\n  artist: Heltah Skeltah\n  album: D.I.R.T. (Da Incredible Rap Team)\n  duration_ms: 195000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Yo, two-two-two, five thirty-two, thirty-eight\n  Four-four-four, five, increase the murder rate\n  Great, shit can vertebrae, fuck up your backbone\n  Snatch ya backpack, nigga, fuck up your wack poems\n  You can't rap, slap his natch with the black chrome\n  This whipping was a warning, so ya take your ass back home\n  Nigga, see I pop shit with the same kinda guns that T.I. got knocked with\n  Extra clip carrier, quick to click burry ya\n  Both talk tough, but bitch, I'mma bit scarier\n  Uh, Rambo guns, Commando guns\n  Catch you at the beach, will heat up your sandals, son\n  Fuck with a vet, best believe you fuck with the best\n  Put a slug in the revolver that'll fuck up your flesh\n  Put a slug in the revolver and play Russian Roulette\n  Fuck it, I try, I do it, fuck if you die\n  Ruck, is the, luckiest fucker alive\n  I went from nothing to something a couple of times\n  I got a gun with a nozzle pump, cock back, we dump\n  Lift ya, who said white men can't jump\n  I know, dead men talk cuz niggas get caught\n  But if ya, body a juror then a killa gon' talk\n  Do ya biddy bop to the block, goodbye to your tail\n  Shit, a city cop, city shots, I am Sean Bell\n  Semi auto four, leave your head looking real gory\n  Be a ghost before Halloween, that's true story\n  That I blink like a transporter moving your order\n  Quarterback spiral like bullets hit your autora\n  We ain't here to warn 'em, bring the water trigger, we squeezin'\n  Twenty minute shootouts, clip empty we leaving\n  When I jump in the porsche, hop in the charger\n  Fans can't catch the boy, I'm an artful dodger\n  You know who in charge, get your whole team washed\n  Then go in and buy guns with the money from these bars\n  Yeah, the flow rapper, forties and automatic\n  Arm tatted, chron' addict, it's on when the God rapping\n  The dog grabbing, my paws, palming the double action\n  Pump blasting, punk bastards, slump backwards\n  Rap mastered, got cash? They all plastic\n  Since graphics, all of my cons, all savage\n  Lord of War, Nicholas Cage, sick cannons\n  Spit talents, til we the last Clik standing\n  Timbs branded, scuffed up from kicking asses\n  Bucktown, we shoot first, then ask questions\n  This is my gun, this is my weapon\n  This is for fun, this is for sending niggas to heaven\n  Sing 'em a sermon, I heard somebody needed a reverend\n  Heard he was telling, the bird, he sent a word to my brethren\n  Parabellum to the back of your melon\n  You want the rest? See the news at eleven\n  It go nine millimeter, mack 10, mack 11, twelve gauge\n  Have your monkey maggot ass on channel seven\n  Telling like, they shooting, that just how we making you Duck Down\n  This go round, what up now? He said, what, now?\n  You the old mattress bout to get drugged out\n  Like me, I'm so addictive, I'm the newest drug out\n  With guns out, ignorant birds, we dumb foul\n  Run out of shells and you ingrown hairs get plucked out\n  Get smacked with a cap and come loud\n  Rock a pocket rocket, put a drop top on Run's house\n  I ain't talking bout horizons when I say 'sun down'\n  Son, down! down for the count, it was just for one round\n  Give me two of those gats that Bruno had\n  On Pluto now, and only on them who hold gat\n  Ain't that false advertisement? I should sue those fags\n  I'm just playing, you know that!\n  Fuck around these days, these dirty DA's'll do your raps\n  Not guilty, but I do know gats, think about it like\n  Seriously... is it true or all raps\n  When I say I put a hole the size of my boot in your back\n"},{"id":19201052,"name":"W.M.D. featuring Smif-N-Wessun (prod. M-Phazes for Pay Your Jews)","trackName":"W.M.D. featuring Smif-N-Wessun (prod. M-Phazes for Pay Your Jews)","artistName":"Heltah Skeltah","albumName":"D.I.R.T. (Da Incredible Rap Team)","duration":195.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Yo, two-two-two, five thirty-two, thirty-eight\nFour-four-four, five, increase the murder rate\nGreat, shit can vertebrae, fuck up your backbone\nSnatch ya backpack, nigga, fuck up your wack poems\nYou can't rap, slap his natch with the black chrome\nThis whipping was a warning, so ya take your ass back home\nNigga, see I pop shit with the same kinda guns that T.I. got knocked with\nExtra clip carrier, quick to click burry ya\nBoth talk tough, but bitch, I'mma bit scarier\nUh, Rambo guns, Commando guns\nCatch you at the beach, will heat up your sandals, son\nFuck with a vet, best believe you fuck with the best\nPut a slug in the revolver that'll fuck up your flesh\nPut a slug in the revolver and play Russian Roulette\nFuck it, I try, I do it, fuck if you die\nRuck, is the, luckiest fucker alive\nI went from nothing to something a couple of times\nI got a gun with a nozzle pump, cock back, we dump\nLift ya, who said white men can't jump\nI know, dead men talk cuz niggas get caught\nBut if ya, body a juror then a killa gon' talk\nDo ya biddy bop to the block, goodbye to your tail\nShit, a city cop, city shots, I am Sean Bell\nSemi auto four, leave your head looking real gory\nBe a ghost before Halloween, that's true story\nThat I blink like a transporter moving your order\nQuarterback spiral like bullets hit your autora\nWe ain't here to warn 'em, bring the water trigger, we squeezin'\nTwenty minute shootouts, clip empty we leaving\nWhen I jump in the porsche, hop in the charger\nFans can't catch the boy, I'm an artful dodger\nYou know who in charge, get your whole team washed\nThen go in and buy guns with the money from these bars\nYeah, the flow rapper, forties and automatic\nArm tatted, chron' addict, it's on when the God rapping\nThe dog grabbing, my paws, palming the double action\nPump blasting, punk bastards, slump backwards\nRap mastered, got cash? They all plastic\nSince graphics, all of my cons, all savage\nLord of War, Nicholas Cage, sick cannons\nSpit talents, til we the last Clik standing\nTimbs branded, scuffed up from kicking asses\nBucktown, we shoot first, then ask questions\nThis is my gun, this is my weapon\nThis is for fun, this is for sending niggas to heaven\nSing 'em a sermon, I heard somebody needed a reverend\nHeard he was telling, the bird, he sent a word to my brethren\nParabellum to the back of your melon\nYou want the rest? See the news at eleven\nIt go nine millimeter, mack 10, mack 11, twelve gauge\nHave your monkey maggot ass on channel seven\nTelling like, they shooting, that just how we making you Duck Down\nThis go round, what up now? He said, what, now?\nYou the old mattress bout to get drugged out\nLike me, I'm so addictive, I'm the newest drug out\nWith guns out, ignorant birds, we dumb foul\nRun out of shells and you ingrown hairs get plucked out\nGet smacked with a cap and come loud\nRock a pocket rocket, put a drop top on Run's house\nI ain't talking bout horizons when I say 'sun down'\nSon, down! down for the count, it was just for one round\nGive me two of those gats that Bruno had\nOn Pluto now, and only on them who hold gat\nAin't that false advertisement? I should sue those fags\nI'm just playing, you know that!\nFuck around these days, these dirty DA's'll do your raps\nNot guilty, but I do know gats, think about it like\nSeriously... is it true or all raps\nWhen I say I put a hole the size of my boot in your back","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: W.M.D. featuring Smif-N-Wessun (prod. M-Phazes for Pay Your Jews)\n  artist: Heltah Skeltah\n  album: D.I.R.T. (Da Incredible Rap Team)\n  duration_ms: 195000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Yo, two-two-two, five thirty-two, thirty-eight\n  Four-four-four, five, increase the murder rate\n  Great, shit can vertebrae, fuck up your backbone\n  Snatch ya backpack, nigga, fuck up your wack poems\n  You can't rap, slap his natch with the black chrome\n  This whipping was a warning, so ya take your ass back home\n  Nigga, see I pop shit with the same kinda guns that T.I. got knocked with\n  Extra clip carrier, quick to click burry ya\n  Both talk tough, but bitch, I'mma bit scarier\n  Uh, Rambo guns, Commando guns\n  Catch you at the beach, will heat up your sandals, son\n  Fuck with a vet, best believe you fuck with the best\n  Put a slug in the revolver that'll fuck up your flesh\n  Put a slug in the revolver and play Russian Roulette\n  Fuck it, I try, I do it, fuck if you die\n  Ruck, is the, luckiest fucker alive\n  I went from nothing to something a couple of times\n  I got a gun with a nozzle pump, cock back, we dump\n  Lift ya, who said white men can't jump\n  I know, dead men talk cuz niggas get caught\n  But if ya, body a juror then a killa gon' talk\n  Do ya biddy bop to the block, goodbye to your tail\n  Shit, a city cop, city shots, I am Sean Bell\n  Semi auto four, leave your head looking real gory\n  Be a ghost before Halloween, that's true story\n  That I blink like a transporter moving your order\n  Quarterback spiral like bullets hit your autora\n  We ain't here to warn 'em, bring the water trigger, we squeezin'\n  Twenty minute shootouts, clip empty we leaving\n  When I jump in the porsche, hop in the charger\n  Fans can't catch the boy, I'm an artful dodger\n  You know who in charge, get your whole team washed\n  Then go in and buy guns with the money from these bars\n  Yeah, the flow rapper, forties and automatic\n  Arm tatted, chron' addict, it's on when the God rapping\n  The dog grabbing, my paws, palming the double action\n  Pump blasting, punk bastards, slump backwards\n  Rap mastered, got cash? They all plastic\n  Since graphics, all of my cons, all savage\n  Lord of War, Nicholas Cage, sick cannons\n  Spit talents, til we the last Clik standing\n  Timbs branded, scuffed up from kicking asses\n  Bucktown, we shoot first, then ask questions\n  This is my gun, this is my weapon\n  This is for fun, this is for sending niggas to heaven\n  Sing 'em a sermon, I heard somebody needed a reverend\n  Heard he was telling, the bird, he sent a word to my brethren\n  Parabellum to the back of your melon\n  You want the rest? See the news at eleven\n  It go nine millimeter, mack 10, mack 11, twelve gauge\n  Have your monkey maggot ass on channel seven\n  Telling like, they shooting, that just how we making you Duck Down\n  This go round, what up now? He said, what, now?\n  You the old mattress bout to get drugged out\n  Like me, I'm so addictive, I'm the newest drug out\n  With guns out, ignorant birds, we dumb foul\n  Run out of shells and you ingrown hairs get plucked out\n  Get smacked with a cap and come loud\n  Rock a pocket rocket, put a drop top on Run's house\n  I ain't talking bout horizons when I say 'sun down'\n  Son, down! down for the count, it was just for one round\n  Give me two of those gats that Bruno had\n  On Pluto now, and only on them who hold gat\n  Ain't that false advertisement? I should sue those fags\n  I'm just playing, you know that!\n  Fuck around these days, these dirty DA's'll do your raps\n  Not guilty, but I do know gats, think about it like\n  Seriously... is it true or all raps\n  When I say I put a hole the size of my boot in your back\n"},{"id":20745468,"name":"W.M.D.","trackName":"W.M.D.","artistName":"Heltah Skeltah feat. Smif‐n‐Wessun","albumName":"D.I.R.T. (Da Incredible Rap Team)","duration":202.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Yo, two-two-two, five thirty-two, thirty-eight\nFour-four-four, five, increase the murder rate\nGreat, shit can vertebrae, fuck up your backbone\nSnatch ya backpack, nigga, fuck up your wack poems\nYou can't rap, slap his natch with the black chrome\nThis whipping was a warning, so ya take your ass back home\nNigga, see I pop shit with the same kinda guns that T.I. got knocked with\nExtra clip carrier, quick to click burry ya\nBoth talk tough, but bitch, I'mma bit scarier\nUh, Rambo guns, Commando guns\nCatch you at the beach, will heat up your sandals, son\nFuck with a vet, best believe you fuck with the best\nPut a slug in the revolver that'll fuck up your flesh\nPut a slug in the revolver and play Russian Roulette\nFuck it, I try, I do it, fuck if you die\nRuck, is the, luckiest fucker alive\nI went from nothing to something a couple of times\nI got a gun with a nozzle pump, cock back, we dump\nLift ya, who said white men can't jump\nI know, dead men talk cuz niggas get caught\nBut if ya, body a juror then a killa gon' talk\nDo ya biddy bop to the block, goodbye to your tail\nShit, a city cop, city shots, I am Sean Bell\nSemi auto four, leave your head looking real gory\nBe a ghost before Halloween, that's true story\nThat I blink like a transporter moving your order\nQuarterback spiral like bullets hit your autora\nWe ain't here to warn 'em, bring the water trigger, we squeezin'\nTwenty minute shootouts, clip empty we leaving\nWhen I jump in the porsche, hop in the charger\nFans can't catch the boy, I'm an artful dodger\nYou know who in charge, get your whole team washed\nThen go in and buy guns with the money from these bars\nYeah, the flow rapper, forties and automatic\nArm tatted, chron' addict, it's on when the God rapping\nThe dog grabbing, my paws, palming the double action\nPump blasting, punk bastards, slump backwards\nRap mastered, got cash? They all plastic\nSince graphics, all of my cons, all savage\nLord of War, Nicholas Cage, sick cannons\nSpit talents, til we the last Clik standing\nTimbs branded, scuffed up from kicking asses\nBucktown, we shoot first, then ask questions\nThis is my gun, this is my weapon\nThis is for fun, this is for sending niggas to heaven\nSing 'em a sermon, I heard somebody needed a reverend\nHeard he was telling, the bird, he sent a word to my brethren\nParabellum to the back of your melon\nYou want the rest? See the news at eleven\nIt go nine millimeter, mack 10, mack 11, twelve gauge\nHave your monkey maggot ass on channel seven\nTelling like, they shooting, that just how we making you Duck Down\nThis go round, what up now? He said, what, now?\nYou the old mattress bout to get drugged out\nLike me, I'm so addictive, I'm the newest drug out\nWith guns out, ignorant birds, we dumb foul\nRun out of shells and you ingrown hairs get plucked out\nGet smacked with a cap and come loud\nRock a pocket rocket, put a drop top on Run's house\nI ain't talking bout horizons when I say 'sun down'\nSon, down! down for the count, it was just for one round\nGive me two of those gats that Bruno had\nOn Pluto now, and only on them who hold gat\nAin't that false advertisement? I should sue those fags\nI'm just playing, you know that!\nFuck around these days, these dirty DA's'll do your raps\nNot guilty, but I do know gats, think about it like\nSeriously... is it true or all raps\nWhen I say I put a hole the size of my boot in your back","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: W.M.D.\n  artist: Heltah Skeltah feat. Smif‐n‐Wessun\n  album: D.I.R.T. (Da Incredible Rap Team)\n  duration_ms: 202000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Yo, two-two-two, five thirty-two, thirty-eight\n  Four-four-four, five, increase the murder rate\n  Great, shit can vertebrae, fuck up your backbone\n  Snatch ya backpack, nigga, fuck up your wack poems\n  You can't rap, slap his natch with the black chrome\n  This whipping was a warning, so ya take your ass back home\n  Nigga, see I pop shit with the same kinda guns that T.I. got knocked with\n  Extra clip carrier, quick to click burry ya\n  Both talk tough, but bitch, I'mma bit scarier\n  Uh, Rambo guns, Commando guns\n  Catch you at the beach, will heat up your sandals, son\n  Fuck with a vet, best believe you fuck with the best\n  Put a slug in the revolver that'll fuck up your flesh\n  Put a slug in the revolver and play Russian Roulette\n  Fuck it, I try, I do it, fuck if you die\n  Ruck, is the, luckiest fucker alive\n  I went from nothing to something a couple of times\n  I got a gun with a nozzle pump, cock back, we dump\n  Lift ya, who said white men can't jump\n  I know, dead men talk cuz niggas get caught\n  But if ya, body a juror then a killa gon' talk\n  Do ya biddy bop to the block, goodbye to your tail\n  Shit, a city cop, city shots, I am Sean Bell\n  Semi auto four, leave your head looking real gory\n  Be a ghost before Halloween, that's true story\n  That I blink like a transporter moving your order\n  Quarterback spiral like bullets hit your autora\n  We ain't here to warn 'em, bring the water trigger, we squeezin'\n  Twenty minute shootouts, clip empty we leaving\n  When I jump in the porsche, hop in the charger\n  Fans can't catch the boy, I'm an artful dodger\n  You know who in charge, get your whole team washed\n  Then go in and buy guns with the money from these bars\n  Yeah, the flow rapper, forties and automatic\n  Arm tatted, chron' addict, it's on when the God rapping\n  The dog grabbing, my paws, palming the double action\n  Pump blasting, punk bastards, slump backwards\n  Rap mastered, got cash? They all plastic\n  Since graphics, all of my cons, all savage\n  Lord of War, Nicholas Cage, sick cannons\n  Spit talents, til we the last Clik standing\n  Timbs branded, scuffed up from kicking asses\n  Bucktown, we shoot first, then ask questions\n  This is my gun, this is my weapon\n  This is for fun, this is for sending niggas to heaven\n  Sing 'em a sermon, I heard somebody needed a reverend\n  Heard he was telling, the bird, he sent a word to my brethren\n  Parabellum to the back of your melon\n  You want the rest? See the news at eleven\n  It go nine millimeter, mack 10, mack 11, twelve gauge\n  Have your monkey maggot ass on channel seven\n  Telling like, they shooting, that just how we making you Duck Down\n  This go round, what up now? He said, what, now?\n  You the old mattress bout to get drugged out\n  Like me, I'm so addictive, I'm the newest drug out\n  With guns out, ignorant birds, we dumb foul\n  Run out of shells and you ingrown hairs get plucked out\n  Get smacked with a cap and come loud\n  Rock a pocket rocket, put a drop top on Run's house\n  I ain't talking bout horizons when I say 'sun down'\n  Son, down! down for the count, it was just for one round\n  Give me two of those gats that Bruno had\n  On Pluto now, and only on them who hold gat\n  Ain't that false advertisement? I should sue those fags\n  I'm just playing, you know that!\n  Fuck around these days, these dirty DA's'll do your raps\n  Not guilty, but I do know gats, think about it like\n  Seriously... is it true or all raps\n  When I say I put a hole the size of my boot in your back\n"},{"id":10546344,"name":"W.M.D.","trackName":"W.M.D.","artistName":"Heltah Skeltah feat. Smif‐n‐Wessun","albumName":"D.I.R.T. (Da Incredible Rap Team)","duration":195.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Yo, two-two-two, five thirty-two, thirty-eight\nFour-four-four, five, increase the murder rate\nGreat, shit can vertebrae, fuck up your backbone\nSnatch ya backpack, nigga, fuck up your wack poems\nYou can't rap, slap his natch with the black chrome\nThis whipping was a warning, so ya take your ass back home\nNigga, see I pop shit with the same kinda guns that T.I. got knocked with\nExtra clip carrier, quick to click burry ya\nBoth talk tough, but bitch, I'mma bit scarier\nUh, Rambo guns, Commando guns\nCatch you at the beach, will heat up your sandals, son\nFuck with a vet, best believe you fuck with the best\nPut a slug in the revolver that'll fuck up your flesh\nPut a slug in the revolver and play Russian Roulette\nFuck it, I try, I do it, fuck if you die\nRuck, is the, luckiest fucker alive\nI went from nothing to something a couple of times\nI got a gun with a nozzle pump, cock back, we dump\nLift ya, who said white men can't jump\nI know, dead men talk cuz niggas get caught\nBut if ya, body a juror then a killa gon' talk\nDo ya biddy bop to the block, goodbye to your tail\nShit, a city cop, city shots, I am Sean Bell\nSemi auto four, leave your head looking real gory\nBe a ghost before Halloween, that's true story\nThat I blink like a transporter moving your order\nQuarterback spiral like bullets hit your autora\nWe ain't here to warn 'em, bring the water trigger, we squeezin'\nTwenty minute shootouts, clip empty we leaving\nWhen I jump in the porsche, hop in the charger\nFans can't catch the boy, I'm an artful dodger\nYou know who in charge, get your whole team washed\nThen go in and buy guns with the money from these bars\nYeah, the flow rapper, forties and automatic\nArm tatted, chron' addict, it's on when the God rapping\nThe dog grabbing, my paws, palming the double action\nPump blasting, punk bastards, slump backwards\nRap mastered, got cash? They all plastic\nSince graphics, all of my cons, all savage\nLord of War, Nicholas Cage, sick cannons\nSpit talents, til we the last Clik standing\nTimbs branded, scuffed up from kicking asses\nBucktown, we shoot first, then ask questions\nThis is my gun, this is my weapon\nThis is for fun, this is for sending niggas to heaven\nSing 'em a sermon, I heard somebody needed a reverend\nHeard he was telling, the bird, he sent a word to my brethren\nParabellum to the back of your melon\nYou want the rest? See the news at eleven\nIt go nine millimeter, mack 10, mack 11, twelve gauge\nHave your monkey maggot ass on channel seven\nTelling like, they shooting, that just how we making you Duck Down\nThis go round, what up now? He said, what, now?\nYou the old mattress bout to get drugged out\nLike me, I'm so addictive, I'm the newest drug out\nWith guns out, ignorant birds, we dumb foul\nRun out of shells and you ingrown hairs get plucked out\nGet smacked with a cap and come loud\nRock a pocket rocket, put a drop top on Run's house\nI ain't talking bout horizons when I say 'sun down'\nSon, down! down for the count, it was just for one round\nGive me two of those gats that Bruno had\nOn Pluto now, and only on them who hold gat\nAin't that false advertisement? I should sue those fags\nI'm just playing, you know that!\nFuck around these days, these dirty DA's'll do your raps\nNot guilty, but I do know gats, think about it like\nSeriously... is it true or all raps\nWhen I say I put a hole the size of my boot in your back","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: W.M.D.\n  artist: Heltah Skeltah feat. Smif‐n‐Wessun\n  album: D.I.R.T. (Da Incredible Rap Team)\n  duration_ms: 195000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Yo, two-two-two, five thirty-two, thirty-eight\n  Four-four-four, five, increase the murder rate\n  Great, shit can vertebrae, fuck up your backbone\n  Snatch ya backpack, nigga, fuck up your wack poems\n  You can't rap, slap his natch with the black chrome\n  This whipping was a warning, so ya take your ass back home\n  Nigga, see I pop shit with the same kinda guns that T.I. got knocked with\n  Extra clip carrier, quick to click burry ya\n  Both talk tough, but bitch, I'mma bit scarier\n  Uh, Rambo guns, Commando guns\n  Catch you at the beach, will heat up your sandals, son\n  Fuck with a vet, best believe you fuck with the best\n  Put a slug in the revolver that'll fuck up your flesh\n  Put a slug in the revolver and play Russian Roulette\n  Fuck it, I try, I do it, fuck if you die\n  Ruck, is the, luckiest fucker alive\n  I went from nothing to something a couple of times\n  I got a gun with a nozzle pump, cock back, we dump\n  Lift ya, who said white men can't jump\n  I know, dead men talk cuz niggas get caught\n  But if ya, body a juror then a killa gon' talk\n  Do ya biddy bop to the block, goodbye to your tail\n  Shit, a city cop, city shots, I am Sean Bell\n  Semi auto four, leave your head looking real gory\n  Be a ghost before Halloween, that's true story\n  That I blink like a transporter moving your order\n  Quarterback spiral like bullets hit your autora\n  We ain't here to warn 'em, bring the water trigger, we squeezin'\n  Twenty minute shootouts, clip empty we leaving\n  When I jump in the porsche, hop in the charger\n  Fans can't catch the boy, I'm an artful dodger\n  You know who in charge, get your whole team washed\n  Then go in and buy guns with the money from these bars\n  Yeah, the flow rapper, forties and automatic\n  Arm tatted, chron' addict, it's on when the God rapping\n  The dog grabbing, my paws, palming the double action\n  Pump blasting, punk bastards, slump backwards\n  Rap mastered, got cash? They all plastic\n  Since graphics, all of my cons, all savage\n  Lord of War, Nicholas Cage, sick cannons\n  Spit talents, til we the last Clik standing\n  Timbs branded, scuffed up from kicking asses\n  Bucktown, we shoot first, then ask questions\n  This is my gun, this is my weapon\n  This is for fun, this is for sending niggas to heaven\n  Sing 'em a sermon, I heard somebody needed a reverend\n  Heard he was telling, the bird, he sent a word to my brethren\n  Parabellum to the back of your melon\n  You want the rest? See the news at eleven\n  It go nine millimeter, mack 10, mack 11, twelve gauge\n  Have your monkey maggot ass on channel seven\n  Telling like, they shooting, that just how we making you Duck Down\n  This go round, what up now? He said, what, now?\n  You the old mattress bout to get drugged out\n  Like me, I'm so addictive, I'm the newest drug out\n  With guns out, ignorant birds, we dumb foul\n  Run out of shells and you ingrown hairs get plucked out\n  Get smacked with a cap and come loud\n  Rock a pocket rocket, put a drop top on Run's house\n  I ain't talking bout horizons when I say 'sun down'\n  Son, down! down for the count, it was just for one round\n  Give me two of those gats that Bruno had\n  On Pluto now, and only on them who hold gat\n  Ain't that false advertisement? I should sue those fags\n  I'm just playing, you know that!\n  Fuck around these days, these dirty DA's'll do your raps\n  Not guilty, but I do know gats, think about it like\n  Seriously... is it true or all raps\n  When I say I put a hole the size of my boot in your back\n"},{"id":11561146,"name":"W.M.D.","trackName":"W.M.D.","artistName":"Heltah Skeltah feat. Smif-n-Wessun","albumName":"D.I.R.T. (Da Incredible Rap Team)","duration":195.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Yo, two-two-two, five thirty-two, thirty-eight\nFour-four-four, five, increase the murder rate\nGreat, shit can vertebrae, fuck up your backbone\nSnatch ya backpack, nigga, fuck up your wack poems\nYou can't rap, slap his natch with the black chrome\nThis whipping was a warning, so ya take your ass back home\nNigga, see I pop shit with the same kinda guns that T.I. got knocked with\nExtra clip carrier, quick to click burry ya\nBoth talk tough, but bitch, I'mma bit scarier\nUh, Rambo guns, Commando guns\nCatch you at the beach, will heat up your sandals, son\nFuck with a vet, best believe you fuck with the best\nPut a slug in the revolver that'll fuck up your flesh\nPut a slug in the revolver and play Russian Roulette\nFuck it, I try, I do it, fuck if you die\nRuck, is the, luckiest fucker alive\nI went from nothing to something a couple of times\nI got a gun with a nozzle pump, cock back, we dump\nLift ya, who said white men can't jump\nI know, dead men talk cuz niggas get caught\nBut if ya, body a juror then a killa gon' talk\nDo ya biddy bop to the block, goodbye to your tail\nShit, a city cop, city shots, I am Sean Bell\nSemi auto four, leave your head looking real gory\nBe a ghost before Halloween, that's true story\nThat I blink like a transporter moving your order\nQuarterback spiral like bullets hit your autora\nWe ain't here to warn 'em, bring the water trigger, we squeezin'\nTwenty minute shootouts, clip empty we leaving\nWhen I jump in the porsche, hop in the charger\nFans can't catch the boy, I'm an artful dodger\nYou know who in charge, get your whole team washed\nThen go in and buy guns with the money from these bars\nYeah, the flow rapper, forties and automatic\nArm tatted, chron' addict, it's on when the God rapping\nThe dog grabbing, my paws, palming the double action\nPump blasting, punk bastards, slump backwards\nRap mastered, got cash? They all plastic\nSince graphics, all of my cons, all savage\nLord of War, Nicholas Cage, sick cannons\nSpit talents, til we the last Clik standing\nTimbs branded, scuffed up from kicking asses\nBucktown, we shoot first, then ask questions\nThis is my gun, this is my weapon\nThis is for fun, this is for sending niggas to heaven\nSing 'em a sermon, I heard somebody needed a reverend\nHeard he was telling, the bird, he sent a word to my brethren\nParabellum to the back of your melon\nYou want the rest? See the news at eleven\nIt go nine millimeter, mack 10, mack 11, twelve gauge\nHave your monkey maggot ass on channel seven\nTelling like, they shooting, that just how we making you Duck Down\nThis go round, what up now? He said, what, now?\nYou the old mattress bout to get drugged out\nLike me, I'm so addictive, I'm the newest drug out\nWith guns out, ignorant birds, we dumb foul\nRun out of shells and you ingrown hairs get plucked out\nGet smacked with a cap and come loud\nRock a pocket rocket, put a drop top on Run's house\nI ain't talking bout horizons when I say 'sun down'\nSon, down! down for the count, it was just for one round\nGive me two of those gats that Bruno had\nOn Pluto now, and only on them who hold gat\nAin't that false advertisement? I should sue those fags\nI'm just playing, you know that!\nFuck around these days, these dirty DA's'll do your raps\nNot guilty, but I do know gats, think about it like\nSeriously... is it true or all raps\nWhen I say I put a hole the size of my boot in your back","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: W.M.D.\n  artist: Heltah Skeltah feat. Smif-n-Wessun\n  album: D.I.R.T. (Da Incredible Rap Team)\n  duration_ms: 195000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Yo, two-two-two, five thirty-two, thirty-eight\n  Four-four-four, five, increase the murder rate\n  Great, shit can vertebrae, fuck up your backbone\n  Snatch ya backpack, nigga, fuck up your wack poems\n  You can't rap, slap his natch with the black chrome\n  This whipping was a warning, so ya take your ass back home\n  Nigga, see I pop shit with the same kinda guns that T.I. got knocked with\n  Extra clip carrier, quick to click burry ya\n  Both talk tough, but bitch, I'mma bit scarier\n  Uh, Rambo guns, Commando guns\n  Catch you at the beach, will heat up your sandals, son\n  Fuck with a vet, best believe you fuck with the best\n  Put a slug in the revolver that'll fuck up your flesh\n  Put a slug in the revolver and play Russian Roulette\n  Fuck it, I try, I do it, fuck if you die\n  Ruck, is the, luckiest fucker alive\n  I went from nothing to something a couple of times\n  I got a gun with a nozzle pump, cock back, we dump\n  Lift ya, who said white men can't jump\n  I know, dead men talk cuz niggas get caught\n  But if ya, body a juror then a killa gon' talk\n  Do ya biddy bop to the block, goodbye to your tail\n  Shit, a city cop, city shots, I am Sean Bell\n  Semi auto four, leave your head looking real gory\n  Be a ghost before Halloween, that's true story\n  That I blink like a transporter moving your order\n  Quarterback spiral like bullets hit your autora\n  We ain't here to warn 'em, bring the water trigger, we squeezin'\n  Twenty minute shootouts, clip empty we leaving\n  When I jump in the porsche, hop in the charger\n  Fans can't catch the boy, I'm an artful dodger\n  You know who in charge, get your whole team washed\n  Then go in and buy guns with the money from these bars\n  Yeah, the flow rapper, forties and automatic\n  Arm tatted, chron' addict, it's on when the God rapping\n  The dog grabbing, my paws, palming the double action\n  Pump blasting, punk bastards, slump backwards\n  Rap mastered, got cash? They all plastic\n  Since graphics, all of my cons, all savage\n  Lord of War, Nicholas Cage, sick cannons\n  Spit talents, til we the last Clik standing\n  Timbs branded, scuffed up from kicking asses\n  Bucktown, we shoot first, then ask questions\n  This is my gun, this is my weapon\n  This is for fun, this is for sending niggas to heaven\n  Sing 'em a sermon, I heard somebody needed a reverend\n  Heard he was telling, the bird, he sent a word to my brethren\n  Parabellum to the back of your melon\n  You want the rest? See the news at eleven\n  It go nine millimeter, mack 10, mack 11, twelve gauge\n  Have your monkey maggot ass on channel seven\n  Telling like, they shooting, that just how we making you Duck Down\n  This go round, what up now? He said, what, now?\n  You the old mattress bout to get drugged out\n  Like me, I'm so addictive, I'm the newest drug out\n  With guns out, ignorant birds, we dumb foul\n  Run out of shells and you ingrown hairs get plucked out\n  Get smacked with a cap and come loud\n  Rock a pocket rocket, put a drop top on Run's house\n  I ain't talking bout horizons when I say 'sun down'\n  Son, down! down for the count, it was just for one round\n  Give me two of those gats that Bruno had\n  On Pluto now, and only on them who hold gat\n  Ain't that false advertisement? I should sue those fags\n  I'm just playing, you know that!\n  Fuck around these days, these dirty DA's'll do your raps\n  Not guilty, but I do know gats, think about it like\n  Seriously... is it true or all raps\n  When I say I put a hole the size of my boot in your back\n"},{"id":37932625,"name":"W.M.D.","trackName":"W.M.D.","artistName":"Heltah Skeltah Feat. Smif-N-Wessun","albumName":"D.I.R.T. (Da Incredible Rap Team)","duration":202.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Yo, two-two-two, five thirty-two, thirty-eight\nFour-four-four, five, increase the murder rate\nGreat, shit can vertebrae, fuck up your backbone\nSnatch ya backpack, nigga, fuck up your wack poems\nYou can't rap, slap his natch with the black chrome\nThis whipping was a warning, so ya take your ass back home\nNigga, see I pop shit with the same kinda guns that T.I. got knocked with\nExtra clip carrier, quick to click burry ya\nBoth talk tough, but bitch, I'mma bit scarier\nUh, Rambo guns, Commando guns\nCatch you at the beach, will heat up your sandals, son\nFuck with a vet, best believe you fuck with the best\nPut a slug in the revolver that'll fuck up your flesh\nPut a slug in the revolver and play Russian Roulette\nFuck it, I try, I do it, fuck if you die\nRuck, is the, luckiest fucker alive\nI went from nothing to something a couple of times\nI got a gun with a nozzle pump, cock back, we dump\nLift ya, who said white men can't jump\nI know, dead men talk cuz niggas get caught\nBut if ya, body a juror then a killa gon' talk\nDo ya biddy bop to the block, goodbye to your tail\nShit, a city cop, city shots, I am Sean Bell\nSemi auto four, leave your head looking real gory\nBe a ghost before Halloween, that's true story\nThat I blink like a transporter moving your order\nQuarterback spiral like bullets hit your autora\nWe ain't here to warn 'em, bring the water trigger, we squeezin'\nTwenty minute shootouts, clip empty we leaving\nWhen I jump in the porsche, hop in the charger\nFans can't catch the boy, I'm an artful dodger\nYou know who in charge, get your whole team washed\nThen go in and buy guns with the money from these bars\nYeah, the flow rapper, forties and automatic\nArm tatted, chron' addict, it's on when the God rapping\nThe dog grabbing, my paws, palming the double action\nPump blasting, punk bastards, slump backwards\nRap mastered, got cash? They all plastic\nSince graphics, all of my cons, all savage\nLord of War, Nicholas Cage, sick cannons\nSpit talents, til we the last Clik standing\nTimbs branded, scuffed up from kicking asses\nBucktown, we shoot first, then ask questions\nThis is my gun, this is my weapon\nThis is for fun, this is for sending niggas to heaven\nSing 'em a sermon, I heard somebody needed a reverend\nHeard he was telling, the bird, he sent a word to my brethren\nParabellum to the back of your melon\nYou want the rest? See the news at eleven\nIt go nine millimeter, mack 10, mack 11, twelve gauge\nHave your monkey maggot ass on channel seven\nTelling like, they shooting, that just how we making you Duck Down\nThis go round, what up now? He said, what, now?\nYou the old mattress bout to get drugged out\nLike me, I'm so addictive, I'm the newest drug out\nWith guns out, ignorant birds, we dumb foul\nRun out of shells and you ingrown hairs get plucked out\nGet smacked with a cap and come loud\nRock a pocket rocket, put a drop top on Run's house\nI ain't talking bout horizons when I say 'sun down'\nSon, down! down for the count, it was just for one round\nGive me two of those gats that Bruno had\nOn Pluto now, and only on them who hold gat\nAin't that false advertisement? I should sue those fags\nI'm just playing, you know that!\nFuck around these days, these dirty DA's'll do your raps\nNot guilty, but I do know gats, think about it like\nSeriously... is it true or all raps\nWhen I say I put a hole the size of my boot in your back","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: W.M.D.\n  artist: Heltah Skeltah Feat. Smif-N-Wessun\n  album: D.I.R.T. (Da Incredible Rap Team)\n  duration_ms: 202000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Yo, two-two-two, five thirty-two, thirty-eight\n  Four-four-four, five, increase the murder rate\n  Great, shit can vertebrae, fuck up your backbone\n  Snatch ya backpack, nigga, fuck up your wack poems\n  You can't rap, slap his natch with the black chrome\n  This whipping was a warning, so ya take your ass back home\n  Nigga, see I pop shit with the same kinda guns that T.I. got knocked with\n  Extra clip carrier, quick to click burry ya\n  Both talk tough, but bitch, I'mma bit scarier\n  Uh, Rambo guns, Commando guns\n  Catch you at the beach, will heat up your sandals, son\n  Fuck with a vet, best believe you fuck with the best\n  Put a slug in the revolver that'll fuck up your flesh\n  Put a slug in the revolver and play Russian Roulette\n  Fuck it, I try, I do it, fuck if you die\n  Ruck, is the, luckiest fucker alive\n  I went from nothing to something a couple of times\n  I got a gun with a nozzle pump, cock back, we dump\n  Lift ya, who said white men can't jump\n  I know, dead men talk cuz niggas get caught\n  But if ya, body a juror then a killa gon' talk\n  Do ya biddy bop to the block, goodbye to your tail\n  Shit, a city cop, city shots, I am Sean Bell\n  Semi auto four, leave your head looking real gory\n  Be a ghost before Halloween, that's true story\n  That I blink like a transporter moving your order\n  Quarterback spiral like bullets hit your autora\n  We ain't here to warn 'em, bring the water trigger, we squeezin'\n  Twenty minute shootouts, clip empty we leaving\n  When I jump in the porsche, hop in the charger\n  Fans can't catch the boy, I'm an artful dodger\n  You know who in charge, get your whole team washed\n  Then go in and buy guns with the money from these bars\n  Yeah, the flow rapper, forties and automatic\n  Arm tatted, chron' addict, it's on when the God rapping\n  The dog grabbing, my paws, palming the double action\n  Pump blasting, punk bastards, slump backwards\n  Rap mastered, got cash? They all plastic\n  Since graphics, all of my cons, all savage\n  Lord of War, Nicholas Cage, sick cannons\n  Spit talents, til we the last Clik standing\n  Timbs branded, scuffed up from kicking asses\n  Bucktown, we shoot first, then ask questions\n  This is my gun, this is my weapon\n  This is for fun, this is for sending niggas to heaven\n  Sing 'em a sermon, I heard somebody needed a reverend\n  Heard he was telling, the bird, he sent a word to my brethren\n  Parabellum to the back of your melon\n  You want the rest? See the news at eleven\n  It go nine millimeter, mack 10, mack 11, twelve gauge\n  Have your monkey maggot ass on channel seven\n  Telling like, they shooting, that just how we making you Duck Down\n  This go round, what up now? He said, what, now?\n  You the old mattress bout to get drugged out\n  Like me, I'm so addictive, I'm the newest drug out\n  With guns out, ignorant birds, we dumb foul\n  Run out of shells and you ingrown hairs get plucked out\n  Get smacked with a cap and come loud\n  Rock a pocket rocket, put a drop top on Run's house\n  I ain't talking bout horizons when I say 'sun down'\n  Son, down! down for the count, it was just for one round\n  Give me two of those gats that Bruno had\n  On Pluto now, and only on them who hold gat\n  Ain't that false advertisement? I should sue those fags\n  I'm just playing, you know that!\n  Fuck around these days, these dirty DA's'll do your raps\n  Not guilty, but I do know gats, think about it like\n  Seriously... is it true or all raps\n  When I say I put a hole the size of my boot in your back\n"}]