[{"id":2475907,"name":"Money On My Brain","trackName":"Money On My Brain","artistName":"Kool G Rap","albumName":"4,5,6","duration":293.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Ninety-five, keep it live\nYeah to make papers, knahmsayin?\nMotherfuckin Kool G. Rap and B1\nAnd my motherfuckin man Grimm\nJust comin with somethin to keep the brainstem\n\nIt's Big 1 son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\nAnd I'ma exploit, heaven and earth, for what it's worth\nIt's the MC extrordinaire, the jewels glare\nThe God is rare, I'm takin bitches back to my lair\nI want mines and yours, strippin niggaz to they drawers\nNo probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\nIt's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\nIn eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\nNow I'm sippin Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\nAs the sirens race to the scene\nTryin to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\nSeats for carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\nI got the game down to a science, it's the clients\nThat turn small time hustlers into giants\nThree course meal, waitin for my appetizer\nBlowin like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\nParaphenalia, and material, makes the crew imperial\nI put the fear in you, sippin beer with two\nHandlin business properly, form a monopoly\nStorefront property, if not, another robbery\nI'm puttin forth the effort, murder's the method\nThe steak is peppered\nSon when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\nBloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\nDon't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n\nGrimm, B1\n\nI gotta flip these bricks\nCause bein broke drive me insane\nMoney's on my motherfuckin brain\nFrom O-Z's to ki's\nThe triple beam brings fame to my name\nMoney's on my motherfuckin brain\nNiggaz be scheamin and teamin\nBut still I maintain\nMoney's on my motherfuckin brain\nCause money and murder go hand in hand\nIt ain't nothin but a game\nMoney's on my motherfuckin brain son\n\nCryin hopin God forgive me for the ones I killed\nBut until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\nLike McDonald's, makin mills servin\nFuck a Landcruiser now, pulls a? to Suburban\nStressed out, sittin thinkin past bed time\nScared can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\nDiamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\nFat shit I'm talkin code cause my phone's tapped\nCrackheads worship me like I'm Jesus\nUncle Sam can't stand me cause I'm fuckin all his nieces\nCuties every colour, who I wanna fuck next?\nBuy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\nLook at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\nBulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\nA large ratio in this game dies\nBut I'm flippin pies, til the Senate legalize\n\nGrimm, G. Rap (same lines)\n\nI'm sportin flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Bezn with the chrome rims\nPresedential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\nPockets filled with lucci leather wallets designed by Gucci\nParlay in resteraunts, eatin shrimp, scampi and sushi\nFly minks, with icicles that blink inside cuban links\nLookin?, brothers stink, got loot like I'm doin banks\nHundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\nFront row seats up at the Grammy's, the broke niggaz can't stand me\nHold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\nJust home by the dingos, I step up in em rockin Kangols\nStraight up fakin no jacks, cause all my crackshacks are jam packed\nMy mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track, like Amtrak\nSo stand back, cause I'ma make whatever it takes\nTo shake Jakes, and shoot snakes, and bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\nCut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\nStill like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor cause I'm ill\nIt's war, but no more kids are bein kidnapped, matter of fact\nAin't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\nThere's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\nSo niggaz in pajamas get they wigs split like bananas\nStable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin bodies\nNeighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\nYeah, paid as a motherfuckin bank teller\nThe Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin drug seller\n\nGrimm, G. Rap, B1 (G and B alternate)","syncedLyrics":"[00:06.17] Ninety-five, keep it live\n[00:07.82] Yeah to make papers, knahmsayin?\n[00:09.96] Motherfuckin Kool G. Rap and B1\n[00:12.20] And my motherfuckin man Grimm\n[00:13.97] Just comin with somethin to keep the brainstem\n[00:17.43] It's Big 1 son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\n[00:23.76] And I'ma exploit, heaven and earth, for what it's worth\n[00:26.66] It's the MC extrordinaire, the jewels glare\n[00:29.11] The God is rare, I'm takin bitches back to my lair\n[00:31.79] I want mines and yours, strippin niggaz to they drawers\n[00:34.63] No probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\n[00:37.22] It's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\n[00:39.68] In eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n[00:43.32] Now I'm sippin Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\n[00:45.63] As the sirens race to the scene\n[00:47.94] Tryin to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\n[00:50.53] Seats for carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n[00:53.39] I got the game down to a science, it's the clients\n[00:56.59] That turn small time hustlers into giants\n[00:58.89] Three course meal, waitin for my appetizer\n[01:01.16] Blowin like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n[01:04.06] Paraphenalia, and material, makes the crew imperial\n[01:07.73] I put the fear in you, sippin beer with two\n[01:09.44] Handlin business properly, form a monopoly\n[01:12.14] Storefront property, if not, another robbery\n[01:14.92] I'm puttin forth the effort, murder's the method\n[01:17.37] The steak is peppered\n[01:18.38] Son when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\n[01:20.30] Bloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\n[01:22.64] Don't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n[01:24.50] Grimm, B1\n[01:25.87] I gotta flip these bricks\n[01:26.96] Cause bein broke drive me insane\n[01:28.17] Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n[01:30.37] From O-Z's to ki's\n[01:31.93] The triple beam brings fame to my name\n[01:34.00] Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n[01:35.63] Niggaz be scheamin and teamin\n[01:37.90] But still I maintain\n[01:39.92] Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n[01:41.23] Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n[01:43.34] It ain't nothin but a game\n[01:45.44] Money's on my motherfuckin brain son\n[01:46.31] Cryin hopin God forgive me for the ones I killed\n[01:49.46] But until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\n[01:52.28] Like McDonald's, makin mills servin\n[01:54.76] Fuck a Landcruiser now, pulls a? to Suburban\n[01:57.39] Stressed out, sittin thinkin past bed time\n[02:00.07] Scared can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\n[02:02.85] Diamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\n[02:05.48] Fat shit I'm talkin code cause my phone's tapped\n[02:08.35] Crackheads worship me like I'm Jesus\n[02:10.82] Uncle Sam can't stand me cause I'm fuckin all his nieces\n[02:13.42] Cuties every colour, who I wanna fuck next?\n[02:16.18] Buy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\n[02:18.97] Look at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\n[02:21.84] Bulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\n[02:24.46] A large ratio in this game dies\n[02:26.66] But I'm flippin pies, til the Senate legalize\n[02:29.74] Grimm, G. Rap (same lines)\n[02:50.60] I'm sportin flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Bezn with the chrome rims\n[02:53.66] Presedential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\n[02:56.21] Pockets filled with lucci leather wallets designed by Gucci\n[02:59.07] Parlay in resteraunts, eatin shrimp, scampi and sushi\n[03:01.53] Fly minks, with icicles that blink inside cuban links\n[03:04.28] Lookin?, brothers stink, got loot like I'm doin banks\n[03:06.91] Hundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\n[03:09.44] Front row seats up at the Grammy's, the broke niggaz can't stand me\n[03:12.22] Hold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\n[03:14.71] Just home by the dingos, I step up in em rockin Kangols\n[03:17.46] Straight up fakin no jacks, cause all my crackshacks are jam packed\n[03:20.26] My mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track, like Amtrak\n[03:22.95] So stand back, cause I'ma make whatever it takes\n[03:25.41] To shake Jakes, and shoot snakes, and bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\n[03:28.47] Cut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\n[03:30.82] Still like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor cause I'm ill\n[03:33.49] It's war, but no more kids are bein kidnapped, matter of fact\n[03:36.33] Ain't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\n[03:39.02] There's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\n[03:41.67] So niggaz in pajamas get they wigs split like bananas\n[03:44.49] Stable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin bodies\n[03:47.00] Neighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\n[03:49.41] Yeah, paid as a motherfuckin bank teller\n[03:51.92] The Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin drug seller\n[03:54.92] Grimm, G. Rap, B1 (G and B alternate)\n[04:15.90] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Money On My Brain\n  artist: Kool G Rap\n  album: 4,5,6\n  duration_ms: 293000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Ninety-five, keep it live\n  start_ms: 6170\n  end_ms: 7820\n- text: Yeah to make papers, knahmsayin?\n  start_ms: 7820\n  end_ms: 9960\n- text: Motherfuckin Kool G. Rap and B1\n  start_ms: 9960\n  end_ms: 12200\n- text: And my motherfuckin man Grimm\n  start_ms: 12200\n  end_ms: 13970\n- text: Just comin with somethin to keep the brainstem\n  start_ms: 13970\n  end_ms: 17430\n- text: It's Big 1 son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\n  start_ms: 17430\n  end_ms: 23760\n- text: And I'ma exploit, heaven and earth, for what it's worth\n  start_ms: 23760\n  end_ms: 26660\n- text: It's the MC extrordinaire, the jewels glare\n  start_ms: 26660\n  end_ms: 29110\n- text: The God is rare, I'm takin bitches back to my lair\n  start_ms: 29110\n  end_ms: 31790\n- text: I want mines and yours, strippin niggaz to they drawers\n  start_ms: 31790\n  end_ms: 34630\n- text: No probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\n  start_ms: 34630\n  end_ms: 37220\n- text: It's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\n  start_ms: 37220\n  end_ms: 39680\n- text: In eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n  start_ms: 39680\n  end_ms: 43320\n- text: Now I'm sippin Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\n  start_ms: 43320\n  end_ms: 45630\n- text: As the sirens race to the scene\n  start_ms: 45630\n  end_ms: 47940\n- text: Tryin to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\n  start_ms: 47940\n  end_ms: 50530\n- text: Seats for carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n  start_ms: 50530\n  end_ms: 53390\n- text: I got the game down to a science, it's the clients\n  start_ms: 53390\n  end_ms: 56590\n- text: That turn small time hustlers into giants\n  start_ms: 56590\n  end_ms: 58890\n- text: Three course meal, waitin for my appetizer\n  start_ms: 58890\n  end_ms: 61160\n- text: Blowin like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n  start_ms: 61160\n  end_ms: 64060\n- text: Paraphenalia, and material, makes the crew imperial\n  start_ms: 64060\n  end_ms: 67730\n- text: I put the fear in you, sippin beer with two\n  start_ms: 67730\n  end_ms: 69440\n- text: Handlin business properly, form a monopoly\n  start_ms: 69440\n  end_ms: 72140\n- text: Storefront property, if not, another robbery\n  start_ms: 72140\n  end_ms: 74920\n- text: I'm puttin forth the effort, murder's the method\n  start_ms: 74920\n  end_ms: 77370\n- text: The steak is peppered\n  start_ms: 77370\n  end_ms: 78380\n- text: Son when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\n  start_ms: 78380\n  end_ms: 80300\n- text: Bloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\n  start_ms: 80300\n  end_ms: 82640\n- text: Don't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n  start_ms: 82640\n  end_ms: 84500\n- text: Grimm, B1\n  start_ms: 84500\n  end_ms: 85870\n- text: I gotta flip these bricks\n  start_ms: 85870\n  end_ms: 86960\n- text: Cause bein broke drive me insane\n  start_ms: 86960\n  end_ms: 88170\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n  start_ms: 88170\n  end_ms: 90370\n- text: From O-Z's to ki's\n  start_ms: 90370\n  end_ms: 91930\n- text: The triple beam brings fame to my name\n  start_ms: 91930\n  end_ms: 94000\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n  start_ms: 94000\n  end_ms: 95630\n- text: Niggaz be scheamin and teamin\n  start_ms: 95630\n  end_ms: 97900\n- text: But still I maintain\n  start_ms: 97900\n  end_ms: 99920\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n  start_ms: 99920\n  end_ms: 101230\n- text: Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  start_ms: 101230\n  end_ms: 103340\n- text: It ain't nothin but a game\n  start_ms: 103340\n  end_ms: 105440\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin brain son\n  start_ms: 105440\n  end_ms: 106310\n- text: Cryin hopin God forgive me for the ones I killed\n  start_ms: 106310\n  end_ms: 109460\n- text: But until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\n  start_ms: 109460\n  end_ms: 112280\n- text: Like McDonald's, makin mills servin\n  start_ms: 112280\n  end_ms: 114760\n- text: Fuck a Landcruiser now, pulls a? to Suburban\n  start_ms: 114760\n  end_ms: 117390\n- text: Stressed out, sittin thinkin past bed time\n  start_ms: 117390\n  end_ms: 120070\n- text: Scared can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\n  start_ms: 120070\n  end_ms: 122850\n- text: Diamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\n  start_ms: 122850\n  end_ms: 125480\n- text: Fat shit I'm talkin code cause my phone's tapped\n  start_ms: 125480\n  end_ms: 128350\n- text: Crackheads worship me like I'm Jesus\n  start_ms: 128350\n  end_ms: 130820\n- text: Uncle Sam can't stand me cause I'm fuckin all his nieces\n  start_ms: 130820\n  end_ms: 133420\n- text: Cuties every colour, who I wanna fuck next?\n  start_ms: 133420\n  end_ms: 136180\n- text: Buy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\n  start_ms: 136180\n  end_ms: 138970\n- text: Look at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\n  start_ms: 138970\n  end_ms: 141840\n- text: Bulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\n  start_ms: 141840\n  end_ms: 144460\n- text: A large ratio in this game dies\n  start_ms: 144460\n  end_ms: 146660\n- text: But I'm flippin pies, til the Senate legalize\n  start_ms: 146660\n  end_ms: 149740\n- text: Grimm, G. Rap (same lines)\n  start_ms: 149740\n  end_ms: 170600\n- text: I'm sportin flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Bezn with the chrome rims\n  start_ms: 170600\n  end_ms: 173660\n- text: Presedential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\n  start_ms: 173660\n  end_ms: 176210\n- text: Pockets filled with lucci leather wallets designed by Gucci\n  start_ms: 176210\n  end_ms: 179070\n- text: Parlay in resteraunts, eatin shrimp, scampi and sushi\n  start_ms: 179070\n  end_ms: 181530\n- text: Fly minks, with icicles that blink inside cuban links\n  start_ms: 181530\n  end_ms: 184280\n- text: Lookin?, brothers stink, got loot like I'm doin banks\n  start_ms: 184280\n  end_ms: 186910\n- text: Hundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\n  start_ms: 186910\n  end_ms: 189440\n- text: Front row seats up at the Grammy's, the broke niggaz can't stand me\n  start_ms: 189440\n  end_ms: 192220\n- text: Hold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\n  start_ms: 192220\n  end_ms: 194710\n- text: Just home by the dingos, I step up in em rockin Kangols\n  start_ms: 194710\n  end_ms: 197460\n- text: Straight up fakin no jacks, cause all my crackshacks are jam packed\n  start_ms: 197460\n  end_ms: 200260\n- text: My mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track, like Amtrak\n  start_ms: 200260\n  end_ms: 202950\n- text: So stand back, cause I'ma make whatever it takes\n  start_ms: 202950\n  end_ms: 205410\n- text: To shake Jakes, and shoot snakes, and bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\n  start_ms: 205410\n  end_ms: 208470\n- text: Cut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\n  start_ms: 208470\n  end_ms: 210820\n- text: Still like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor cause I'm ill\n  start_ms: 210820\n  end_ms: 213490\n- text: It's war, but no more kids are bein kidnapped, matter of fact\n  start_ms: 213490\n  end_ms: 216330\n- text: Ain't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\n  start_ms: 216330\n  end_ms: 219020\n- text: There's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\n  start_ms: 219020\n  end_ms: 221670\n- text: So niggaz in pajamas get they wigs split like bananas\n  start_ms: 221670\n  end_ms: 224490\n- text: Stable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin bodies\n  start_ms: 224490\n  end_ms: 227000\n- text: Neighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\n  start_ms: 227000\n  end_ms: 229410\n- text: Yeah, paid as a motherfuckin bank teller\n  start_ms: 229410\n  end_ms: 231920\n- text: The Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin drug seller\n  start_ms: 231920\n  end_ms: 234920\n- text: Grimm, G. Rap, B1 (G and B alternate)\n  start_ms: 234920\n  end_ms: 255900\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 255900\nplain: |-\n  Ninety-five, keep it live\n  Yeah to make papers, knahmsayin?\n  Motherfuckin Kool G. Rap and B1\n  And my motherfuckin man Grimm\n  Just comin with somethin to keep the brainstem\n\n  It's Big 1 son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\n  And I'ma exploit, heaven and earth, for what it's worth\n  It's the MC extrordinaire, the jewels glare\n  The God is rare, I'm takin bitches back to my lair\n  I want mines and yours, strippin niggaz to they drawers\n  No probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\n  It's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\n  In eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n  Now I'm sippin Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\n  As the sirens race to the scene\n  Tryin to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\n  Seats for carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n  I got the game down to a science, it's the clients\n  That turn small time hustlers into giants\n  Three course meal, waitin for my appetizer\n  Blowin like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n  Paraphenalia, and material, makes the crew imperial\n  I put the fear in you, sippin beer with two\n  Handlin business properly, form a monopoly\n  Storefront property, if not, another robbery\n  I'm puttin forth the effort, murder's the method\n  The steak is peppered\n  Son when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\n  Bloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\n  Don't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n\n  Grimm, B1\n\n  I gotta flip these bricks\n  Cause bein broke drive me insane\n  Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n  From O-Z's to ki's\n  The triple beam brings fame to my name\n  Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n  Niggaz be scheamin and teamin\n  But still I maintain\n  Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n  Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  It ain't nothin but a game\n  Money's on my motherfuckin brain son\n\n  Cryin hopin God forgive me for the ones I killed\n  But until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\n  Like McDonald's, makin mills servin\n  Fuck a Landcruiser now, pulls a? to Suburban\n  Stressed out, sittin thinkin past bed time\n  Scared can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\n  Diamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\n  Fat shit I'm talkin code cause my phone's tapped\n  Crackheads worship me like I'm Jesus\n  Uncle Sam can't stand me cause I'm fuckin all his nieces\n  Cuties every colour, who I wanna fuck next?\n  Buy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\n  Look at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\n  Bulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\n  A large ratio in this game dies\n  But I'm flippin pies, til the Senate legalize\n\n  Grimm, G. Rap (same lines)\n\n  I'm sportin flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Bezn with the chrome rims\n  Presedential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\n  Pockets filled with lucci leather wallets designed by Gucci\n  Parlay in resteraunts, eatin shrimp, scampi and sushi\n  Fly minks, with icicles that blink inside cuban links\n  Lookin?, brothers stink, got loot like I'm doin banks\n  Hundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\n  Front row seats up at the Grammy's, the broke niggaz can't stand me\n  Hold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\n  Just home by the dingos, I step up in em rockin Kangols\n  Straight up fakin no jacks, cause all my crackshacks are jam packed\n  My mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track, like Amtrak\n  So stand back, cause I'ma make whatever it takes\n  To shake Jakes, and shoot snakes, and bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\n  Cut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\n  Still like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor cause I'm ill\n  It's war, but no more kids are bein kidnapped, matter of fact\n  Ain't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\n  There's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\n  So niggaz in pajamas get they wigs split like bananas\n  Stable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin bodies\n  Neighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\n  Yeah, paid as a motherfuckin bank teller\n  The Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin drug seller\n\n  Grimm, G. Rap, B1 (G and B alternate)\n"},{"id":9001061,"name":"Money on My Brain","trackName":"Money on My Brain","artistName":"Kool G Rap","albumName":"Best of MF","duration":294.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Ninety-five, keep it live\nYeah to make papers, knahmsayin?\nMotherfuckin Kool G. Rap and B1\nand my motherfuckin man Grimm\nJust comin with somethin to keep the brainstem\n\nIt's Big 1 son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\nAnd I'ma exploit, heaven and earth, for what it's worth\nIt's the MC extrordinaire, the jewels glare\nThe God is rare, I'm takin bitches back to my lair\nI want mines and yours, strippin niggaz to they drawers\nNo probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\nIt's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\nIn eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\nNow I'm sippin Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\nas the sirens race to the scene\nTryin to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\nSeats for carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\nI got the game down to a science, it's the clients\nthat turn small time hustlers into giants\nThree course meal, waitin for my appetizer\nBlowin like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\nParaphenalia, and material, makes the crew imperial\nI put the fear in you, sippin beer with two\nHandlin business properly, form a monopoly\nStorefront property, if not, another robbery\nI'm puttin forth the effort, murder's the method\nThe steak is peppered\nSon when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\nBloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\nDon't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n\nGrimm, B1\n\nI gotta flip these bricks\ncause bein broke drive me insane\nMoney's on my motherfuckin brain\nFrom O-Z's to ki's\nthe triple beam brings fame to my name\nMoney's on my motherfuckin brain\nNiggaz be scheamin and teamin\nbut still I maintain\nMoney's on my motherfuckin brain\nCause money and murder go hand in hand\nIt ain't nothin but a game\nMoney's on my motherfuckin brain son\n\nCryin hopin God forgive me for the ones I killed\nBut until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\nLike McDonald's, makin mills servin\nFuck a Landcruiser now, pulls a? to Suburban\nStressed out, sittin thinkin past bed time\nScared can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\nDiamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\nFat shit I'm talkin code cause my phone's tapped\nCrackheads worship me like I'm Jesus\nUncle Sam can't stand me cause I'm fuckin all his nieces\nCuties every colour, who I wanna fuck next?\nBuy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\nLook at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\nBulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\nA large ratio in this game dies\nBut I'm flippin pies, til the Senate legalize\n\nGrimm, G. Rap (same lines)\n\nI'm sportin flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Bezn with the chrome rims\nPresedential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\nPockets filled with lucci leather wallets designed by Gucci\nParlay in resteraunts, eatin shrimp, scampi and sushi\nFly minks, with icicles that blink inside cuban links\nLookin?, brothers stink, got loot like I'm doin banks\nHundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\nFront row seats up at the Grammy's, the broke niggaz can't stand me\nHold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\nJust home by the dingos, I step up in em rockin Kangols\nStraight up fakin no jacks, cause all my crackshacks are jam packed\nMy mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track, like Amtrak\nSo stand back, cause I'ma make whatever it takes\nto shake Jakes, and shoot snakes, and bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\nCut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\nStill like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor cause I'm ill\nIt's war, but no more kids are bein kidnapped, matter of fact\nain't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\nThere's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\nSo niggaz in pajamas get they wigs split like bananas\nStable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin bodies\nNeighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\nYeah, paid as a motherfuckin bank teller\nThe Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin drug seller\n\nGrimm, G. Rap, B1 (G and B alternate)","syncedLyrics":"[00:06.17] Ninety-five, keep it live\n[00:07.82] Yeah to make papers, knahmsayin?\n[00:09.96] Motherfuckin Kool G. Rap and B1\n[00:12.20] And my motherfuckin man Grimm\n[00:13.97] Just comin with somethin to keep the brainstem\n[00:17.43] It's Big 1 son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\n[00:23.76] And I'ma exploit, heaven and earth, for what it's worth\n[00:26.66] It's the MC extrordinaire, the jewels glare\n[00:29.11] The God is rare, I'm takin bitches back to my lair\n[00:31.79] I want mines and yours, strippin niggaz to they drawers\n[00:34.63] No probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\n[00:37.22] It's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\n[00:39.68] In eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n[00:43.32] Now I'm sippin Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\n[00:45.63] As the sirens race to the scene\n[00:47.94] Tryin to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\n[00:50.53] Seats for carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n[00:53.39] I got the game down to a science, it's the clients\n[00:56.59] That turn small time hustlers into giants\n[00:58.89] Three course meal, waitin for my appetizer\n[01:01.16] Blowin like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n[01:04.06] Paraphenalia, and material, makes the crew imperial\n[01:07.73] I put the fear in you, sippin beer with two\n[01:09.44] Handlin business properly, form a monopoly\n[01:12.14] Storefront property, if not, another robbery\n[01:14.92] I'm puttin forth the effort, murder's the method\n[01:17.37] The steak is peppered\n[01:18.38] Son when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\n[01:20.30] Bloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\n[01:22.64] Don't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n[01:24.50] Grimm, B1\n[01:25.87] I gotta flip these bricks\n[01:26.96] Cause bein broke drive me insane\n[01:28.17] Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n[01:30.37] From O-Z's to ki's\n[01:31.93] The triple beam brings fame to my name\n[01:34.00] Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n[01:35.63] Niggaz be scheamin and teamin\n[01:37.90] But still I maintain\n[01:39.92] Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n[01:41.23] Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n[01:43.34] It ain't nothin but a game\n[01:45.44] Money's on my motherfuckin brain son\n[01:46.31] Cryin hopin God forgive me for the ones I killed\n[01:49.46] But until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\n[01:52.28] Like McDonald's, makin mills servin\n[01:54.76] Fuck a Landcruiser now, pulls a? to Suburban\n[01:57.39] Stressed out, sittin thinkin past bed time\n[02:00.07] Scared can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\n[02:02.85] Diamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\n[02:05.48] Fat shit I'm talkin code cause my phone's tapped\n[02:08.35] Crackheads worship me like I'm Jesus\n[02:10.82] Uncle Sam can't stand me cause I'm fuckin all his nieces\n[02:13.42] Cuties every colour, who I wanna fuck next?\n[02:16.18] Buy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\n[02:18.97] Look at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\n[02:21.84] Bulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\n[02:24.46] A large ratio in this game dies\n[02:26.66] But I'm flippin pies, til the Senate legalize\n[02:29.74] Grimm, G. Rap (same lines)\n[02:50.60] I'm sportin flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Bezn with the chrome rims\n[02:53.66] Presedential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\n[02:56.21] Pockets filled with lucci leather wallets designed by Gucci\n[02:59.07] Parlay in resteraunts, eatin shrimp, scampi and sushi\n[03:01.53] Fly minks, with icicles that blink inside cuban links\n[03:04.28] Lookin?, brothers stink, got loot like I'm doin banks\n[03:06.91] Hundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\n[03:09.44] Front row seats up at the Grammy's, the broke niggaz can't stand me\n[03:12.22] Hold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\n[03:14.71] Just home by the dingos, I step up in em rockin Kangols\n[03:17.46] Straight up fakin no jacks, cause all my crackshacks are jam packed\n[03:20.26] My mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track, like Amtrak\n[03:22.95] So stand back, cause I'ma make whatever it takes\n[03:25.41] To shake Jakes, and shoot snakes, and bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\n[03:28.47] Cut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\n[03:30.82] Still like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor cause I'm ill\n[03:33.49] It's war, but no more kids are bein kidnapped, matter of fact\n[03:36.33] Ain't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\n[03:39.02] There's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\n[03:41.67] So niggaz in pajamas get they wigs split like bananas\n[03:44.49] Stable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin bodies\n[03:47.00] Neighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\n[03:49.41] Yeah, paid as a motherfuckin bank teller\n[03:51.92] The Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin drug seller\n[03:54.92] Grimm, G. Rap, B1 (G and B alternate)\n[04:15.90] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Money on My Brain\n  artist: Kool G Rap\n  album: Best of MF\n  duration_ms: 294000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Ninety-five, keep it live\n  start_ms: 6170\n  end_ms: 7820\n- text: Yeah to make papers, knahmsayin?\n  start_ms: 7820\n  end_ms: 9960\n- text: Motherfuckin Kool G. Rap and B1\n  start_ms: 9960\n  end_ms: 12200\n- text: And my motherfuckin man Grimm\n  start_ms: 12200\n  end_ms: 13970\n- text: Just comin with somethin to keep the brainstem\n  start_ms: 13970\n  end_ms: 17430\n- text: It's Big 1 son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\n  start_ms: 17430\n  end_ms: 23760\n- text: And I'ma exploit, heaven and earth, for what it's worth\n  start_ms: 23760\n  end_ms: 26660\n- text: It's the MC extrordinaire, the jewels glare\n  start_ms: 26660\n  end_ms: 29110\n- text: The God is rare, I'm takin bitches back to my lair\n  start_ms: 29110\n  end_ms: 31790\n- text: I want mines and yours, strippin niggaz to they drawers\n  start_ms: 31790\n  end_ms: 34630\n- text: No probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\n  start_ms: 34630\n  end_ms: 37220\n- text: It's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\n  start_ms: 37220\n  end_ms: 39680\n- text: In eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n  start_ms: 39680\n  end_ms: 43320\n- text: Now I'm sippin Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\n  start_ms: 43320\n  end_ms: 45630\n- text: As the sirens race to the scene\n  start_ms: 45630\n  end_ms: 47940\n- text: Tryin to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\n  start_ms: 47940\n  end_ms: 50530\n- text: Seats for carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n  start_ms: 50530\n  end_ms: 53390\n- text: I got the game down to a science, it's the clients\n  start_ms: 53390\n  end_ms: 56590\n- text: That turn small time hustlers into giants\n  start_ms: 56590\n  end_ms: 58890\n- text: Three course meal, waitin for my appetizer\n  start_ms: 58890\n  end_ms: 61160\n- text: Blowin like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n  start_ms: 61160\n  end_ms: 64060\n- text: Paraphenalia, and material, makes the crew imperial\n  start_ms: 64060\n  end_ms: 67730\n- text: I put the fear in you, sippin beer with two\n  start_ms: 67730\n  end_ms: 69440\n- text: Handlin business properly, form a monopoly\n  start_ms: 69440\n  end_ms: 72140\n- text: Storefront property, if not, another robbery\n  start_ms: 72140\n  end_ms: 74920\n- text: I'm puttin forth the effort, murder's the method\n  start_ms: 74920\n  end_ms: 77370\n- text: The steak is peppered\n  start_ms: 77370\n  end_ms: 78380\n- text: Son when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\n  start_ms: 78380\n  end_ms: 80300\n- text: Bloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\n  start_ms: 80300\n  end_ms: 82640\n- text: Don't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n  start_ms: 82640\n  end_ms: 84500\n- text: Grimm, B1\n  start_ms: 84500\n  end_ms: 85870\n- text: I gotta flip these bricks\n  start_ms: 85870\n  end_ms: 86960\n- text: Cause bein broke drive me insane\n  start_ms: 86960\n  end_ms: 88170\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n  start_ms: 88170\n  end_ms: 90370\n- text: From O-Z's to ki's\n  start_ms: 90370\n  end_ms: 91930\n- text: The triple beam brings fame to my name\n  start_ms: 91930\n  end_ms: 94000\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n  start_ms: 94000\n  end_ms: 95630\n- text: Niggaz be scheamin and teamin\n  start_ms: 95630\n  end_ms: 97900\n- text: But still I maintain\n  start_ms: 97900\n  end_ms: 99920\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n  start_ms: 99920\n  end_ms: 101230\n- text: Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  start_ms: 101230\n  end_ms: 103340\n- text: It ain't nothin but a game\n  start_ms: 103340\n  end_ms: 105440\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin brain son\n  start_ms: 105440\n  end_ms: 106310\n- text: Cryin hopin God forgive me for the ones I killed\n  start_ms: 106310\n  end_ms: 109460\n- text: But until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\n  start_ms: 109460\n  end_ms: 112280\n- text: Like McDonald's, makin mills servin\n  start_ms: 112280\n  end_ms: 114760\n- text: Fuck a Landcruiser now, pulls a? to Suburban\n  start_ms: 114760\n  end_ms: 117390\n- text: Stressed out, sittin thinkin past bed time\n  start_ms: 117390\n  end_ms: 120070\n- text: Scared can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\n  start_ms: 120070\n  end_ms: 122850\n- text: Diamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\n  start_ms: 122850\n  end_ms: 125480\n- text: Fat shit I'm talkin code cause my phone's tapped\n  start_ms: 125480\n  end_ms: 128350\n- text: Crackheads worship me like I'm Jesus\n  start_ms: 128350\n  end_ms: 130820\n- text: Uncle Sam can't stand me cause I'm fuckin all his nieces\n  start_ms: 130820\n  end_ms: 133420\n- text: Cuties every colour, who I wanna fuck next?\n  start_ms: 133420\n  end_ms: 136180\n- text: Buy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\n  start_ms: 136180\n  end_ms: 138970\n- text: Look at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\n  start_ms: 138970\n  end_ms: 141840\n- text: Bulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\n  start_ms: 141840\n  end_ms: 144460\n- text: A large ratio in this game dies\n  start_ms: 144460\n  end_ms: 146660\n- text: But I'm flippin pies, til the Senate legalize\n  start_ms: 146660\n  end_ms: 149740\n- text: Grimm, G. Rap (same lines)\n  start_ms: 149740\n  end_ms: 170600\n- text: I'm sportin flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Bezn with the chrome rims\n  start_ms: 170600\n  end_ms: 173660\n- text: Presedential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\n  start_ms: 173660\n  end_ms: 176210\n- text: Pockets filled with lucci leather wallets designed by Gucci\n  start_ms: 176210\n  end_ms: 179070\n- text: Parlay in resteraunts, eatin shrimp, scampi and sushi\n  start_ms: 179070\n  end_ms: 181530\n- text: Fly minks, with icicles that blink inside cuban links\n  start_ms: 181530\n  end_ms: 184280\n- text: Lookin?, brothers stink, got loot like I'm doin banks\n  start_ms: 184280\n  end_ms: 186910\n- text: Hundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\n  start_ms: 186910\n  end_ms: 189440\n- text: Front row seats up at the Grammy's, the broke niggaz can't stand me\n  start_ms: 189440\n  end_ms: 192220\n- text: Hold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\n  start_ms: 192220\n  end_ms: 194710\n- text: Just home by the dingos, I step up in em rockin Kangols\n  start_ms: 194710\n  end_ms: 197460\n- text: Straight up fakin no jacks, cause all my crackshacks are jam packed\n  start_ms: 197460\n  end_ms: 200260\n- text: My mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track, like Amtrak\n  start_ms: 200260\n  end_ms: 202950\n- text: So stand back, cause I'ma make whatever it takes\n  start_ms: 202950\n  end_ms: 205410\n- text: To shake Jakes, and shoot snakes, and bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\n  start_ms: 205410\n  end_ms: 208470\n- text: Cut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\n  start_ms: 208470\n  end_ms: 210820\n- text: Still like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor cause I'm ill\n  start_ms: 210820\n  end_ms: 213490\n- text: It's war, but no more kids are bein kidnapped, matter of fact\n  start_ms: 213490\n  end_ms: 216330\n- text: Ain't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\n  start_ms: 216330\n  end_ms: 219020\n- text: There's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\n  start_ms: 219020\n  end_ms: 221670\n- text: So niggaz in pajamas get they wigs split like bananas\n  start_ms: 221670\n  end_ms: 224490\n- text: Stable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin bodies\n  start_ms: 224490\n  end_ms: 227000\n- text: Neighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\n  start_ms: 227000\n  end_ms: 229410\n- text: Yeah, paid as a motherfuckin bank teller\n  start_ms: 229410\n  end_ms: 231920\n- text: The Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin drug seller\n  start_ms: 231920\n  end_ms: 234920\n- text: Grimm, G. Rap, B1 (G and B alternate)\n  start_ms: 234920\n  end_ms: 255900\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 255900\nplain: |-\n  Ninety-five, keep it live\n  Yeah to make papers, knahmsayin?\n  Motherfuckin Kool G. Rap and B1\n  and my motherfuckin man Grimm\n  Just comin with somethin to keep the brainstem\n\n  It's Big 1 son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\n  And I'ma exploit, heaven and earth, for what it's worth\n  It's the MC extrordinaire, the jewels glare\n  The God is rare, I'm takin bitches back to my lair\n  I want mines and yours, strippin niggaz to they drawers\n  No probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\n  It's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\n  In eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n  Now I'm sippin Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\n  as the sirens race to the scene\n  Tryin to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\n  Seats for carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n  I got the game down to a science, it's the clients\n  that turn small time hustlers into giants\n  Three course meal, waitin for my appetizer\n  Blowin like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n  Paraphenalia, and material, makes the crew imperial\n  I put the fear in you, sippin beer with two\n  Handlin business properly, form a monopoly\n  Storefront property, if not, another robbery\n  I'm puttin forth the effort, murder's the method\n  The steak is peppered\n  Son when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\n  Bloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\n  Don't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n\n  Grimm, B1\n\n  I gotta flip these bricks\n  cause bein broke drive me insane\n  Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n  From O-Z's to ki's\n  the triple beam brings fame to my name\n  Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n  Niggaz be scheamin and teamin\n  but still I maintain\n  Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n  Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  It ain't nothin but a game\n  Money's on my motherfuckin brain son\n\n  Cryin hopin God forgive me for the ones I killed\n  But until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\n  Like McDonald's, makin mills servin\n  Fuck a Landcruiser now, pulls a? to Suburban\n  Stressed out, sittin thinkin past bed time\n  Scared can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\n  Diamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\n  Fat shit I'm talkin code cause my phone's tapped\n  Crackheads worship me like I'm Jesus\n  Uncle Sam can't stand me cause I'm fuckin all his nieces\n  Cuties every colour, who I wanna fuck next?\n  Buy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\n  Look at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\n  Bulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\n  A large ratio in this game dies\n  But I'm flippin pies, til the Senate legalize\n\n  Grimm, G. Rap (same lines)\n\n  I'm sportin flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Bezn with the chrome rims\n  Presedential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\n  Pockets filled with lucci leather wallets designed by Gucci\n  Parlay in resteraunts, eatin shrimp, scampi and sushi\n  Fly minks, with icicles that blink inside cuban links\n  Lookin?, brothers stink, got loot like I'm doin banks\n  Hundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\n  Front row seats up at the Grammy's, the broke niggaz can't stand me\n  Hold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\n  Just home by the dingos, I step up in em rockin Kangols\n  Straight up fakin no jacks, cause all my crackshacks are jam packed\n  My mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track, like Amtrak\n  So stand back, cause I'ma make whatever it takes\n  to shake Jakes, and shoot snakes, and bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\n  Cut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\n  Still like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor cause I'm ill\n  It's war, but no more kids are bein kidnapped, matter of fact\n  ain't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\n  There's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\n  So niggaz in pajamas get they wigs split like bananas\n  Stable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin bodies\n  Neighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\n  Yeah, paid as a motherfuckin bank teller\n  The Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin drug seller\n\n  Grimm, G. Rap, B1 (G and B alternate)\n"},{"id":5880434,"name":"Money On My Brain (Album Version)","trackName":"Money On My Brain (Album Version)","artistName":"Kool G Rap","albumName":"4,5,6","duration":293.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Ninety five keep it live\nYeah to make papers knahmsayin'?\nMotherfuckin' Kool G. Rap and B1\nAnd my motherfuckin' man Grimm\nJust comin' with somethin' to keep the brain stem\nIt's Big 1 son Jamaica Queens is the turf\nAnd I'ma exploit heaven and earth for what it's worth\nIt's the MC extraordinaire the jewels glare\nThe God is rare I'm takin' bitches back to my lair\nI want mines and yours, strippin' niggaz to they drawers\nNo probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\nIt's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\nIn eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\nNow I'm sippin' Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\nAs the sirens race to the scene\nTryin' to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\nSeats for carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\nI got the game down to a science, it's the clients\nThat turn small time hustlers into giants\nThree course meal, waitin' for my appetizer\nBlowin' like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\nParaphenalia, and material, makes the crew imperial\nI put the fear in you, sippin' beer with two\nHandlin' business properly, form a monopoly\nStorefront property, if not, another robbery\nI'm puttin' forth the effort, murder's the method\nThe steak is peppered\nSon when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\nBloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\nDon't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n[Chorus]\nI gotta flip these bricks\n'Cause bein broke drive me insane\nMoney's on my motherfuckin' brain\nFrom O-Z's to ki's\nThe triple beam brings fame to my name\nMoney's on my motherfuckin' brain\nNiggaz be schemed teamin'\nBut still I maintain\nMoney's on my motherfuckin' brain\n'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\nIt ain't nothin' but a game\nMoney's on my motherfuckin brain son\nCryin' hopin' God forgive me for the ones I killed\nBut until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\nLike McDonald's, makin' mills servin'\nFuck a Landcruiser now, pulls a ? to Suburban\nStressed out, sittin' thinkin' past bed time\nScared can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\nDiamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\nFat shit I'm talkin' code cause my phone's tapped\nCrackheads worship me like I'm Jesus\nUncle Sam can't stand me cause I'm fuckin' all his nieces\nCuties every color, who I wanna fuck next?\nBuy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\nLook at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\nBulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\nA large ratio in this game dies\nBut I'm flippin' pies, til the Senate legalize\n[Chorus]\nI'm sportin' flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Benz with the chrome rims\nPresidential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\nPockets filled with Gucci leather wallets designed by Gucci\nParlay in restaurants, eatin' shrimp, scampi and sushi\nFly minks, with icicles that blink inside Cuban links\nLookin' ?, brothers stink, got loot like I'm doin' banks\nHundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\nFront row seats up at the Grammy's, the broke niggaz can't stand me\nHold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\nJust home by the dingos, I step up in em rockin' Kangols\nStraight up fakin' no jacks, cause all my crackshacks are jam packed\nMy mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track, like Amtrak\nSo stand back, 'cause I'ma make whatever it takes\nTo shake Jakes, and shoot snakes, and bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\nCut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\nStill like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor cause I'm ill\nIt's war, but no more kids are bein kidnapped, matter of fact\nAin't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\nThere's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\nSo niggaz in pajamas get they wigs split like bananas\nStable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin' bodies\nNeighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\nYeah, paid as a motherfuckin' bank teller\nThe Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin' drug seller\n[Chorus]","syncedLyrics":"[00:06.17] Ninety-five, keep it live\n[00:07.82] Yeah to make papers, knahmsayin?\n[00:09.96] Motherfuckin Kool G. Rap and B1\n[00:12.20] And my motherfuckin man Grimm\n[00:13.97] Just comin with somethin to keep the brainstem\n[00:17.43] It's Big 1 son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\n[00:23.76] And I'ma exploit, heaven and earth, for what it's worth\n[00:26.66] It's the MC extrordinaire, the jewels glare\n[00:29.11] The God is rare, I'm takin bitches back to my lair\n[00:31.79] I want mines and yours, strippin niggaz to they drawers\n[00:34.63] No probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\n[00:37.22] It's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\n[00:39.68] In eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n[00:43.32] Now I'm sippin Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\n[00:45.63] As the sirens race to the scene\n[00:47.94] Tryin to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\n[00:50.53] Seats for carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n[00:53.39] I got the game down to a science, it's the clients\n[00:56.59] That turn small time hustlers into giants\n[00:58.89] Three course meal, waitin for my appetizer\n[01:01.16] Blowin like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n[01:04.06] Paraphenalia, and material, makes the crew imperial\n[01:07.73] I put the fear in you, sippin beer with two\n[01:09.44] Handlin business properly, form a monopoly\n[01:12.14] Storefront property, if not, another robbery\n[01:14.92] I'm puttin forth the effort, murder's the method\n[01:17.37] The steak is peppered\n[01:18.38] Son when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\n[01:20.30] Bloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\n[01:22.64] Don't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n[01:24.50] Grimm, B1\n[01:25.87] I gotta flip these bricks\n[01:26.96] Cause bein broke drive me insane\n[01:28.17] Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n[01:30.37] From O-Z's to ki's\n[01:31.93] The triple beam brings fame to my name\n[01:34.00] Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n[01:35.63] Niggaz be scheamin and teamin\n[01:37.90] But still I maintain\n[01:39.92] Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n[01:41.23] Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n[01:43.34] It ain't nothin but a game\n[01:45.44] Money's on my motherfuckin brain son\n[01:46.31] Cryin hopin God forgive me for the ones I killed\n[01:49.46] But until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\n[01:52.28] Like McDonald's, makin mills servin\n[01:54.76] Fuck a Landcruiser now, pulls a? to Suburban\n[01:57.39] Stressed out, sittin thinkin past bed time\n[02:00.07] Scared can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\n[02:02.85] Diamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\n[02:05.48] Fat shit I'm talkin code cause my phone's tapped\n[02:08.35] Crackheads worship me like I'm Jesus\n[02:10.82] Uncle Sam can't stand me cause I'm fuckin all his nieces\n[02:13.42] Cuties every colour, who I wanna fuck next?\n[02:16.18] Buy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\n[02:18.97] Look at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\n[02:21.84] Bulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\n[02:24.46] A large ratio in this game dies\n[02:26.66] But I'm flippin pies, til the Senate legalize\n[02:29.74] Grimm, G. Rap (same lines)\n[02:50.60] I'm sportin flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Bezn with the chrome rims\n[02:53.66] Presedential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\n[02:56.21] Pockets filled with lucci leather wallets designed by Gucci\n[02:59.07] Parlay in resteraunts, eatin shrimp, scampi and sushi\n[03:01.53] Fly minks, with icicles that blink inside cuban links\n[03:04.28] Lookin?, brothers stink, got loot like I'm doin banks\n[03:06.91] Hundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\n[03:09.44] Front row seats up at the Grammy's, the broke niggaz can't stand me\n[03:12.22] Hold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\n[03:14.71] Just home by the dingos, I step up in em rockin Kangols\n[03:17.46] Straight up fakin no jacks, cause all my crackshacks are jam packed\n[03:20.26] My mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track, like Amtrak\n[03:22.95] So stand back, cause I'ma make whatever it takes\n[03:25.41] To shake Jakes, and shoot snakes, and bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\n[03:28.47] Cut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\n[03:30.82] Still like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor cause I'm ill\n[03:33.49] It's war, but no more kids are bein kidnapped, matter of fact\n[03:36.33] Ain't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\n[03:39.02] There's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\n[03:41.67] So niggaz in pajamas get they wigs split like bananas\n[03:44.49] Stable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin bodies\n[03:47.00] Neighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\n[03:49.41] Yeah, paid as a motherfuckin bank teller\n[03:51.92] The Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin drug seller\n[03:54.92] Grimm, G. Rap, B1 (G and B alternate)\n[04:15.90] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Money On My Brain (Album Version)\n  artist: Kool G Rap\n  album: 4,5,6\n  duration_ms: 293000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Ninety-five, keep it live\n  start_ms: 6170\n  end_ms: 7820\n- text: Yeah to make papers, knahmsayin?\n  start_ms: 7820\n  end_ms: 9960\n- text: Motherfuckin Kool G. Rap and B1\n  start_ms: 9960\n  end_ms: 12200\n- text: And my motherfuckin man Grimm\n  start_ms: 12200\n  end_ms: 13970\n- text: Just comin with somethin to keep the brainstem\n  start_ms: 13970\n  end_ms: 17430\n- text: It's Big 1 son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\n  start_ms: 17430\n  end_ms: 23760\n- text: And I'ma exploit, heaven and earth, for what it's worth\n  start_ms: 23760\n  end_ms: 26660\n- text: It's the MC extrordinaire, the jewels glare\n  start_ms: 26660\n  end_ms: 29110\n- text: The God is rare, I'm takin bitches back to my lair\n  start_ms: 29110\n  end_ms: 31790\n- text: I want mines and yours, strippin niggaz to they drawers\n  start_ms: 31790\n  end_ms: 34630\n- text: No probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\n  start_ms: 34630\n  end_ms: 37220\n- text: It's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\n  start_ms: 37220\n  end_ms: 39680\n- text: In eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n  start_ms: 39680\n  end_ms: 43320\n- text: Now I'm sippin Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\n  start_ms: 43320\n  end_ms: 45630\n- text: As the sirens race to the scene\n  start_ms: 45630\n  end_ms: 47940\n- text: Tryin to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\n  start_ms: 47940\n  end_ms: 50530\n- text: Seats for carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n  start_ms: 50530\n  end_ms: 53390\n- text: I got the game down to a science, it's the clients\n  start_ms: 53390\n  end_ms: 56590\n- text: That turn small time hustlers into giants\n  start_ms: 56590\n  end_ms: 58890\n- text: Three course meal, waitin for my appetizer\n  start_ms: 58890\n  end_ms: 61160\n- text: Blowin like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n  start_ms: 61160\n  end_ms: 64060\n- text: Paraphenalia, and material, makes the crew imperial\n  start_ms: 64060\n  end_ms: 67730\n- text: I put the fear in you, sippin beer with two\n  start_ms: 67730\n  end_ms: 69440\n- text: Handlin business properly, form a monopoly\n  start_ms: 69440\n  end_ms: 72140\n- text: Storefront property, if not, another robbery\n  start_ms: 72140\n  end_ms: 74920\n- text: I'm puttin forth the effort, murder's the method\n  start_ms: 74920\n  end_ms: 77370\n- text: The steak is peppered\n  start_ms: 77370\n  end_ms: 78380\n- text: Son when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\n  start_ms: 78380\n  end_ms: 80300\n- text: Bloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\n  start_ms: 80300\n  end_ms: 82640\n- text: Don't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n  start_ms: 82640\n  end_ms: 84500\n- text: Grimm, B1\n  start_ms: 84500\n  end_ms: 85870\n- text: I gotta flip these bricks\n  start_ms: 85870\n  end_ms: 86960\n- text: Cause bein broke drive me insane\n  start_ms: 86960\n  end_ms: 88170\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n  start_ms: 88170\n  end_ms: 90370\n- text: From O-Z's to ki's\n  start_ms: 90370\n  end_ms: 91930\n- text: The triple beam brings fame to my name\n  start_ms: 91930\n  end_ms: 94000\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n  start_ms: 94000\n  end_ms: 95630\n- text: Niggaz be scheamin and teamin\n  start_ms: 95630\n  end_ms: 97900\n- text: But still I maintain\n  start_ms: 97900\n  end_ms: 99920\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n  start_ms: 99920\n  end_ms: 101230\n- text: Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  start_ms: 101230\n  end_ms: 103340\n- text: It ain't nothin but a game\n  start_ms: 103340\n  end_ms: 105440\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin brain son\n  start_ms: 105440\n  end_ms: 106310\n- text: Cryin hopin God forgive me for the ones I killed\n  start_ms: 106310\n  end_ms: 109460\n- text: But until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\n  start_ms: 109460\n  end_ms: 112280\n- text: Like McDonald's, makin mills servin\n  start_ms: 112280\n  end_ms: 114760\n- text: Fuck a Landcruiser now, pulls a? to Suburban\n  start_ms: 114760\n  end_ms: 117390\n- text: Stressed out, sittin thinkin past bed time\n  start_ms: 117390\n  end_ms: 120070\n- text: Scared can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\n  start_ms: 120070\n  end_ms: 122850\n- text: Diamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\n  start_ms: 122850\n  end_ms: 125480\n- text: Fat shit I'm talkin code cause my phone's tapped\n  start_ms: 125480\n  end_ms: 128350\n- text: Crackheads worship me like I'm Jesus\n  start_ms: 128350\n  end_ms: 130820\n- text: Uncle Sam can't stand me cause I'm fuckin all his nieces\n  start_ms: 130820\n  end_ms: 133420\n- text: Cuties every colour, who I wanna fuck next?\n  start_ms: 133420\n  end_ms: 136180\n- text: Buy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\n  start_ms: 136180\n  end_ms: 138970\n- text: Look at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\n  start_ms: 138970\n  end_ms: 141840\n- text: Bulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\n  start_ms: 141840\n  end_ms: 144460\n- text: A large ratio in this game dies\n  start_ms: 144460\n  end_ms: 146660\n- text: But I'm flippin pies, til the Senate legalize\n  start_ms: 146660\n  end_ms: 149740\n- text: Grimm, G. Rap (same lines)\n  start_ms: 149740\n  end_ms: 170600\n- text: I'm sportin flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Bezn with the chrome rims\n  start_ms: 170600\n  end_ms: 173660\n- text: Presedential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\n  start_ms: 173660\n  end_ms: 176210\n- text: Pockets filled with lucci leather wallets designed by Gucci\n  start_ms: 176210\n  end_ms: 179070\n- text: Parlay in resteraunts, eatin shrimp, scampi and sushi\n  start_ms: 179070\n  end_ms: 181530\n- text: Fly minks, with icicles that blink inside cuban links\n  start_ms: 181530\n  end_ms: 184280\n- text: Lookin?, brothers stink, got loot like I'm doin banks\n  start_ms: 184280\n  end_ms: 186910\n- text: Hundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\n  start_ms: 186910\n  end_ms: 189440\n- text: Front row seats up at the Grammy's, the broke niggaz can't stand me\n  start_ms: 189440\n  end_ms: 192220\n- text: Hold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\n  start_ms: 192220\n  end_ms: 194710\n- text: Just home by the dingos, I step up in em rockin Kangols\n  start_ms: 194710\n  end_ms: 197460\n- text: Straight up fakin no jacks, cause all my crackshacks are jam packed\n  start_ms: 197460\n  end_ms: 200260\n- text: My mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track, like Amtrak\n  start_ms: 200260\n  end_ms: 202950\n- text: So stand back, cause I'ma make whatever it takes\n  start_ms: 202950\n  end_ms: 205410\n- text: To shake Jakes, and shoot snakes, and bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\n  start_ms: 205410\n  end_ms: 208470\n- text: Cut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\n  start_ms: 208470\n  end_ms: 210820\n- text: Still like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor cause I'm ill\n  start_ms: 210820\n  end_ms: 213490\n- text: It's war, but no more kids are bein kidnapped, matter of fact\n  start_ms: 213490\n  end_ms: 216330\n- text: Ain't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\n  start_ms: 216330\n  end_ms: 219020\n- text: There's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\n  start_ms: 219020\n  end_ms: 221670\n- text: So niggaz in pajamas get they wigs split like bananas\n  start_ms: 221670\n  end_ms: 224490\n- text: Stable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin bodies\n  start_ms: 224490\n  end_ms: 227000\n- text: Neighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\n  start_ms: 227000\n  end_ms: 229410\n- text: Yeah, paid as a motherfuckin bank teller\n  start_ms: 229410\n  end_ms: 231920\n- text: The Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin drug seller\n  start_ms: 231920\n  end_ms: 234920\n- text: Grimm, G. Rap, B1 (G and B alternate)\n  start_ms: 234920\n  end_ms: 255900\nplain: |-\n  Ninety five keep it live\n  Yeah to make papers knahmsayin'?\n  Motherfuckin' Kool G. Rap and B1\n  And my motherfuckin' man Grimm\n  Just comin' with somethin' to keep the brain stem\n  It's Big 1 son Jamaica Queens is the turf\n  And I'ma exploit heaven and earth for what it's worth\n  It's the MC extraordinaire the jewels glare\n  The God is rare I'm takin' bitches back to my lair\n  I want mines and yours, strippin' niggaz to they drawers\n  No probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\n  It's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\n  In eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n  Now I'm sippin' Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\n  As the sirens race to the scene\n  Tryin' to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\n  Seats for carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n  I got the game down to a science, it's the clients\n  That turn small time hustlers into giants\n  Three course meal, waitin' for my appetizer\n  Blowin' like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n  Paraphenalia, and material, makes the crew imperial\n  I put the fear in you, sippin' beer with two\n  Handlin' business properly, form a monopoly\n  Storefront property, if not, another robbery\n  I'm puttin' forth the effort, murder's the method\n  The steak is peppered\n  Son when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\n  Bloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\n  Don't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n  [Chorus]\n  I gotta flip these bricks\n  'Cause bein broke drive me insane\n  Money's on my motherfuckin' brain\n  From O-Z's to ki's\n  The triple beam brings fame to my name\n  Money's on my motherfuckin' brain\n  Niggaz be schemed teamin'\n  But still I maintain\n  Money's on my motherfuckin' brain\n  'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  It ain't nothin' but a game\n  Money's on my motherfuckin brain son\n  Cryin' hopin' God forgive me for the ones I killed\n  But until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\n  Like McDonald's, makin' mills servin'\n  Fuck a Landcruiser now, pulls a ? to Suburban\n  Stressed out, sittin' thinkin' past bed time\n  Scared can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\n  Diamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\n  Fat shit I'm talkin' code cause my phone's tapped\n  Crackheads worship me like I'm Jesus\n  Uncle Sam can't stand me cause I'm fuckin' all his nieces\n  Cuties every color, who I wanna fuck next?\n  Buy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\n  Look at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\n  Bulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\n  A large ratio in this game dies\n  But I'm flippin' pies, til the Senate legalize\n  [Chorus]\n  I'm sportin' flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Benz with the chrome rims\n  Presidential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\n  Pockets filled with Gucci leather wallets designed by Gucci\n  Parlay in restaurants, eatin' shrimp, scampi and sushi\n  Fly minks, with icicles that blink inside Cuban links\n  Lookin' ?, brothers stink, got loot like I'm doin' banks\n  Hundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\n  Front row seats up at the Grammy's, the broke niggaz can't stand me\n  Hold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\n  Just home by the dingos, I step up in em rockin' Kangols\n  Straight up fakin' no jacks, cause all my crackshacks are jam packed\n  My mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track, like Amtrak\n  So stand back, 'cause I'ma make whatever it takes\n  To shake Jakes, and shoot snakes, and bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\n  Cut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\n  Still like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor cause I'm ill\n  It's war, but no more kids are bein kidnapped, matter of fact\n  Ain't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\n  There's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\n  So niggaz in pajamas get they wigs split like bananas\n  Stable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin' bodies\n  Neighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\n  Yeah, paid as a motherfuckin' bank teller\n  The Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin' drug seller\n  [Chorus]\n"},{"id":18397842,"name":"Money On My Brain (Feat. B1 & Grimm)","trackName":"Money On My Brain (Feat. B1 & Grimm)","artistName":"Kool G Rap","albumName":"4, 5, 6","duration":293.04,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Ninety-five, keep it live\nYeah to make papers, knahmsayin?\nMotherfuckin Kool G. Rap and B1\nand my motherfuckin man Grimm\nJust comin with somethin to keep the brainstem\n\nIt's Big 1 son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\nAnd I'ma exploit, heaven and earth, for what it's worth\nIt's the MC extrordinaire, the jewels glare\nThe God is rare, I'm takin bitches back to my lair\nI want mines and yours, strippin niggaz to they drawers\nNo probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\nIt's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\nIn eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\nNow I'm sippin Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\nas the sirens race to the scene\nTryin to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\nSeats for carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\nI got the game down to a science, it's the clients\nthat turn small time hustlers into giants\nThree course meal, waitin for my appetizer\nBlowin like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\nParaphenalia, and material, makes the crew imperial\nI put the fear in you, sippin beer with two\nHandlin business properly, form a monopoly\nStorefront property, if not, another robbery\nI'm puttin forth the effort, murder's the method\nThe steak is peppered\nSon when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\nBloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\nDon't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n\nGrimm, B1\n\nI gotta flip these bricks\ncause bein broke drive me insane\nMoney's on my motherfuckin brain\nFrom O-Z's to ki's\nthe triple beam brings fame to my name\nMoney's on my motherfuckin brain\nNiggaz be scheamin and teamin\nbut still I maintain\nMoney's on my motherfuckin brain\nCause money and murder go hand in hand\nIt ain't nothin but a game\nMoney's on my motherfuckin brain son\n\nCryin hopin God forgive me for the ones I killed\nBut until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\nLike McDonald's, makin mills servin\nFuck a Landcruiser now, pulls a? to Suburban\nStressed out, sittin thinkin past bed time\nScared can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\nDiamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\nFat shit I'm talkin code cause my phone's tapped\nCrackheads worship me like I'm Jesus\nUncle Sam can't stand me cause I'm fuckin all his nieces\nCuties every colour, who I wanna fuck next?\nBuy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\nLook at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\nBulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\nA large ratio in this game dies\nBut I'm flippin pies, til the Senate legalize\n\nGrimm, G. Rap (same lines)\n\nI'm sportin flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Bezn with the chrome rims\nPresedential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\nPockets filled with lucci leather wallets designed by Gucci\nParlay in resteraunts, eatin shrimp, scampi and sushi\nFly minks, with icicles that blink inside cuban links\nLookin?, brothers stink, got loot like I'm doin banks\nHundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\nFront row seats up at the Grammy's, the broke niggaz can't stand me\nHold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\nJust home by the dingos, I step up in em rockin Kangols\nStraight up fakin no jacks, cause all my crackshacks are jam packed\nMy mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track, like Amtrak\nSo stand back, cause I'ma make whatever it takes\nto shake Jakes, and shoot snakes, and bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\nCut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\nStill like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor cause I'm ill\nIt's war, but no more kids are bein kidnapped, matter of fact\nain't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\nThere's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\nSo niggaz in pajamas get they wigs split like bananas\nStable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin bodies\nNeighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\nYeah, paid as a motherfuckin bank teller\nThe Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin drug seller\n\nGrimm, G. Rap, B1 (G and B alternate)","syncedLyrics":"[00:06.17] Ninety-five, keep it live\n[00:07.82] Yeah to make papers, knahmsayin?\n[00:09.96] Motherfuckin Kool G. Rap and B1\n[00:12.20] And my motherfuckin man Grimm\n[00:13.97] Just comin with somethin to keep the brainstem\n[00:17.43] It's Big 1 son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\n[00:23.76] And I'ma exploit, heaven and earth, for what it's worth\n[00:26.66] It's the MC extrordinaire, the jewels glare\n[00:29.11] The God is rare, I'm takin bitches back to my lair\n[00:31.79] I want mines and yours, strippin niggaz to they drawers\n[00:34.63] No probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\n[00:37.22] It's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\n[00:39.68] In eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n[00:43.32] Now I'm sippin Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\n[00:45.63] As the sirens race to the scene\n[00:47.94] Tryin to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\n[00:50.53] Seats for carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n[00:53.39] I got the game down to a science, it's the clients\n[00:56.59] That turn small time hustlers into giants\n[00:58.89] Three course meal, waitin for my appetizer\n[01:01.16] Blowin like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n[01:04.06] Paraphenalia, and material, makes the crew imperial\n[01:07.73] I put the fear in you, sippin beer with two\n[01:09.44] Handlin business properly, form a monopoly\n[01:12.14] Storefront property, if not, another robbery\n[01:14.92] I'm puttin forth the effort, murder's the method\n[01:17.37] The steak is peppered\n[01:18.38] Son when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\n[01:20.30] Bloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\n[01:22.64] Don't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n[01:24.50] Grimm, B1\n[01:25.87] I gotta flip these bricks\n[01:26.96] Cause bein broke drive me insane\n[01:28.17] Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n[01:30.37] From O-Z's to ki's\n[01:31.93] The triple beam brings fame to my name\n[01:34.00] Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n[01:35.63] Niggaz be scheamin and teamin\n[01:37.90] But still I maintain\n[01:39.92] Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n[01:41.23] Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n[01:43.34] It ain't nothin but a game\n[01:45.44] Money's on my motherfuckin brain son\n[01:46.31] Cryin hopin God forgive me for the ones I killed\n[01:49.46] But until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\n[01:52.28] Like McDonald's, makin mills servin\n[01:54.76] Fuck a Landcruiser now, pulls a? to Suburban\n[01:57.39] Stressed out, sittin thinkin past bed time\n[02:00.07] Scared can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\n[02:02.85] Diamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\n[02:05.48] Fat shit I'm talkin code cause my phone's tapped\n[02:08.35] Crackheads worship me like I'm Jesus\n[02:10.82] Uncle Sam can't stand me cause I'm fuckin all his nieces\n[02:13.42] Cuties every colour, who I wanna fuck next?\n[02:16.18] Buy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\n[02:18.97] Look at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\n[02:21.84] Bulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\n[02:24.46] A large ratio in this game dies\n[02:26.66] But I'm flippin pies, til the Senate legalize\n[02:29.74] Grimm, G. Rap (same lines)\n[02:50.60] I'm sportin flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Bezn with the chrome rims\n[02:53.66] Presedential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\n[02:56.21] Pockets filled with lucci leather wallets designed by Gucci\n[02:59.07] Parlay in resteraunts, eatin shrimp, scampi and sushi\n[03:01.53] Fly minks, with icicles that blink inside cuban links\n[03:04.28] Lookin?, brothers stink, got loot like I'm doin banks\n[03:06.91] Hundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\n[03:09.44] Front row seats up at the Grammy's, the broke niggaz can't stand me\n[03:12.22] Hold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\n[03:14.71] Just home by the dingos, I step up in em rockin Kangols\n[03:17.46] Straight up fakin no jacks, cause all my crackshacks are jam packed\n[03:20.26] My mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track, like Amtrak\n[03:22.95] So stand back, cause I'ma make whatever it takes\n[03:25.41] To shake Jakes, and shoot snakes, and bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\n[03:28.47] Cut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\n[03:30.82] Still like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor cause I'm ill\n[03:33.49] It's war, but no more kids are bein kidnapped, matter of fact\n[03:36.33] Ain't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\n[03:39.02] There's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\n[03:41.67] So niggaz in pajamas get they wigs split like bananas\n[03:44.49] Stable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin bodies\n[03:47.00] Neighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\n[03:49.41] Yeah, paid as a motherfuckin bank teller\n[03:51.92] The Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin drug seller\n[03:54.92] Grimm, G. Rap, B1 (G and B alternate)\n[04:15.90] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Money On My Brain (Feat. B1 & Grimm)\n  artist: Kool G Rap\n  album: 4, 5, 6\n  duration_ms: 293040\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Ninety-five, keep it live\n  start_ms: 6170\n  end_ms: 7820\n- text: Yeah to make papers, knahmsayin?\n  start_ms: 7820\n  end_ms: 9960\n- text: Motherfuckin Kool G. Rap and B1\n  start_ms: 9960\n  end_ms: 12200\n- text: And my motherfuckin man Grimm\n  start_ms: 12200\n  end_ms: 13970\n- text: Just comin with somethin to keep the brainstem\n  start_ms: 13970\n  end_ms: 17430\n- text: It's Big 1 son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\n  start_ms: 17430\n  end_ms: 23760\n- text: And I'ma exploit, heaven and earth, for what it's worth\n  start_ms: 23760\n  end_ms: 26660\n- text: It's the MC extrordinaire, the jewels glare\n  start_ms: 26660\n  end_ms: 29110\n- text: The God is rare, I'm takin bitches back to my lair\n  start_ms: 29110\n  end_ms: 31790\n- text: I want mines and yours, strippin niggaz to they drawers\n  start_ms: 31790\n  end_ms: 34630\n- text: No probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\n  start_ms: 34630\n  end_ms: 37220\n- text: It's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\n  start_ms: 37220\n  end_ms: 39680\n- text: In eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n  start_ms: 39680\n  end_ms: 43320\n- text: Now I'm sippin Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\n  start_ms: 43320\n  end_ms: 45630\n- text: As the sirens race to the scene\n  start_ms: 45630\n  end_ms: 47940\n- text: Tryin to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\n  start_ms: 47940\n  end_ms: 50530\n- text: Seats for carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n  start_ms: 50530\n  end_ms: 53390\n- text: I got the game down to a science, it's the clients\n  start_ms: 53390\n  end_ms: 56590\n- text: That turn small time hustlers into giants\n  start_ms: 56590\n  end_ms: 58890\n- text: Three course meal, waitin for my appetizer\n  start_ms: 58890\n  end_ms: 61160\n- text: Blowin like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n  start_ms: 61160\n  end_ms: 64060\n- text: Paraphenalia, and material, makes the crew imperial\n  start_ms: 64060\n  end_ms: 67730\n- text: I put the fear in you, sippin beer with two\n  start_ms: 67730\n  end_ms: 69440\n- text: Handlin business properly, form a monopoly\n  start_ms: 69440\n  end_ms: 72140\n- text: Storefront property, if not, another robbery\n  start_ms: 72140\n  end_ms: 74920\n- text: I'm puttin forth the effort, murder's the method\n  start_ms: 74920\n  end_ms: 77370\n- text: The steak is peppered\n  start_ms: 77370\n  end_ms: 78380\n- text: Son when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\n  start_ms: 78380\n  end_ms: 80300\n- text: Bloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\n  start_ms: 80300\n  end_ms: 82640\n- text: Don't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n  start_ms: 82640\n  end_ms: 84500\n- text: Grimm, B1\n  start_ms: 84500\n  end_ms: 85870\n- text: I gotta flip these bricks\n  start_ms: 85870\n  end_ms: 86960\n- text: Cause bein broke drive me insane\n  start_ms: 86960\n  end_ms: 88170\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n  start_ms: 88170\n  end_ms: 90370\n- text: From O-Z's to ki's\n  start_ms: 90370\n  end_ms: 91930\n- text: The triple beam brings fame to my name\n  start_ms: 91930\n  end_ms: 94000\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n  start_ms: 94000\n  end_ms: 95630\n- text: Niggaz be scheamin and teamin\n  start_ms: 95630\n  end_ms: 97900\n- text: But still I maintain\n  start_ms: 97900\n  end_ms: 99920\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n  start_ms: 99920\n  end_ms: 101230\n- text: Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  start_ms: 101230\n  end_ms: 103340\n- text: It ain't nothin but a game\n  start_ms: 103340\n  end_ms: 105440\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin brain son\n  start_ms: 105440\n  end_ms: 106310\n- text: Cryin hopin God forgive me for the ones I killed\n  start_ms: 106310\n  end_ms: 109460\n- text: But until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\n  start_ms: 109460\n  end_ms: 112280\n- text: Like McDonald's, makin mills servin\n  start_ms: 112280\n  end_ms: 114760\n- text: Fuck a Landcruiser now, pulls a? to Suburban\n  start_ms: 114760\n  end_ms: 117390\n- text: Stressed out, sittin thinkin past bed time\n  start_ms: 117390\n  end_ms: 120070\n- text: Scared can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\n  start_ms: 120070\n  end_ms: 122850\n- text: Diamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\n  start_ms: 122850\n  end_ms: 125480\n- text: Fat shit I'm talkin code cause my phone's tapped\n  start_ms: 125480\n  end_ms: 128350\n- text: Crackheads worship me like I'm Jesus\n  start_ms: 128350\n  end_ms: 130820\n- text: Uncle Sam can't stand me cause I'm fuckin all his nieces\n  start_ms: 130820\n  end_ms: 133420\n- text: Cuties every colour, who I wanna fuck next?\n  start_ms: 133420\n  end_ms: 136180\n- text: Buy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\n  start_ms: 136180\n  end_ms: 138970\n- text: Look at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\n  start_ms: 138970\n  end_ms: 141840\n- text: Bulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\n  start_ms: 141840\n  end_ms: 144460\n- text: A large ratio in this game dies\n  start_ms: 144460\n  end_ms: 146660\n- text: But I'm flippin pies, til the Senate legalize\n  start_ms: 146660\n  end_ms: 149740\n- text: Grimm, G. Rap (same lines)\n  start_ms: 149740\n  end_ms: 170600\n- text: I'm sportin flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Bezn with the chrome rims\n  start_ms: 170600\n  end_ms: 173660\n- text: Presedential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\n  start_ms: 173660\n  end_ms: 176210\n- text: Pockets filled with lucci leather wallets designed by Gucci\n  start_ms: 176210\n  end_ms: 179070\n- text: Parlay in resteraunts, eatin shrimp, scampi and sushi\n  start_ms: 179070\n  end_ms: 181530\n- text: Fly minks, with icicles that blink inside cuban links\n  start_ms: 181530\n  end_ms: 184280\n- text: Lookin?, brothers stink, got loot like I'm doin banks\n  start_ms: 184280\n  end_ms: 186910\n- text: Hundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\n  start_ms: 186910\n  end_ms: 189440\n- text: Front row seats up at the Grammy's, the broke niggaz can't stand me\n  start_ms: 189440\n  end_ms: 192220\n- text: Hold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\n  start_ms: 192220\n  end_ms: 194710\n- text: Just home by the dingos, I step up in em rockin Kangols\n  start_ms: 194710\n  end_ms: 197460\n- text: Straight up fakin no jacks, cause all my crackshacks are jam packed\n  start_ms: 197460\n  end_ms: 200260\n- text: My mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track, like Amtrak\n  start_ms: 200260\n  end_ms: 202950\n- text: So stand back, cause I'ma make whatever it takes\n  start_ms: 202950\n  end_ms: 205410\n- text: To shake Jakes, and shoot snakes, and bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\n  start_ms: 205410\n  end_ms: 208470\n- text: Cut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\n  start_ms: 208470\n  end_ms: 210820\n- text: Still like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor cause I'm ill\n  start_ms: 210820\n  end_ms: 213490\n- text: It's war, but no more kids are bein kidnapped, matter of fact\n  start_ms: 213490\n  end_ms: 216330\n- text: Ain't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\n  start_ms: 216330\n  end_ms: 219020\n- text: There's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\n  start_ms: 219020\n  end_ms: 221670\n- text: So niggaz in pajamas get they wigs split like bananas\n  start_ms: 221670\n  end_ms: 224490\n- text: Stable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin bodies\n  start_ms: 224490\n  end_ms: 227000\n- text: Neighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\n  start_ms: 227000\n  end_ms: 229410\n- text: Yeah, paid as a motherfuckin bank teller\n  start_ms: 229410\n  end_ms: 231920\n- text: The Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin drug seller\n  start_ms: 231920\n  end_ms: 234920\n- text: Grimm, G. Rap, B1 (G and B alternate)\n  start_ms: 234920\n  end_ms: 255900\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 255900\nplain: |-\n  Ninety-five, keep it live\n  Yeah to make papers, knahmsayin?\n  Motherfuckin Kool G. Rap and B1\n  and my motherfuckin man Grimm\n  Just comin with somethin to keep the brainstem\n\n  It's Big 1 son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\n  And I'ma exploit, heaven and earth, for what it's worth\n  It's the MC extrordinaire, the jewels glare\n  The God is rare, I'm takin bitches back to my lair\n  I want mines and yours, strippin niggaz to they drawers\n  No probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\n  It's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\n  In eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n  Now I'm sippin Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\n  as the sirens race to the scene\n  Tryin to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\n  Seats for carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n  I got the game down to a science, it's the clients\n  that turn small time hustlers into giants\n  Three course meal, waitin for my appetizer\n  Blowin like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n  Paraphenalia, and material, makes the crew imperial\n  I put the fear in you, sippin beer with two\n  Handlin business properly, form a monopoly\n  Storefront property, if not, another robbery\n  I'm puttin forth the effort, murder's the method\n  The steak is peppered\n  Son when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\n  Bloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\n  Don't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n\n  Grimm, B1\n\n  I gotta flip these bricks\n  cause bein broke drive me insane\n  Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n  From O-Z's to ki's\n  the triple beam brings fame to my name\n  Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n  Niggaz be scheamin and teamin\n  but still I maintain\n  Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n  Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  It ain't nothin but a game\n  Money's on my motherfuckin brain son\n\n  Cryin hopin God forgive me for the ones I killed\n  But until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\n  Like McDonald's, makin mills servin\n  Fuck a Landcruiser now, pulls a? to Suburban\n  Stressed out, sittin thinkin past bed time\n  Scared can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\n  Diamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\n  Fat shit I'm talkin code cause my phone's tapped\n  Crackheads worship me like I'm Jesus\n  Uncle Sam can't stand me cause I'm fuckin all his nieces\n  Cuties every colour, who I wanna fuck next?\n  Buy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\n  Look at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\n  Bulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\n  A large ratio in this game dies\n  But I'm flippin pies, til the Senate legalize\n\n  Grimm, G. Rap (same lines)\n\n  I'm sportin flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Bezn with the chrome rims\n  Presedential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\n  Pockets filled with lucci leather wallets designed by Gucci\n  Parlay in resteraunts, eatin shrimp, scampi and sushi\n  Fly minks, with icicles that blink inside cuban links\n  Lookin?, brothers stink, got loot like I'm doin banks\n  Hundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\n  Front row seats up at the Grammy's, the broke niggaz can't stand me\n  Hold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\n  Just home by the dingos, I step up in em rockin Kangols\n  Straight up fakin no jacks, cause all my crackshacks are jam packed\n  My mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track, like Amtrak\n  So stand back, cause I'ma make whatever it takes\n  to shake Jakes, and shoot snakes, and bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\n  Cut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\n  Still like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor cause I'm ill\n  It's war, but no more kids are bein kidnapped, matter of fact\n  ain't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\n  There's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\n  So niggaz in pajamas get they wigs split like bananas\n  Stable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin bodies\n  Neighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\n  Yeah, paid as a motherfuckin bank teller\n  The Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin drug seller\n\n  Grimm, G. Rap, B1 (G and B alternate)\n"},{"id":17050709,"name":"Money on My Brain Ft. B1 & Grimm","trackName":"Money on My Brain Ft. B1 & Grimm","artistName":"Kool G Rap","albumName":"4, 5, 6","duration":293.333333,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Ninety-five, keep it live\nYeah to make papers, knahmsayin?\nMotherfuckin Kool G. Rap and B1\nand my motherfuckin man Grimm\nJust comin with somethin to keep the brainstem\n\nIt's Big 1 son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\nAnd I'ma exploit, heaven and earth, for what it's worth\nIt's the MC extrordinaire, the jewels glare\nThe God is rare, I'm takin bitches back to my lair\nI want mines and yours, strippin niggaz to they drawers\nNo probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\nIt's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\nIn eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\nNow I'm sippin Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\nas the sirens race to the scene\nTryin to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\nSeats for carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\nI got the game down to a science, it's the clients\nthat turn small time hustlers into giants\nThree course meal, waitin for my appetizer\nBlowin like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\nParaphenalia, and material, makes the crew imperial\nI put the fear in you, sippin beer with two\nHandlin business properly, form a monopoly\nStorefront property, if not, another robbery\nI'm puttin forth the effort, murder's the method\nThe steak is peppered\nSon when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\nBloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\nDon't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n\nGrimm, B1\n\nI gotta flip these bricks\ncause bein broke drive me insane\nMoney's on my motherfuckin brain\nFrom O-Z's to ki's\nthe triple beam brings fame to my name\nMoney's on my motherfuckin brain\nNiggaz be scheamin and teamin\nbut still I maintain\nMoney's on my motherfuckin brain\nCause money and murder go hand in hand\nIt ain't nothin but a game\nMoney's on my motherfuckin brain son\n\nCryin hopin God forgive me for the ones I killed\nBut until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\nLike McDonald's, makin mills servin\nFuck a Landcruiser now, pulls a? to Suburban\nStressed out, sittin thinkin past bed time\nScared can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\nDiamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\nFat shit I'm talkin code cause my phone's tapped\nCrackheads worship me like I'm Jesus\nUncle Sam can't stand me cause I'm fuckin all his nieces\nCuties every colour, who I wanna fuck next?\nBuy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\nLook at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\nBulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\nA large ratio in this game dies\nBut I'm flippin pies, til the Senate legalize\n\nGrimm, G. Rap (same lines)\n\nI'm sportin flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Bezn with the chrome rims\nPresedential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\nPockets filled with lucci leather wallets designed by Gucci\nParlay in resteraunts, eatin shrimp, scampi and sushi\nFly minks, with icicles that blink inside cuban links\nLookin?, brothers stink, got loot like I'm doin banks\nHundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\nFront row seats up at the Grammy's, the broke niggaz can't stand me\nHold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\nJust home by the dingos, I step up in em rockin Kangols\nStraight up fakin no jacks, cause all my crackshacks are jam packed\nMy mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track, like Amtrak\nSo stand back, cause I'ma make whatever it takes\nto shake Jakes, and shoot snakes, and bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\nCut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\nStill like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor cause I'm ill\nIt's war, but no more kids are bein kidnapped, matter of fact\nain't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\nThere's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\nSo niggaz in pajamas get they wigs split like bananas\nStable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin bodies\nNeighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\nYeah, paid as a motherfuckin bank teller\nThe Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin drug seller\n\nGrimm, G. Rap, B1 (G and B alternate)","syncedLyrics":"[00:06.17] Ninety-five, keep it live\n[00:07.82] Yeah to make papers, knahmsayin?\n[00:09.96] Motherfuckin Kool G. Rap and B1\n[00:12.20] And my motherfuckin man Grimm\n[00:13.97] Just comin with somethin to keep the brainstem\n[00:17.43] It's Big 1 son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\n[00:23.76] And I'ma exploit, heaven and earth, for what it's worth\n[00:26.66] It's the MC extrordinaire, the jewels glare\n[00:29.11] The God is rare, I'm takin bitches back to my lair\n[00:31.79] I want mines and yours, strippin niggaz to they drawers\n[00:34.63] No probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\n[00:37.22] It's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\n[00:39.68] In eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n[00:43.32] Now I'm sippin Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\n[00:45.63] As the sirens race to the scene\n[00:47.94] Tryin to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\n[00:50.53] Seats for carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n[00:53.39] I got the game down to a science, it's the clients\n[00:56.59] That turn small time hustlers into giants\n[00:58.89] Three course meal, waitin for my appetizer\n[01:01.16] Blowin like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n[01:04.06] Paraphenalia, and material, makes the crew imperial\n[01:07.73] I put the fear in you, sippin beer with two\n[01:09.44] Handlin business properly, form a monopoly\n[01:12.14] Storefront property, if not, another robbery\n[01:14.92] I'm puttin forth the effort, murder's the method\n[01:17.37] The steak is peppered\n[01:18.38] Son when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\n[01:20.30] Bloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\n[01:22.64] Don't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n[01:24.50] Grimm, B1\n[01:25.87] I gotta flip these bricks\n[01:26.96] Cause bein broke drive me insane\n[01:28.17] Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n[01:30.37] From O-Z's to ki's\n[01:31.93] The triple beam brings fame to my name\n[01:34.00] Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n[01:35.63] Niggaz be scheamin and teamin\n[01:37.90] But still I maintain\n[01:39.92] Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n[01:41.23] Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n[01:43.34] It ain't nothin but a game\n[01:45.44] Money's on my motherfuckin brain son\n[01:46.31] Cryin hopin God forgive me for the ones I killed\n[01:49.46] But until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\n[01:52.28] Like McDonald's, makin mills servin\n[01:54.76] Fuck a Landcruiser now, pulls a? to Suburban\n[01:57.39] Stressed out, sittin thinkin past bed time\n[02:00.07] Scared can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\n[02:02.85] Diamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\n[02:05.48] Fat shit I'm talkin code cause my phone's tapped\n[02:08.35] Crackheads worship me like I'm Jesus\n[02:10.82] Uncle Sam can't stand me cause I'm fuckin all his nieces\n[02:13.42] Cuties every colour, who I wanna fuck next?\n[02:16.18] Buy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\n[02:18.97] Look at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\n[02:21.84] Bulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\n[02:24.46] A large ratio in this game dies\n[02:26.66] But I'm flippin pies, til the Senate legalize\n[02:29.74] Grimm, G. Rap (same lines)\n[02:50.60] I'm sportin flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Bezn with the chrome rims\n[02:53.66] Presedential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\n[02:56.21] Pockets filled with lucci leather wallets designed by Gucci\n[02:59.07] Parlay in resteraunts, eatin shrimp, scampi and sushi\n[03:01.53] Fly minks, with icicles that blink inside cuban links\n[03:04.28] Lookin?, brothers stink, got loot like I'm doin banks\n[03:06.91] Hundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\n[03:09.44] Front row seats up at the Grammy's, the broke niggaz can't stand me\n[03:12.22] Hold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\n[03:14.71] Just home by the dingos, I step up in em rockin Kangols\n[03:17.46] Straight up fakin no jacks, cause all my crackshacks are jam packed\n[03:20.26] My mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track, like Amtrak\n[03:22.95] So stand back, cause I'ma make whatever it takes\n[03:25.41] To shake Jakes, and shoot snakes, and bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\n[03:28.47] Cut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\n[03:30.82] Still like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor cause I'm ill\n[03:33.49] It's war, but no more kids are bein kidnapped, matter of fact\n[03:36.33] Ain't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\n[03:39.02] There's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\n[03:41.67] So niggaz in pajamas get they wigs split like bananas\n[03:44.49] Stable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin bodies\n[03:47.00] Neighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\n[03:49.41] Yeah, paid as a motherfuckin bank teller\n[03:51.92] The Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin drug seller\n[03:54.92] Grimm, G. Rap, B1 (G and B alternate)\n[04:15.90] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Money on My Brain Ft. B1 & Grimm\n  artist: Kool G Rap\n  album: 4, 5, 6\n  duration_ms: 293333\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Ninety-five, keep it live\n  start_ms: 6170\n  end_ms: 7820\n- text: Yeah to make papers, knahmsayin?\n  start_ms: 7820\n  end_ms: 9960\n- text: Motherfuckin Kool G. Rap and B1\n  start_ms: 9960\n  end_ms: 12200\n- text: And my motherfuckin man Grimm\n  start_ms: 12200\n  end_ms: 13970\n- text: Just comin with somethin to keep the brainstem\n  start_ms: 13970\n  end_ms: 17430\n- text: It's Big 1 son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\n  start_ms: 17430\n  end_ms: 23760\n- text: And I'ma exploit, heaven and earth, for what it's worth\n  start_ms: 23760\n  end_ms: 26660\n- text: It's the MC extrordinaire, the jewels glare\n  start_ms: 26660\n  end_ms: 29110\n- text: The God is rare, I'm takin bitches back to my lair\n  start_ms: 29110\n  end_ms: 31790\n- text: I want mines and yours, strippin niggaz to they drawers\n  start_ms: 31790\n  end_ms: 34630\n- text: No probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\n  start_ms: 34630\n  end_ms: 37220\n- text: It's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\n  start_ms: 37220\n  end_ms: 39680\n- text: In eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n  start_ms: 39680\n  end_ms: 43320\n- text: Now I'm sippin Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\n  start_ms: 43320\n  end_ms: 45630\n- text: As the sirens race to the scene\n  start_ms: 45630\n  end_ms: 47940\n- text: Tryin to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\n  start_ms: 47940\n  end_ms: 50530\n- text: Seats for carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n  start_ms: 50530\n  end_ms: 53390\n- text: I got the game down to a science, it's the clients\n  start_ms: 53390\n  end_ms: 56590\n- text: That turn small time hustlers into giants\n  start_ms: 56590\n  end_ms: 58890\n- text: Three course meal, waitin for my appetizer\n  start_ms: 58890\n  end_ms: 61160\n- text: Blowin like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n  start_ms: 61160\n  end_ms: 64060\n- text: Paraphenalia, and material, makes the crew imperial\n  start_ms: 64060\n  end_ms: 67730\n- text: I put the fear in you, sippin beer with two\n  start_ms: 67730\n  end_ms: 69440\n- text: Handlin business properly, form a monopoly\n  start_ms: 69440\n  end_ms: 72140\n- text: Storefront property, if not, another robbery\n  start_ms: 72140\n  end_ms: 74920\n- text: I'm puttin forth the effort, murder's the method\n  start_ms: 74920\n  end_ms: 77370\n- text: The steak is peppered\n  start_ms: 77370\n  end_ms: 78380\n- text: Son when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\n  start_ms: 78380\n  end_ms: 80300\n- text: Bloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\n  start_ms: 80300\n  end_ms: 82640\n- text: Don't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n  start_ms: 82640\n  end_ms: 84500\n- text: Grimm, B1\n  start_ms: 84500\n  end_ms: 85870\n- text: I gotta flip these bricks\n  start_ms: 85870\n  end_ms: 86960\n- text: Cause bein broke drive me insane\n  start_ms: 86960\n  end_ms: 88170\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n  start_ms: 88170\n  end_ms: 90370\n- text: From O-Z's to ki's\n  start_ms: 90370\n  end_ms: 91930\n- text: The triple beam brings fame to my name\n  start_ms: 91930\n  end_ms: 94000\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n  start_ms: 94000\n  end_ms: 95630\n- text: Niggaz be scheamin and teamin\n  start_ms: 95630\n  end_ms: 97900\n- text: But still I maintain\n  start_ms: 97900\n  end_ms: 99920\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n  start_ms: 99920\n  end_ms: 101230\n- text: Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  start_ms: 101230\n  end_ms: 103340\n- text: It ain't nothin but a game\n  start_ms: 103340\n  end_ms: 105440\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin brain son\n  start_ms: 105440\n  end_ms: 106310\n- text: Cryin hopin God forgive me for the ones I killed\n  start_ms: 106310\n  end_ms: 109460\n- text: But until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\n  start_ms: 109460\n  end_ms: 112280\n- text: Like McDonald's, makin mills servin\n  start_ms: 112280\n  end_ms: 114760\n- text: Fuck a Landcruiser now, pulls a? to Suburban\n  start_ms: 114760\n  end_ms: 117390\n- text: Stressed out, sittin thinkin past bed time\n  start_ms: 117390\n  end_ms: 120070\n- text: Scared can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\n  start_ms: 120070\n  end_ms: 122850\n- text: Diamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\n  start_ms: 122850\n  end_ms: 125480\n- text: Fat shit I'm talkin code cause my phone's tapped\n  start_ms: 125480\n  end_ms: 128350\n- text: Crackheads worship me like I'm Jesus\n  start_ms: 128350\n  end_ms: 130820\n- text: Uncle Sam can't stand me cause I'm fuckin all his nieces\n  start_ms: 130820\n  end_ms: 133420\n- text: Cuties every colour, who I wanna fuck next?\n  start_ms: 133420\n  end_ms: 136180\n- text: Buy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\n  start_ms: 136180\n  end_ms: 138970\n- text: Look at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\n  start_ms: 138970\n  end_ms: 141840\n- text: Bulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\n  start_ms: 141840\n  end_ms: 144460\n- text: A large ratio in this game dies\n  start_ms: 144460\n  end_ms: 146660\n- text: But I'm flippin pies, til the Senate legalize\n  start_ms: 146660\n  end_ms: 149740\n- text: Grimm, G. Rap (same lines)\n  start_ms: 149740\n  end_ms: 170600\n- text: I'm sportin flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Bezn with the chrome rims\n  start_ms: 170600\n  end_ms: 173660\n- text: Presedential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\n  start_ms: 173660\n  end_ms: 176210\n- text: Pockets filled with lucci leather wallets designed by Gucci\n  start_ms: 176210\n  end_ms: 179070\n- text: Parlay in resteraunts, eatin shrimp, scampi and sushi\n  start_ms: 179070\n  end_ms: 181530\n- text: Fly minks, with icicles that blink inside cuban links\n  start_ms: 181530\n  end_ms: 184280\n- text: Lookin?, brothers stink, got loot like I'm doin banks\n  start_ms: 184280\n  end_ms: 186910\n- text: Hundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\n  start_ms: 186910\n  end_ms: 189440\n- text: Front row seats up at the Grammy's, the broke niggaz can't stand me\n  start_ms: 189440\n  end_ms: 192220\n- text: Hold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\n  start_ms: 192220\n  end_ms: 194710\n- text: Just home by the dingos, I step up in em rockin Kangols\n  start_ms: 194710\n  end_ms: 197460\n- text: Straight up fakin no jacks, cause all my crackshacks are jam packed\n  start_ms: 197460\n  end_ms: 200260\n- text: My mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track, like Amtrak\n  start_ms: 200260\n  end_ms: 202950\n- text: So stand back, cause I'ma make whatever it takes\n  start_ms: 202950\n  end_ms: 205410\n- text: To shake Jakes, and shoot snakes, and bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\n  start_ms: 205410\n  end_ms: 208470\n- text: Cut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\n  start_ms: 208470\n  end_ms: 210820\n- text: Still like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor cause I'm ill\n  start_ms: 210820\n  end_ms: 213490\n- text: It's war, but no more kids are bein kidnapped, matter of fact\n  start_ms: 213490\n  end_ms: 216330\n- text: Ain't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\n  start_ms: 216330\n  end_ms: 219020\n- text: There's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\n  start_ms: 219020\n  end_ms: 221670\n- text: So niggaz in pajamas get they wigs split like bananas\n  start_ms: 221670\n  end_ms: 224490\n- text: Stable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin bodies\n  start_ms: 224490\n  end_ms: 227000\n- text: Neighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\n  start_ms: 227000\n  end_ms: 229410\n- text: Yeah, paid as a motherfuckin bank teller\n  start_ms: 229410\n  end_ms: 231920\n- text: The Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin drug seller\n  start_ms: 231920\n  end_ms: 234920\n- text: Grimm, G. Rap, B1 (G and B alternate)\n  start_ms: 234920\n  end_ms: 255900\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 255900\nplain: |-\n  Ninety-five, keep it live\n  Yeah to make papers, knahmsayin?\n  Motherfuckin Kool G. Rap and B1\n  and my motherfuckin man Grimm\n  Just comin with somethin to keep the brainstem\n\n  It's Big 1 son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\n  And I'ma exploit, heaven and earth, for what it's worth\n  It's the MC extrordinaire, the jewels glare\n  The God is rare, I'm takin bitches back to my lair\n  I want mines and yours, strippin niggaz to they drawers\n  No probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\n  It's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\n  In eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n  Now I'm sippin Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\n  as the sirens race to the scene\n  Tryin to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\n  Seats for carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n  I got the game down to a science, it's the clients\n  that turn small time hustlers into giants\n  Three course meal, waitin for my appetizer\n  Blowin like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n  Paraphenalia, and material, makes the crew imperial\n  I put the fear in you, sippin beer with two\n  Handlin business properly, form a monopoly\n  Storefront property, if not, another robbery\n  I'm puttin forth the effort, murder's the method\n  The steak is peppered\n  Son when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\n  Bloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\n  Don't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n\n  Grimm, B1\n\n  I gotta flip these bricks\n  cause bein broke drive me insane\n  Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n  From O-Z's to ki's\n  the triple beam brings fame to my name\n  Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n  Niggaz be scheamin and teamin\n  but still I maintain\n  Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n  Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  It ain't nothin but a game\n  Money's on my motherfuckin brain son\n\n  Cryin hopin God forgive me for the ones I killed\n  But until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\n  Like McDonald's, makin mills servin\n  Fuck a Landcruiser now, pulls a? to Suburban\n  Stressed out, sittin thinkin past bed time\n  Scared can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\n  Diamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\n  Fat shit I'm talkin code cause my phone's tapped\n  Crackheads worship me like I'm Jesus\n  Uncle Sam can't stand me cause I'm fuckin all his nieces\n  Cuties every colour, who I wanna fuck next?\n  Buy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\n  Look at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\n  Bulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\n  A large ratio in this game dies\n  But I'm flippin pies, til the Senate legalize\n\n  Grimm, G. Rap (same lines)\n\n  I'm sportin flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Bezn with the chrome rims\n  Presedential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\n  Pockets filled with lucci leather wallets designed by Gucci\n  Parlay in resteraunts, eatin shrimp, scampi and sushi\n  Fly minks, with icicles that blink inside cuban links\n  Lookin?, brothers stink, got loot like I'm doin banks\n  Hundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\n  Front row seats up at the Grammy's, the broke niggaz can't stand me\n  Hold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\n  Just home by the dingos, I step up in em rockin Kangols\n  Straight up fakin no jacks, cause all my crackshacks are jam packed\n  My mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track, like Amtrak\n  So stand back, cause I'ma make whatever it takes\n  to shake Jakes, and shoot snakes, and bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\n  Cut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\n  Still like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor cause I'm ill\n  It's war, but no more kids are bein kidnapped, matter of fact\n  ain't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\n  There's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\n  So niggaz in pajamas get they wigs split like bananas\n  Stable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin bodies\n  Neighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\n  Yeah, paid as a motherfuckin bank teller\n  The Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin drug seller\n\n  Grimm, G. Rap, B1 (G and B alternate)\n"},{"id":18555145,"name":"Money On My Brain (Feat. MF Grimm & B1)","trackName":"Money On My Brain (Feat. MF Grimm & B1)","artistName":"Kool G Rap","albumName":"4,5,6","duration":293.5171669,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Ninety-five, keep it live\nYeah, to make papers, know I'm sayin'?\nMotherfuckin' Kool G. Rap and B1\nAnd my motherfuckin' man Grimm\nJust comin' with somethin' to keep the brain stem\n\nIt's Big 1, son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\nAnd I'ma exploit, heaven and earth for what it's worth\nIt's the MC extraordinaire, the jewels glare\nThe God is rare, I'm takin' bitches back to my lair\n\nI want mines and yours, strippin' niggaz to they drawers\nNo probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\nIt's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\nIn eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n\nNow, I'm sippin' Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\nAs the sirens race to the scene\nTryin' to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\nSeats for Carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n\nI got the game down to a science, it's the clients\nThat turn small time hustlers into giants\nThree course meal, waitin' for my appetizer\nBlowin' like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n\nParaphernalia and material, makes the crew imperial\nI put the fear in you, sippin' beer with two\nHandlin' business properly, form a monopoly\nStoont property, if not, another robbery\n\nI'm puttin' forth the effort, murder's the method, the steak is peppered\nSon, when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\nBloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\nDon't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n\nI gotta flip these bricks\n'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\nFrom O-Z's to ki's\nThe triple beam brings fame to my name\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\nNiggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\nIt ain't nothin' but a game\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, son)\n\nCryin', hopin' God forgive me for the ones I killed\nBut until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\nLike McDonald's makin' mills servin'\nFuck a Landcruiser, now, pulls a cab to Suburbans\n\nStressed out, sittin', thinkin' past bed time\nScared, can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\nDiamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\nFat shit, I'm talkin' code 'cause my phone's tapped\n\nCrack heads worship me like I'm Jesus\nUncle Sam can't stand me 'cause I'm fuckin' all his nieces\nCuties every color, who I wanna fuck next?\nBuy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\n\nLook at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\nBulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\nA large ratio in this game dies\nBut I'm flippin' pies til the Senate legalize\n\nI gotta flip these bricks\n'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, you know?)\nFrom O-Z's to ki's\nThe triple beam brings fame to my name\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\nNiggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n(Money's on my fuckin' brain)\n'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\nIt ain't nothin' but a game\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\nI'm sportin' flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Benz with the chrome rims\nPresidential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\nPockets filled with lucci, leather wallets designed by Gucci\nParlay in restaurants, eatin' shrimp, scampi and sushi\n\nFly minks, with icicles that blink inside Cuban links\nLookin' [Incomprehensible], brothers stink\nGot loot like I'm doin' banks\nHundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\nFront row seats up at the Grammys, the broke niggaz can't stand me\n\nHold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\nJust home by the dingos, I step up in 'em rockin' Kangols\nStraight up fakin' no jacks 'cause all my crack shacks are jam packed\nMy mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track like Amtrak\n\nSo stand back 'cause I'ma make whatever it takes\nTo shake Jakes and shoot snakes\nAnd bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\nCut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\nStill like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor 'cause I'm ill\n\nIt's war but no more kids are bein' kidnapped, matter of fact\nAin't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\nThere's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\nSo niggaz in pajamas get they wigs, split like bananas\n\nStable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin' bodies\nNeighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\nYeah, paid as a motherfuckin' bank teller\nThe Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin' drug seller\n\nI gotta flip these bricks\n'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\nFrom O-Z's to ki's\nThe triple beam brings fame to my name\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\nNiggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n(Money's on my fuckin' brain)\n'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\nIt ain't nothin' but a game\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Money On My Brain (Feat. MF Grimm & B1)\n  artist: Kool G Rap\n  album: 4,5,6\n  duration_ms: 293517\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Ninety-five, keep it live\n  Yeah, to make papers, know I'm sayin'?\n  Motherfuckin' Kool G. Rap and B1\n  And my motherfuckin' man Grimm\n  Just comin' with somethin' to keep the brain stem\n\n  It's Big 1, son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\n  And I'ma exploit, heaven and earth for what it's worth\n  It's the MC extraordinaire, the jewels glare\n  The God is rare, I'm takin' bitches back to my lair\n\n  I want mines and yours, strippin' niggaz to they drawers\n  No probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\n  It's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\n  In eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n\n  Now, I'm sippin' Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\n  As the sirens race to the scene\n  Tryin' to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\n  Seats for Carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n\n  I got the game down to a science, it's the clients\n  That turn small time hustlers into giants\n  Three course meal, waitin' for my appetizer\n  Blowin' like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n\n  Paraphernalia and material, makes the crew imperial\n  I put the fear in you, sippin' beer with two\n  Handlin' business properly, form a monopoly\n  Stoont property, if not, another robbery\n\n  I'm puttin' forth the effort, murder's the method, the steak is peppered\n  Son, when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\n  Bloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\n  Don't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n\n  I gotta flip these bricks\n  'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n  From O-Z's to ki's\n  The triple beam brings fame to my name\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\n  Niggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n  'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  It ain't nothin' but a game\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, son)\n\n  Cryin', hopin' God forgive me for the ones I killed\n  But until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\n  Like McDonald's makin' mills servin'\n  Fuck a Landcruiser, now, pulls a cab to Suburbans\n\n  Stressed out, sittin', thinkin' past bed time\n  Scared, can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\n  Diamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\n  Fat shit, I'm talkin' code 'cause my phone's tapped\n\n  Crack heads worship me like I'm Jesus\n  Uncle Sam can't stand me 'cause I'm fuckin' all his nieces\n  Cuties every color, who I wanna fuck next?\n  Buy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\n\n  Look at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\n  Bulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\n  A large ratio in this game dies\n  But I'm flippin' pies til the Senate legalize\n\n  I gotta flip these bricks\n  'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, you know?)\n  From O-Z's to ki's\n  The triple beam brings fame to my name\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\n  Niggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n  (Money's on my fuckin' brain)\n  'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  It ain't nothin' but a game\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\n  I'm sportin' flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Benz with the chrome rims\n  Presidential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\n  Pockets filled with lucci, leather wallets designed by Gucci\n  Parlay in restaurants, eatin' shrimp, scampi and sushi\n\n  Fly minks, with icicles that blink inside Cuban links\n  Lookin' [Incomprehensible], brothers stink\n  Got loot like I'm doin' banks\n  Hundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\n  Front row seats up at the Grammys, the broke niggaz can't stand me\n\n  Hold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\n  Just home by the dingos, I step up in 'em rockin' Kangols\n  Straight up fakin' no jacks 'cause all my crack shacks are jam packed\n  My mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track like Amtrak\n\n  So stand back 'cause I'ma make whatever it takes\n  To shake Jakes and shoot snakes\n  And bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\n  Cut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\n  Still like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor 'cause I'm ill\n\n  It's war but no more kids are bein' kidnapped, matter of fact\n  Ain't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\n  There's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\n  So niggaz in pajamas get they wigs, split like bananas\n\n  Stable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin' bodies\n  Neighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\n  Yeah, paid as a motherfuckin' bank teller\n  The Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin' drug seller\n\n  I gotta flip these bricks\n  'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n  From O-Z's to ki's\n  The triple beam brings fame to my name\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\n  Niggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n  (Money's on my fuckin' brain)\n  'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  It ain't nothin' but a game\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n"},{"id":14377931,"name":"Money On My Brain Ft. B1 & MF Grimm","trackName":"Money On My Brain Ft. B1 & MF Grimm","artistName":"Kool G Rap","albumName":"4, 5, 6","duration":293.5171669,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Ninety-five, keep it live\nYeah to make papers, knahmsayin?\nMotherfuckin Kool G. Rap and B1\nand my motherfuckin man Grimm\nJust comin with somethin to keep the brainstem\n\nIt's Big 1 son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\nAnd I'ma exploit, heaven and earth, for what it's worth\nIt's the MC extrordinaire, the jewels glare\nThe God is rare, I'm takin bitches back to my lair\nI want mines and yours, strippin niggaz to they drawers\nNo probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\nIt's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\nIn eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\nNow I'm sippin Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\nas the sirens race to the scene\nTryin to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\nSeats for carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\nI got the game down to a science, it's the clients\nthat turn small time hustlers into giants\nThree course meal, waitin for my appetizer\nBlowin like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\nParaphenalia, and material, makes the crew imperial\nI put the fear in you, sippin beer with two\nHandlin business properly, form a monopoly\nStorefront property, if not, another robbery\nI'm puttin forth the effort, murder's the method\nThe steak is peppered\nSon when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\nBloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\nDon't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n\nGrimm, B1\n\nI gotta flip these bricks\ncause bein broke drive me insane\nMoney's on my motherfuckin brain\nFrom O-Z's to ki's\nthe triple beam brings fame to my name\nMoney's on my motherfuckin brain\nNiggaz be scheamin and teamin\nbut still I maintain\nMoney's on my motherfuckin brain\nCause money and murder go hand in hand\nIt ain't nothin but a game\nMoney's on my motherfuckin brain son\n\nCryin hopin God forgive me for the ones I killed\nBut until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\nLike McDonald's, makin mills servin\nFuck a Landcruiser now, pulls a? to Suburban\nStressed out, sittin thinkin past bed time\nScared can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\nDiamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\nFat shit I'm talkin code cause my phone's tapped\nCrackheads worship me like I'm Jesus\nUncle Sam can't stand me cause I'm fuckin all his nieces\nCuties every colour, who I wanna fuck next?\nBuy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\nLook at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\nBulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\nA large ratio in this game dies\nBut I'm flippin pies, til the Senate legalize\n\nGrimm, G. Rap (same lines)\n\nI'm sportin flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Bezn with the chrome rims\nPresedential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\nPockets filled with lucci leather wallets designed by Gucci\nParlay in resteraunts, eatin shrimp, scampi and sushi\nFly minks, with icicles that blink inside cuban links\nLookin?, brothers stink, got loot like I'm doin banks\nHundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\nFront row seats up at the Grammy's, the broke niggaz can't stand me\nHold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\nJust home by the dingos, I step up in em rockin Kangols\nStraight up fakin no jacks, cause all my crackshacks are jam packed\nMy mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track, like Amtrak\nSo stand back, cause I'ma make whatever it takes\nto shake Jakes, and shoot snakes, and bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\nCut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\nStill like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor cause I'm ill\nIt's war, but no more kids are bein kidnapped, matter of fact\nain't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\nThere's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\nSo niggaz in pajamas get they wigs split like bananas\nStable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin bodies\nNeighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\nYeah, paid as a motherfuckin bank teller\nThe Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin drug seller\n\nGrimm, G. Rap, B1 (G and B alternate)","syncedLyrics":"[00:06.17] Ninety-five, keep it live\n[00:07.82] Yeah to make papers, knahmsayin?\n[00:09.96] Motherfuckin Kool G. Rap and B1\n[00:12.20] And my motherfuckin man Grimm\n[00:13.97] Just comin with somethin to keep the brainstem\n[00:17.43] It's Big 1 son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\n[00:23.76] And I'ma exploit, heaven and earth, for what it's worth\n[00:26.66] It's the MC extrordinaire, the jewels glare\n[00:29.11] The God is rare, I'm takin bitches back to my lair\n[00:31.79] I want mines and yours, strippin niggaz to they drawers\n[00:34.63] No probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\n[00:37.22] It's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\n[00:39.68] In eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n[00:43.32] Now I'm sippin Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\n[00:45.63] As the sirens race to the scene\n[00:47.94] Tryin to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\n[00:50.53] Seats for carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n[00:53.39] I got the game down to a science, it's the clients\n[00:56.59] That turn small time hustlers into giants\n[00:58.89] Three course meal, waitin for my appetizer\n[01:01.16] Blowin like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n[01:04.06] Paraphenalia, and material, makes the crew imperial\n[01:07.73] I put the fear in you, sippin beer with two\n[01:09.44] Handlin business properly, form a monopoly\n[01:12.14] Storefront property, if not, another robbery\n[01:14.92] I'm puttin forth the effort, murder's the method\n[01:17.37] The steak is peppered\n[01:18.38] Son when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\n[01:20.30] Bloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\n[01:22.64] Don't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n[01:24.50] Grimm, B1\n[01:25.87] I gotta flip these bricks\n[01:26.96] Cause bein broke drive me insane\n[01:28.17] Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n[01:30.37] From O-Z's to ki's\n[01:31.93] The triple beam brings fame to my name\n[01:34.00] Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n[01:35.63] Niggaz be scheamin and teamin\n[01:37.90] But still I maintain\n[01:39.92] Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n[01:41.23] Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n[01:43.34] It ain't nothin but a game\n[01:45.44] Money's on my motherfuckin brain son\n[01:46.31] Cryin hopin God forgive me for the ones I killed\n[01:49.46] But until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\n[01:52.28] Like McDonald's, makin mills servin\n[01:54.76] Fuck a Landcruiser now, pulls a? to Suburban\n[01:57.39] Stressed out, sittin thinkin past bed time\n[02:00.07] Scared can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\n[02:02.85] Diamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\n[02:05.48] Fat shit I'm talkin code cause my phone's tapped\n[02:08.35] Crackheads worship me like I'm Jesus\n[02:10.82] Uncle Sam can't stand me cause I'm fuckin all his nieces\n[02:13.42] Cuties every colour, who I wanna fuck next?\n[02:16.18] Buy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\n[02:18.97] Look at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\n[02:21.84] Bulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\n[02:24.46] A large ratio in this game dies\n[02:26.66] But I'm flippin pies, til the Senate legalize\n[02:29.74] Grimm, G. Rap (same lines)\n[02:50.60] I'm sportin flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Bezn with the chrome rims\n[02:53.66] Presedential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\n[02:56.21] Pockets filled with lucci leather wallets designed by Gucci\n[02:59.07] Parlay in resteraunts, eatin shrimp, scampi and sushi\n[03:01.53] Fly minks, with icicles that blink inside cuban links\n[03:04.28] Lookin?, brothers stink, got loot like I'm doin banks\n[03:06.91] Hundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\n[03:09.44] Front row seats up at the Grammy's, the broke niggaz can't stand me\n[03:12.22] Hold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\n[03:14.71] Just home by the dingos, I step up in em rockin Kangols\n[03:17.46] Straight up fakin no jacks, cause all my crackshacks are jam packed\n[03:20.26] My mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track, like Amtrak\n[03:22.95] So stand back, cause I'ma make whatever it takes\n[03:25.41] To shake Jakes, and shoot snakes, and bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\n[03:28.47] Cut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\n[03:30.82] Still like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor cause I'm ill\n[03:33.49] It's war, but no more kids are bein kidnapped, matter of fact\n[03:36.33] Ain't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\n[03:39.02] There's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\n[03:41.67] So niggaz in pajamas get they wigs split like bananas\n[03:44.49] Stable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin bodies\n[03:47.00] Neighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\n[03:49.41] Yeah, paid as a motherfuckin bank teller\n[03:51.92] The Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin drug seller\n[03:54.92] Grimm, G. Rap, B1 (G and B alternate)\n[04:15.90] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Money On My Brain Ft. B1 & MF Grimm\n  artist: Kool G Rap\n  album: 4, 5, 6\n  duration_ms: 293517\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Ninety-five, keep it live\n  start_ms: 6170\n  end_ms: 7820\n- text: Yeah to make papers, knahmsayin?\n  start_ms: 7820\n  end_ms: 9960\n- text: Motherfuckin Kool G. Rap and B1\n  start_ms: 9960\n  end_ms: 12200\n- text: And my motherfuckin man Grimm\n  start_ms: 12200\n  end_ms: 13970\n- text: Just comin with somethin to keep the brainstem\n  start_ms: 13970\n  end_ms: 17430\n- text: It's Big 1 son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\n  start_ms: 17430\n  end_ms: 23760\n- text: And I'ma exploit, heaven and earth, for what it's worth\n  start_ms: 23760\n  end_ms: 26660\n- text: It's the MC extrordinaire, the jewels glare\n  start_ms: 26660\n  end_ms: 29110\n- text: The God is rare, I'm takin bitches back to my lair\n  start_ms: 29110\n  end_ms: 31790\n- text: I want mines and yours, strippin niggaz to they drawers\n  start_ms: 31790\n  end_ms: 34630\n- text: No probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\n  start_ms: 34630\n  end_ms: 37220\n- text: It's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\n  start_ms: 37220\n  end_ms: 39680\n- text: In eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n  start_ms: 39680\n  end_ms: 43320\n- text: Now I'm sippin Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\n  start_ms: 43320\n  end_ms: 45630\n- text: As the sirens race to the scene\n  start_ms: 45630\n  end_ms: 47940\n- text: Tryin to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\n  start_ms: 47940\n  end_ms: 50530\n- text: Seats for carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n  start_ms: 50530\n  end_ms: 53390\n- text: I got the game down to a science, it's the clients\n  start_ms: 53390\n  end_ms: 56590\n- text: That turn small time hustlers into giants\n  start_ms: 56590\n  end_ms: 58890\n- text: Three course meal, waitin for my appetizer\n  start_ms: 58890\n  end_ms: 61160\n- text: Blowin like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n  start_ms: 61160\n  end_ms: 64060\n- text: Paraphenalia, and material, makes the crew imperial\n  start_ms: 64060\n  end_ms: 67730\n- text: I put the fear in you, sippin beer with two\n  start_ms: 67730\n  end_ms: 69440\n- text: Handlin business properly, form a monopoly\n  start_ms: 69440\n  end_ms: 72140\n- text: Storefront property, if not, another robbery\n  start_ms: 72140\n  end_ms: 74920\n- text: I'm puttin forth the effort, murder's the method\n  start_ms: 74920\n  end_ms: 77370\n- text: The steak is peppered\n  start_ms: 77370\n  end_ms: 78380\n- text: Son when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\n  start_ms: 78380\n  end_ms: 80300\n- text: Bloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\n  start_ms: 80300\n  end_ms: 82640\n- text: Don't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n  start_ms: 82640\n  end_ms: 84500\n- text: Grimm, B1\n  start_ms: 84500\n  end_ms: 85870\n- text: I gotta flip these bricks\n  start_ms: 85870\n  end_ms: 86960\n- text: Cause bein broke drive me insane\n  start_ms: 86960\n  end_ms: 88170\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n  start_ms: 88170\n  end_ms: 90370\n- text: From O-Z's to ki's\n  start_ms: 90370\n  end_ms: 91930\n- text: The triple beam brings fame to my name\n  start_ms: 91930\n  end_ms: 94000\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n  start_ms: 94000\n  end_ms: 95630\n- text: Niggaz be scheamin and teamin\n  start_ms: 95630\n  end_ms: 97900\n- text: But still I maintain\n  start_ms: 97900\n  end_ms: 99920\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n  start_ms: 99920\n  end_ms: 101230\n- text: Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  start_ms: 101230\n  end_ms: 103340\n- text: It ain't nothin but a game\n  start_ms: 103340\n  end_ms: 105440\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin brain son\n  start_ms: 105440\n  end_ms: 106310\n- text: Cryin hopin God forgive me for the ones I killed\n  start_ms: 106310\n  end_ms: 109460\n- text: But until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\n  start_ms: 109460\n  end_ms: 112280\n- text: Like McDonald's, makin mills servin\n  start_ms: 112280\n  end_ms: 114760\n- text: Fuck a Landcruiser now, pulls a? to Suburban\n  start_ms: 114760\n  end_ms: 117390\n- text: Stressed out, sittin thinkin past bed time\n  start_ms: 117390\n  end_ms: 120070\n- text: Scared can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\n  start_ms: 120070\n  end_ms: 122850\n- text: Diamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\n  start_ms: 122850\n  end_ms: 125480\n- text: Fat shit I'm talkin code cause my phone's tapped\n  start_ms: 125480\n  end_ms: 128350\n- text: Crackheads worship me like I'm Jesus\n  start_ms: 128350\n  end_ms: 130820\n- text: Uncle Sam can't stand me cause I'm fuckin all his nieces\n  start_ms: 130820\n  end_ms: 133420\n- text: Cuties every colour, who I wanna fuck next?\n  start_ms: 133420\n  end_ms: 136180\n- text: Buy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\n  start_ms: 136180\n  end_ms: 138970\n- text: Look at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\n  start_ms: 138970\n  end_ms: 141840\n- text: Bulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\n  start_ms: 141840\n  end_ms: 144460\n- text: A large ratio in this game dies\n  start_ms: 144460\n  end_ms: 146660\n- text: But I'm flippin pies, til the Senate legalize\n  start_ms: 146660\n  end_ms: 149740\n- text: Grimm, G. Rap (same lines)\n  start_ms: 149740\n  end_ms: 170600\n- text: I'm sportin flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Bezn with the chrome rims\n  start_ms: 170600\n  end_ms: 173660\n- text: Presedential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\n  start_ms: 173660\n  end_ms: 176210\n- text: Pockets filled with lucci leather wallets designed by Gucci\n  start_ms: 176210\n  end_ms: 179070\n- text: Parlay in resteraunts, eatin shrimp, scampi and sushi\n  start_ms: 179070\n  end_ms: 181530\n- text: Fly minks, with icicles that blink inside cuban links\n  start_ms: 181530\n  end_ms: 184280\n- text: Lookin?, brothers stink, got loot like I'm doin banks\n  start_ms: 184280\n  end_ms: 186910\n- text: Hundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\n  start_ms: 186910\n  end_ms: 189440\n- text: Front row seats up at the Grammy's, the broke niggaz can't stand me\n  start_ms: 189440\n  end_ms: 192220\n- text: Hold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\n  start_ms: 192220\n  end_ms: 194710\n- text: Just home by the dingos, I step up in em rockin Kangols\n  start_ms: 194710\n  end_ms: 197460\n- text: Straight up fakin no jacks, cause all my crackshacks are jam packed\n  start_ms: 197460\n  end_ms: 200260\n- text: My mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track, like Amtrak\n  start_ms: 200260\n  end_ms: 202950\n- text: So stand back, cause I'ma make whatever it takes\n  start_ms: 202950\n  end_ms: 205410\n- text: To shake Jakes, and shoot snakes, and bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\n  start_ms: 205410\n  end_ms: 208470\n- text: Cut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\n  start_ms: 208470\n  end_ms: 210820\n- text: Still like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor cause I'm ill\n  start_ms: 210820\n  end_ms: 213490\n- text: It's war, but no more kids are bein kidnapped, matter of fact\n  start_ms: 213490\n  end_ms: 216330\n- text: Ain't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\n  start_ms: 216330\n  end_ms: 219020\n- text: There's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\n  start_ms: 219020\n  end_ms: 221670\n- text: So niggaz in pajamas get they wigs split like bananas\n  start_ms: 221670\n  end_ms: 224490\n- text: Stable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin bodies\n  start_ms: 224490\n  end_ms: 227000\n- text: Neighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\n  start_ms: 227000\n  end_ms: 229410\n- text: Yeah, paid as a motherfuckin bank teller\n  start_ms: 229410\n  end_ms: 231920\n- text: The Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin drug seller\n  start_ms: 231920\n  end_ms: 234920\n- text: Grimm, G. Rap, B1 (G and B alternate)\n  start_ms: 234920\n  end_ms: 255900\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 255900\nplain: |-\n  Ninety-five, keep it live\n  Yeah to make papers, knahmsayin?\n  Motherfuckin Kool G. Rap and B1\n  and my motherfuckin man Grimm\n  Just comin with somethin to keep the brainstem\n\n  It's Big 1 son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\n  And I'ma exploit, heaven and earth, for what it's worth\n  It's the MC extrordinaire, the jewels glare\n  The God is rare, I'm takin bitches back to my lair\n  I want mines and yours, strippin niggaz to they drawers\n  No probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\n  It's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\n  In eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n  Now I'm sippin Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\n  as the sirens race to the scene\n  Tryin to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\n  Seats for carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n  I got the game down to a science, it's the clients\n  that turn small time hustlers into giants\n  Three course meal, waitin for my appetizer\n  Blowin like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n  Paraphenalia, and material, makes the crew imperial\n  I put the fear in you, sippin beer with two\n  Handlin business properly, form a monopoly\n  Storefront property, if not, another robbery\n  I'm puttin forth the effort, murder's the method\n  The steak is peppered\n  Son when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\n  Bloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\n  Don't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n\n  Grimm, B1\n\n  I gotta flip these bricks\n  cause bein broke drive me insane\n  Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n  From O-Z's to ki's\n  the triple beam brings fame to my name\n  Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n  Niggaz be scheamin and teamin\n  but still I maintain\n  Money's on my motherfuckin brain\n  Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  It ain't nothin but a game\n  Money's on my motherfuckin brain son\n\n  Cryin hopin God forgive me for the ones I killed\n  But until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\n  Like McDonald's, makin mills servin\n  Fuck a Landcruiser now, pulls a? to Suburban\n  Stressed out, sittin thinkin past bed time\n  Scared can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\n  Diamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\n  Fat shit I'm talkin code cause my phone's tapped\n  Crackheads worship me like I'm Jesus\n  Uncle Sam can't stand me cause I'm fuckin all his nieces\n  Cuties every colour, who I wanna fuck next?\n  Buy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\n  Look at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\n  Bulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\n  A large ratio in this game dies\n  But I'm flippin pies, til the Senate legalize\n\n  Grimm, G. Rap (same lines)\n\n  I'm sportin flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Bezn with the chrome rims\n  Presedential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\n  Pockets filled with lucci leather wallets designed by Gucci\n  Parlay in resteraunts, eatin shrimp, scampi and sushi\n  Fly minks, with icicles that blink inside cuban links\n  Lookin?, brothers stink, got loot like I'm doin banks\n  Hundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\n  Front row seats up at the Grammy's, the broke niggaz can't stand me\n  Hold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\n  Just home by the dingos, I step up in em rockin Kangols\n  Straight up fakin no jacks, cause all my crackshacks are jam packed\n  My mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track, like Amtrak\n  So stand back, cause I'ma make whatever it takes\n  to shake Jakes, and shoot snakes, and bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\n  Cut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\n  Still like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor cause I'm ill\n  It's war, but no more kids are bein kidnapped, matter of fact\n  ain't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\n  There's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\n  So niggaz in pajamas get they wigs split like bananas\n  Stable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin bodies\n  Neighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\n  Yeah, paid as a motherfuckin bank teller\n  The Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin drug seller\n\n  Grimm, G. Rap, B1 (G and B alternate)\n"},{"id":14090519,"name":"Money on My Brain (feat. B1 & MF Grimm)","trackName":"Money on My Brain (feat. B1 & MF Grimm)","artistName":"Kool G Rap","albumName":"4, 5, 6","duration":293.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Ninety-five, keep it live\nYeah, to make papers, know I'm sayin'?\nMotherfuckin' Kool G. Rap and B1\nAnd my motherfuckin' man Grimm\nJust comin' with somethin' to keep the brain stem\n\nIt's Big 1, son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\nAnd I'ma exploit, heaven and earth for what it's worth\nIt's the MC extraordinaire, the jewels glare\nThe God is rare, I'm takin' bitches back to my lair\n\nI want mines and yours, strippin' niggaz to they drawers\nNo probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\nIt's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\nIn eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n\nNow, I'm sippin' Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\nAs the sirens race to the scene\nTryin' to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\nSeats for Carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n\nI got the game down to a science, it's the clients\nThat turn small time hustlers into giants\nThree course meal, waitin' for my appetizer\nBlowin' like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n\nParaphernalia and material, makes the crew imperial\nI put the fear in you, sippin' beer with two\nHandlin' business properly, form a monopoly\nStoont property, if not, another robbery\n\nI'm puttin' forth the effort, murder's the method, the steak is peppered\nSon, when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\nBloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\nDon't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n\nI gotta flip these bricks\n'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\nFrom O-Z's to ki's\nThe triple beam brings fame to my name\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\nNiggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\nIt ain't nothin' but a game\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, son)\n\nCryin', hopin' God forgive me for the ones I killed\nBut until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\nLike McDonald's makin' mills servin'\nFuck a Landcruiser, now, pulls a cab to Suburbans\n\nStressed out, sittin', thinkin' past bed time\nScared, can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\nDiamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\nFat shit, I'm talkin' code 'cause my phone's tapped\n\nCrack heads worship me like I'm Jesus\nUncle Sam can't stand me 'cause I'm fuckin' all his nieces\nCuties every color, who I wanna fuck next?\nBuy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\n\nLook at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\nBulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\nA large ratio in this game dies\nBut I'm flippin' pies til the Senate legalize\n\nI gotta flip these bricks\n'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, you know?)\nFrom O-Z's to ki's\nThe triple beam brings fame to my name\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\nNiggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n(Money's on my fuckin' brain)\n'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\nIt ain't nothin' but a game\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\nI'm sportin' flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Benz with the chrome rims\nPresidential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\nPockets filled with lucci, leather wallets designed by Gucci\nParlay in restaurants, eatin' shrimp, scampi and sushi\n\nFly minks, with icicles that blink inside Cuban links\nLookin' [Incomprehensible], brothers stink\nGot loot like I'm doin' banks\nHundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\nFront row seats up at the Grammys, the broke niggaz can't stand me\n\nHold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\nJust home by the dingos, I step up in 'em rockin' Kangols\nStraight up fakin' no jacks 'cause all my crack shacks are jam packed\nMy mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track like Amtrak\n\nSo stand back 'cause I'ma make whatever it takes\nTo shake Jakes and shoot snakes\nAnd bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\nCut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\nStill like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor 'cause I'm ill\n\nIt's war but no more kids are bein' kidnapped, matter of fact\nAin't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\nThere's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\nSo niggaz in pajamas get they wigs, split like bananas\n\nStable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin' bodies\nNeighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\nYeah, paid as a motherfuckin' bank teller\nThe Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin' drug seller\n\nI gotta flip these bricks\n'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\nFrom O-Z's to ki's\nThe triple beam brings fame to my name\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\nNiggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n(Money's on my fuckin' brain)\n'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\nIt ain't nothin' but a game\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Money on My Brain (feat. B1 & MF Grimm)\n  artist: Kool G Rap\n  album: 4, 5, 6\n  duration_ms: 293000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Ninety-five, keep it live\n  Yeah, to make papers, know I'm sayin'?\n  Motherfuckin' Kool G. Rap and B1\n  And my motherfuckin' man Grimm\n  Just comin' with somethin' to keep the brain stem\n\n  It's Big 1, son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\n  And I'ma exploit, heaven and earth for what it's worth\n  It's the MC extraordinaire, the jewels glare\n  The God is rare, I'm takin' bitches back to my lair\n\n  I want mines and yours, strippin' niggaz to they drawers\n  No probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\n  It's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\n  In eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n\n  Now, I'm sippin' Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\n  As the sirens race to the scene\n  Tryin' to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\n  Seats for Carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n\n  I got the game down to a science, it's the clients\n  That turn small time hustlers into giants\n  Three course meal, waitin' for my appetizer\n  Blowin' like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n\n  Paraphernalia and material, makes the crew imperial\n  I put the fear in you, sippin' beer with two\n  Handlin' business properly, form a monopoly\n  Stoont property, if not, another robbery\n\n  I'm puttin' forth the effort, murder's the method, the steak is peppered\n  Son, when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\n  Bloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\n  Don't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n\n  I gotta flip these bricks\n  'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n  From O-Z's to ki's\n  The triple beam brings fame to my name\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\n  Niggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n  'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  It ain't nothin' but a game\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, son)\n\n  Cryin', hopin' God forgive me for the ones I killed\n  But until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\n  Like McDonald's makin' mills servin'\n  Fuck a Landcruiser, now, pulls a cab to Suburbans\n\n  Stressed out, sittin', thinkin' past bed time\n  Scared, can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\n  Diamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\n  Fat shit, I'm talkin' code 'cause my phone's tapped\n\n  Crack heads worship me like I'm Jesus\n  Uncle Sam can't stand me 'cause I'm fuckin' all his nieces\n  Cuties every color, who I wanna fuck next?\n  Buy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\n\n  Look at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\n  Bulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\n  A large ratio in this game dies\n  But I'm flippin' pies til the Senate legalize\n\n  I gotta flip these bricks\n  'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, you know?)\n  From O-Z's to ki's\n  The triple beam brings fame to my name\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\n  Niggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n  (Money's on my fuckin' brain)\n  'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  It ain't nothin' but a game\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\n  I'm sportin' flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Benz with the chrome rims\n  Presidential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\n  Pockets filled with lucci, leather wallets designed by Gucci\n  Parlay in restaurants, eatin' shrimp, scampi and sushi\n\n  Fly minks, with icicles that blink inside Cuban links\n  Lookin' [Incomprehensible], brothers stink\n  Got loot like I'm doin' banks\n  Hundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\n  Front row seats up at the Grammys, the broke niggaz can't stand me\n\n  Hold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\n  Just home by the dingos, I step up in 'em rockin' Kangols\n  Straight up fakin' no jacks 'cause all my crack shacks are jam packed\n  My mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track like Amtrak\n\n  So stand back 'cause I'ma make whatever it takes\n  To shake Jakes and shoot snakes\n  And bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\n  Cut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\n  Still like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor 'cause I'm ill\n\n  It's war but no more kids are bein' kidnapped, matter of fact\n  Ain't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\n  There's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\n  So niggaz in pajamas get they wigs, split like bananas\n\n  Stable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin' bodies\n  Neighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\n  Yeah, paid as a motherfuckin' bank teller\n  The Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin' drug seller\n\n  I gotta flip these bricks\n  'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n  From O-Z's to ki's\n  The triple beam brings fame to my name\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\n  Niggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n  (Money's on my fuckin' brain)\n  'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  It ain't nothin' but a game\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n"},{"id":10021348,"name":"Money On My Brain feat. B-1 & MF Grimm","trackName":"Money On My Brain feat. B-1 & MF Grimm","artistName":"Kool G Rap","albumName":"4, 5, 6","duration":294.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Ninety-five, keep it live\nYeah, to make papers, know I'm sayin'?\nMotherfuckin' Kool G. Rap and B1\nAnd my motherfuckin' man Grimm\nJust comin' with somethin' to keep the brain stem\n\nIt's Big 1, son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\nAnd I'ma exploit, heaven and earth for what it's worth\nIt's the MC extraordinaire, the jewels glare\nThe God is rare, I'm takin' bitches back to my lair\n\nI want mines and yours, strippin' niggaz to they drawers\nNo probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\nIt's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\nIn eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n\nNow, I'm sippin' Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\nAs the sirens race to the scene\nTryin' to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\nSeats for Carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n\nI got the game down to a science, it's the clients\nThat turn small time hustlers into giants\nThree course meal, waitin' for my appetizer\nBlowin' like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n\nParaphernalia and material, makes the crew imperial\nI put the fear in you, sippin' beer with two\nHandlin' business properly, form a monopoly\nStoont property, if not, another robbery\n\nI'm puttin' forth the effort, murder's the method, the steak is peppered\nSon, when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\nBloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\nDon't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n\nI gotta flip these bricks\n'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\nFrom O-Z's to ki's\nThe triple beam brings fame to my name\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\nNiggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\nIt ain't nothin' but a game\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, son)\n\nCryin', hopin' God forgive me for the ones I killed\nBut until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\nLike McDonald's makin' mills servin'\nFuck a Landcruiser, now, pulls a cab to Suburbans\n\nStressed out, sittin', thinkin' past bed time\nScared, can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\nDiamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\nFat shit, I'm talkin' code 'cause my phone's tapped\n\nCrack heads worship me like I'm Jesus\nUncle Sam can't stand me 'cause I'm fuckin' all his nieces\nCuties every color, who I wanna fuck next?\nBuy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\n\nLook at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\nBulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\nA large ratio in this game dies\nBut I'm flippin' pies til the Senate legalize\n\nI gotta flip these bricks\n'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, you know?)\nFrom O-Z's to ki's\nThe triple beam brings fame to my name\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\nNiggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n(Money's on my fuckin' brain)\n'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\nIt ain't nothin' but a game\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\nI'm sportin' flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Benz with the chrome rims\nPresidential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\nPockets filled with lucci, leather wallets designed by Gucci\nParlay in restaurants, eatin' shrimp, scampi and sushi\n\nFly minks, with icicles that blink inside Cuban links\nLookin' [Incomprehensible], brothers stink\nGot loot like I'm doin' banks\nHundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\nFront row seats up at the Grammys, the broke niggaz can't stand me\n\nHold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\nJust home by the dingos, I step up in 'em rockin' Kangols\nStraight up fakin' no jacks 'cause all my crack shacks are jam packed\nMy mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track like Amtrak\n\nSo stand back 'cause I'ma make whatever it takes\nTo shake Jakes and shoot snakes\nAnd bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\nCut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\nStill like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor 'cause I'm ill\n\nIt's war but no more kids are bein' kidnapped, matter of fact\nAin't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\nThere's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\nSo niggaz in pajamas get they wigs, split like bananas\n\nStable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin' bodies\nNeighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\nYeah, paid as a motherfuckin' bank teller\nThe Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin' drug seller\n\nI gotta flip these bricks\n'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\nFrom O-Z's to ki's\nThe triple beam brings fame to my name\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\nNiggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n(Money's on my fuckin' brain)\n'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\nIt ain't nothin' but a game\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Money On My Brain feat. B-1 & MF Grimm\n  artist: Kool G Rap\n  album: 4, 5, 6\n  duration_ms: 294000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Ninety-five, keep it live\n  Yeah, to make papers, know I'm sayin'?\n  Motherfuckin' Kool G. Rap and B1\n  And my motherfuckin' man Grimm\n  Just comin' with somethin' to keep the brain stem\n\n  It's Big 1, son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\n  And I'ma exploit, heaven and earth for what it's worth\n  It's the MC extraordinaire, the jewels glare\n  The God is rare, I'm takin' bitches back to my lair\n\n  I want mines and yours, strippin' niggaz to they drawers\n  No probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\n  It's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\n  In eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n\n  Now, I'm sippin' Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\n  As the sirens race to the scene\n  Tryin' to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\n  Seats for Carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n\n  I got the game down to a science, it's the clients\n  That turn small time hustlers into giants\n  Three course meal, waitin' for my appetizer\n  Blowin' like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n\n  Paraphernalia and material, makes the crew imperial\n  I put the fear in you, sippin' beer with two\n  Handlin' business properly, form a monopoly\n  Stoont property, if not, another robbery\n\n  I'm puttin' forth the effort, murder's the method, the steak is peppered\n  Son, when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\n  Bloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\n  Don't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n\n  I gotta flip these bricks\n  'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n  From O-Z's to ki's\n  The triple beam brings fame to my name\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\n  Niggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n  'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  It ain't nothin' but a game\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, son)\n\n  Cryin', hopin' God forgive me for the ones I killed\n  But until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\n  Like McDonald's makin' mills servin'\n  Fuck a Landcruiser, now, pulls a cab to Suburbans\n\n  Stressed out, sittin', thinkin' past bed time\n  Scared, can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\n  Diamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\n  Fat shit, I'm talkin' code 'cause my phone's tapped\n\n  Crack heads worship me like I'm Jesus\n  Uncle Sam can't stand me 'cause I'm fuckin' all his nieces\n  Cuties every color, who I wanna fuck next?\n  Buy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\n\n  Look at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\n  Bulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\n  A large ratio in this game dies\n  But I'm flippin' pies til the Senate legalize\n\n  I gotta flip these bricks\n  'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, you know?)\n  From O-Z's to ki's\n  The triple beam brings fame to my name\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\n  Niggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n  (Money's on my fuckin' brain)\n  'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  It ain't nothin' but a game\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\n  I'm sportin' flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Benz with the chrome rims\n  Presidential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\n  Pockets filled with lucci, leather wallets designed by Gucci\n  Parlay in restaurants, eatin' shrimp, scampi and sushi\n\n  Fly minks, with icicles that blink inside Cuban links\n  Lookin' [Incomprehensible], brothers stink\n  Got loot like I'm doin' banks\n  Hundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\n  Front row seats up at the Grammys, the broke niggaz can't stand me\n\n  Hold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\n  Just home by the dingos, I step up in 'em rockin' Kangols\n  Straight up fakin' no jacks 'cause all my crack shacks are jam packed\n  My mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track like Amtrak\n\n  So stand back 'cause I'ma make whatever it takes\n  To shake Jakes and shoot snakes\n  And bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\n  Cut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\n  Still like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor 'cause I'm ill\n\n  It's war but no more kids are bein' kidnapped, matter of fact\n  Ain't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\n  There's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\n  So niggaz in pajamas get they wigs, split like bananas\n\n  Stable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin' bodies\n  Neighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\n  Yeah, paid as a motherfuckin' bank teller\n  The Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin' drug seller\n\n  I gotta flip these bricks\n  'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n  From O-Z's to ki's\n  The triple beam brings fame to my name\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\n  Niggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n  (Money's on my fuckin' brain)\n  'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  It ain't nothin' but a game\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n"},{"id":12545932,"name":"Money on My Brain (feat. MF Grimm & B‐1)","trackName":"Money on My Brain (feat. MF Grimm & B‐1)","artistName":"Kool G Rap","albumName":"Best of MF","duration":294.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Ninety-five, keep it live\nYeah, to make papers, know I'm sayin'?\nMotherfuckin' Kool G. Rap and B1\nAnd my motherfuckin' man Grimm\nJust comin' with somethin' to keep the brain stem\n\nIt's Big 1, son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\nAnd I'ma exploit, heaven and earth for what it's worth\nIt's the MC extraordinaire, the jewels glare\nThe God is rare, I'm takin' bitches back to my lair\n\nI want mines and yours, strippin' niggaz to they drawers\nNo probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\nIt's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\nIn eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n\nNow, I'm sippin' Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\nAs the sirens race to the scene\nTryin' to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\nSeats for Carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n\nI got the game down to a science, it's the clients\nThat turn small time hustlers into giants\nThree course meal, waitin' for my appetizer\nBlowin' like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n\nParaphernalia and material, makes the crew imperial\nI put the fear in you, sippin' beer with two\nHandlin' business properly, form a monopoly\nStoont property, if not, another robbery\n\nI'm puttin' forth the effort, murder's the method, the steak is peppered\nSon, when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\nBloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\nDon't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n\nI gotta flip these bricks\n'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\nFrom O-Z's to ki's\nThe triple beam brings fame to my name\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\nNiggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\nIt ain't nothin' but a game\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, son)\n\nCryin', hopin' God forgive me for the ones I killed\nBut until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\nLike McDonald's makin' mills servin'\nFuck a Landcruiser, now, pulls a cab to Suburbans\n\nStressed out, sittin', thinkin' past bed time\nScared, can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\nDiamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\nFat shit, I'm talkin' code 'cause my phone's tapped\n\nCrack heads worship me like I'm Jesus\nUncle Sam can't stand me 'cause I'm fuckin' all his nieces\nCuties every color, who I wanna fuck next?\nBuy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\n\nLook at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\nBulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\nA large ratio in this game dies\nBut I'm flippin' pies til the Senate legalize\n\nI gotta flip these bricks\n'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, you know?)\nFrom O-Z's to ki's\nThe triple beam brings fame to my name\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\nNiggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n(Money's on my fuckin' brain)\n'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\nIt ain't nothin' but a game\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\nI'm sportin' flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Benz with the chrome rims\nPresidential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\nPockets filled with lucci, leather wallets designed by Gucci\nParlay in restaurants, eatin' shrimp, scampi and sushi\n\nFly minks, with icicles that blink inside Cuban links\nLookin' [Incomprehensible], brothers stink\nGot loot like I'm doin' banks\nHundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\nFront row seats up at the Grammys, the broke niggaz can't stand me\n\nHold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\nJust home by the dingos, I step up in 'em rockin' Kangols\nStraight up fakin' no jacks 'cause all my crack shacks are jam packed\nMy mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track like Amtrak\n\nSo stand back 'cause I'ma make whatever it takes\nTo shake Jakes and shoot snakes\nAnd bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\nCut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\nStill like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor 'cause I'm ill\n\nIt's war but no more kids are bein' kidnapped, matter of fact\nAin't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\nThere's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\nSo niggaz in pajamas get they wigs, split like bananas\n\nStable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin' bodies\nNeighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\nYeah, paid as a motherfuckin' bank teller\nThe Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin' drug seller\n\nI gotta flip these bricks\n'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\nFrom O-Z's to ki's\nThe triple beam brings fame to my name\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\nNiggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n(Money's on my fuckin' brain)\n'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\nIt ain't nothin' but a game\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Money on My Brain (feat. MF Grimm & B‐1)\n  artist: Kool G Rap\n  album: Best of MF\n  duration_ms: 294000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Ninety-five, keep it live\n  Yeah, to make papers, know I'm sayin'?\n  Motherfuckin' Kool G. Rap and B1\n  And my motherfuckin' man Grimm\n  Just comin' with somethin' to keep the brain stem\n\n  It's Big 1, son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\n  And I'ma exploit, heaven and earth for what it's worth\n  It's the MC extraordinaire, the jewels glare\n  The God is rare, I'm takin' bitches back to my lair\n\n  I want mines and yours, strippin' niggaz to they drawers\n  No probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\n  It's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\n  In eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n\n  Now, I'm sippin' Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\n  As the sirens race to the scene\n  Tryin' to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\n  Seats for Carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n\n  I got the game down to a science, it's the clients\n  That turn small time hustlers into giants\n  Three course meal, waitin' for my appetizer\n  Blowin' like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n\n  Paraphernalia and material, makes the crew imperial\n  I put the fear in you, sippin' beer with two\n  Handlin' business properly, form a monopoly\n  Stoont property, if not, another robbery\n\n  I'm puttin' forth the effort, murder's the method, the steak is peppered\n  Son, when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\n  Bloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\n  Don't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n\n  I gotta flip these bricks\n  'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n  From O-Z's to ki's\n  The triple beam brings fame to my name\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\n  Niggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n  'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  It ain't nothin' but a game\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, son)\n\n  Cryin', hopin' God forgive me for the ones I killed\n  But until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\n  Like McDonald's makin' mills servin'\n  Fuck a Landcruiser, now, pulls a cab to Suburbans\n\n  Stressed out, sittin', thinkin' past bed time\n  Scared, can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\n  Diamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\n  Fat shit, I'm talkin' code 'cause my phone's tapped\n\n  Crack heads worship me like I'm Jesus\n  Uncle Sam can't stand me 'cause I'm fuckin' all his nieces\n  Cuties every color, who I wanna fuck next?\n  Buy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\n\n  Look at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\n  Bulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\n  A large ratio in this game dies\n  But I'm flippin' pies til the Senate legalize\n\n  I gotta flip these bricks\n  'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, you know?)\n  From O-Z's to ki's\n  The triple beam brings fame to my name\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\n  Niggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n  (Money's on my fuckin' brain)\n  'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  It ain't nothin' but a game\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\n  I'm sportin' flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Benz with the chrome rims\n  Presidential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\n  Pockets filled with lucci, leather wallets designed by Gucci\n  Parlay in restaurants, eatin' shrimp, scampi and sushi\n\n  Fly minks, with icicles that blink inside Cuban links\n  Lookin' [Incomprehensible], brothers stink\n  Got loot like I'm doin' banks\n  Hundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\n  Front row seats up at the Grammys, the broke niggaz can't stand me\n\n  Hold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\n  Just home by the dingos, I step up in 'em rockin' Kangols\n  Straight up fakin' no jacks 'cause all my crack shacks are jam packed\n  My mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track like Amtrak\n\n  So stand back 'cause I'ma make whatever it takes\n  To shake Jakes and shoot snakes\n  And bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\n  Cut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\n  Still like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor 'cause I'm ill\n\n  It's war but no more kids are bein' kidnapped, matter of fact\n  Ain't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\n  There's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\n  So niggaz in pajamas get they wigs, split like bananas\n\n  Stable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin' bodies\n  Neighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\n  Yeah, paid as a motherfuckin' bank teller\n  The Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin' drug seller\n\n  I gotta flip these bricks\n  'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n  From O-Z's to ki's\n  The triple beam brings fame to my name\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\n  Niggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n  (Money's on my fuckin' brain)\n  'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  It ain't nothin' but a game\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n"},{"id":32298733,"name":"Money on My Brain","trackName":"Money on My Brain","artistName":"Kool G Rap feat. MF Grimm & B-1","albumName":"4, 5, 6","duration":293.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Ninety-five, keep it live\nYeah, to make papers, know I'm sayin'?\nMotherfuckin' Kool G. Rap and B1\nAnd my motherfuckin' man Grimm\nJust comin' with somethin' to keep the brain stem\n\nIt's Big 1, son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\nAnd I'ma exploit, heaven and earth for what it's worth\nIt's the MC extraordinaire, the jewels glare\nThe God is rare, I'm takin' bitches back to my lair\n\nI want mines and yours, strippin' niggaz to they drawers\nNo probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\nIt's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\nIn eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n\nNow, I'm sippin' Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\nAs the sirens race to the scene\nTryin' to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\nSeats for Carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n\nI got the game down to a science, it's the clients\nThat turn small time hustlers into giants\nThree course meal, waitin' for my appetizer\nBlowin' like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n\nParaphernalia and material, makes the crew imperial\nI put the fear in you, sippin' beer with two\nHandlin' business properly, form a monopoly\nStoont property, if not, another robbery\n\nI'm puttin' forth the effort, murder's the method, the steak is peppered\nSon, when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\nBloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\nDon't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n\nI gotta flip these bricks\n'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\nFrom O-Z's to ki's\nThe triple beam brings fame to my name\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\nNiggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\nIt ain't nothin' but a game\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, son)\n\nCryin', hopin' God forgive me for the ones I killed\nBut until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\nLike McDonald's makin' mills servin'\nFuck a Landcruiser, now, pulls a cab to Suburbans\n\nStressed out, sittin', thinkin' past bed time\nScared, can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\nDiamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\nFat shit, I'm talkin' code 'cause my phone's tapped\n\nCrack heads worship me like I'm Jesus\nUncle Sam can't stand me 'cause I'm fuckin' all his nieces\nCuties every color, who I wanna fuck next?\nBuy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\n\nLook at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\nBulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\nA large ratio in this game dies\nBut I'm flippin' pies til the Senate legalize\n\nI gotta flip these bricks\n'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, you know?)\nFrom O-Z's to ki's\nThe triple beam brings fame to my name\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\nNiggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n(Money's on my fuckin' brain)\n'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\nIt ain't nothin' but a game\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\nI'm sportin' flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Benz with the chrome rims\nPresidential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\nPockets filled with lucci, leather wallets designed by Gucci\nParlay in restaurants, eatin' shrimp, scampi and sushi\n\nFly minks, with icicles that blink inside Cuban links\nLookin' [Incomprehensible], brothers stink\nGot loot like I'm doin' banks\nHundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\nFront row seats up at the Grammys, the broke niggaz can't stand me\n\nHold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\nJust home by the dingos, I step up in 'em rockin' Kangols\nStraight up fakin' no jacks 'cause all my crack shacks are jam packed\nMy mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track like Amtrak\n\nSo stand back 'cause I'ma make whatever it takes\nTo shake Jakes and shoot snakes\nAnd bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\nCut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\nStill like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor 'cause I'm ill\n\nIt's war but no more kids are bein' kidnapped, matter of fact\nAin't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\nThere's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\nSo niggaz in pajamas get they wigs, split like bananas\n\nStable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin' bodies\nNeighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\nYeah, paid as a motherfuckin' bank teller\nThe Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin' drug seller\n\nI gotta flip these bricks\n'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\nFrom O-Z's to ki's\nThe triple beam brings fame to my name\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\nNiggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n(Money's on my fuckin' brain)\n'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\nIt ain't nothin' but a game\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Money on My Brain\n  artist: Kool G Rap feat. MF Grimm & B-1\n  album: 4, 5, 6\n  duration_ms: 293000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Ninety-five, keep it live\n  Yeah, to make papers, know I'm sayin'?\n  Motherfuckin' Kool G. Rap and B1\n  And my motherfuckin' man Grimm\n  Just comin' with somethin' to keep the brain stem\n\n  It's Big 1, son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\n  And I'ma exploit, heaven and earth for what it's worth\n  It's the MC extraordinaire, the jewels glare\n  The God is rare, I'm takin' bitches back to my lair\n\n  I want mines and yours, strippin' niggaz to they drawers\n  No probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\n  It's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\n  In eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n\n  Now, I'm sippin' Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\n  As the sirens race to the scene\n  Tryin' to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\n  Seats for Carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n\n  I got the game down to a science, it's the clients\n  That turn small time hustlers into giants\n  Three course meal, waitin' for my appetizer\n  Blowin' like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n\n  Paraphernalia and material, makes the crew imperial\n  I put the fear in you, sippin' beer with two\n  Handlin' business properly, form a monopoly\n  Stoont property, if not, another robbery\n\n  I'm puttin' forth the effort, murder's the method, the steak is peppered\n  Son, when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\n  Bloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\n  Don't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n\n  I gotta flip these bricks\n  'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n  From O-Z's to ki's\n  The triple beam brings fame to my name\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\n  Niggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n  'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  It ain't nothin' but a game\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, son)\n\n  Cryin', hopin' God forgive me for the ones I killed\n  But until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\n  Like McDonald's makin' mills servin'\n  Fuck a Landcruiser, now, pulls a cab to Suburbans\n\n  Stressed out, sittin', thinkin' past bed time\n  Scared, can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\n  Diamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\n  Fat shit, I'm talkin' code 'cause my phone's tapped\n\n  Crack heads worship me like I'm Jesus\n  Uncle Sam can't stand me 'cause I'm fuckin' all his nieces\n  Cuties every color, who I wanna fuck next?\n  Buy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\n\n  Look at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\n  Bulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\n  A large ratio in this game dies\n  But I'm flippin' pies til the Senate legalize\n\n  I gotta flip these bricks\n  'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, you know?)\n  From O-Z's to ki's\n  The triple beam brings fame to my name\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\n  Niggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n  (Money's on my fuckin' brain)\n  'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  It ain't nothin' but a game\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\n  I'm sportin' flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Benz with the chrome rims\n  Presidential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\n  Pockets filled with lucci, leather wallets designed by Gucci\n  Parlay in restaurants, eatin' shrimp, scampi and sushi\n\n  Fly minks, with icicles that blink inside Cuban links\n  Lookin' [Incomprehensible], brothers stink\n  Got loot like I'm doin' banks\n  Hundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\n  Front row seats up at the Grammys, the broke niggaz can't stand me\n\n  Hold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\n  Just home by the dingos, I step up in 'em rockin' Kangols\n  Straight up fakin' no jacks 'cause all my crack shacks are jam packed\n  My mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track like Amtrak\n\n  So stand back 'cause I'ma make whatever it takes\n  To shake Jakes and shoot snakes\n  And bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\n  Cut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\n  Still like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor 'cause I'm ill\n\n  It's war but no more kids are bein' kidnapped, matter of fact\n  Ain't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\n  There's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\n  So niggaz in pajamas get they wigs, split like bananas\n\n  Stable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin' bodies\n  Neighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\n  Yeah, paid as a motherfuckin' bank teller\n  The Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin' drug seller\n\n  I gotta flip these bricks\n  'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n  From O-Z's to ki's\n  The triple beam brings fame to my name\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\n  Niggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n  (Money's on my fuckin' brain)\n  'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  It ain't nothin' but a game\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n"},{"id":10718358,"name":"Money on My Brain","trackName":"Money on My Brain","artistName":"Kool G Rap feat. MF Grimm & B‐1","albumName":"Best of Mf","duration":294.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Ninety-five, keep it live\nYeah, to make papers, know I'm sayin'?\nMotherfuckin' Kool G. Rap and B1\nAnd my motherfuckin' man Grimm\nJust comin' with somethin' to keep the brain stem\n\nIt's Big 1, son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\nAnd I'ma exploit, heaven and earth for what it's worth\nIt's the MC extraordinaire, the jewels glare\nThe God is rare, I'm takin' bitches back to my lair\n\nI want mines and yours, strippin' niggaz to they drawers\nNo probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\nIt's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\nIn eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n\nNow, I'm sippin' Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\nAs the sirens race to the scene\nTryin' to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\nSeats for Carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n\nI got the game down to a science, it's the clients\nThat turn small time hustlers into giants\nThree course meal, waitin' for my appetizer\nBlowin' like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n\nParaphernalia and material, makes the crew imperial\nI put the fear in you, sippin' beer with two\nHandlin' business properly, form a monopoly\nStoont property, if not, another robbery\n\nI'm puttin' forth the effort, murder's the method, the steak is peppered\nSon, when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\nBloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\nDon't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n\nI gotta flip these bricks\n'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\nFrom O-Z's to ki's\nThe triple beam brings fame to my name\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\nNiggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\nIt ain't nothin' but a game\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, son)\n\nCryin', hopin' God forgive me for the ones I killed\nBut until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\nLike McDonald's makin' mills servin'\nFuck a Landcruiser, now, pulls a cab to Suburbans\n\nStressed out, sittin', thinkin' past bed time\nScared, can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\nDiamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\nFat shit, I'm talkin' code 'cause my phone's tapped\n\nCrack heads worship me like I'm Jesus\nUncle Sam can't stand me 'cause I'm fuckin' all his nieces\nCuties every color, who I wanna fuck next?\nBuy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\n\nLook at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\nBulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\nA large ratio in this game dies\nBut I'm flippin' pies til the Senate legalize\n\nI gotta flip these bricks\n'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, you know?)\nFrom O-Z's to ki's\nThe triple beam brings fame to my name\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\nNiggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n(Money's on my fuckin' brain)\n'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\nIt ain't nothin' but a game\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\nI'm sportin' flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Benz with the chrome rims\nPresidential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\nPockets filled with lucci, leather wallets designed by Gucci\nParlay in restaurants, eatin' shrimp, scampi and sushi\n\nFly minks, with icicles that blink inside Cuban links\nLookin' [Incomprehensible], brothers stink\nGot loot like I'm doin' banks\nHundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\nFront row seats up at the Grammys, the broke niggaz can't stand me\n\nHold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\nJust home by the dingos, I step up in 'em rockin' Kangols\nStraight up fakin' no jacks 'cause all my crack shacks are jam packed\nMy mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track like Amtrak\n\nSo stand back 'cause I'ma make whatever it takes\nTo shake Jakes and shoot snakes\nAnd bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\nCut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\nStill like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor 'cause I'm ill\n\nIt's war but no more kids are bein' kidnapped, matter of fact\nAin't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\nThere's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\nSo niggaz in pajamas get they wigs, split like bananas\n\nStable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin' bodies\nNeighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\nYeah, paid as a motherfuckin' bank teller\nThe Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin' drug seller\n\nI gotta flip these bricks\n'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\nFrom O-Z's to ki's\nThe triple beam brings fame to my name\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\nNiggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n(Money's on my fuckin' brain)\n'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\nIt ain't nothin' but a game\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Money on My Brain\n  artist: Kool G Rap feat. MF Grimm & B‐1\n  album: Best of Mf\n  duration_ms: 294000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Ninety-five, keep it live\n  Yeah, to make papers, know I'm sayin'?\n  Motherfuckin' Kool G. Rap and B1\n  And my motherfuckin' man Grimm\n  Just comin' with somethin' to keep the brain stem\n\n  It's Big 1, son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\n  And I'ma exploit, heaven and earth for what it's worth\n  It's the MC extraordinaire, the jewels glare\n  The God is rare, I'm takin' bitches back to my lair\n\n  I want mines and yours, strippin' niggaz to they drawers\n  No probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\n  It's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\n  In eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n\n  Now, I'm sippin' Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\n  As the sirens race to the scene\n  Tryin' to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\n  Seats for Carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n\n  I got the game down to a science, it's the clients\n  That turn small time hustlers into giants\n  Three course meal, waitin' for my appetizer\n  Blowin' like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n\n  Paraphernalia and material, makes the crew imperial\n  I put the fear in you, sippin' beer with two\n  Handlin' business properly, form a monopoly\n  Stoont property, if not, another robbery\n\n  I'm puttin' forth the effort, murder's the method, the steak is peppered\n  Son, when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\n  Bloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\n  Don't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n\n  I gotta flip these bricks\n  'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n  From O-Z's to ki's\n  The triple beam brings fame to my name\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\n  Niggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n  'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  It ain't nothin' but a game\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, son)\n\n  Cryin', hopin' God forgive me for the ones I killed\n  But until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\n  Like McDonald's makin' mills servin'\n  Fuck a Landcruiser, now, pulls a cab to Suburbans\n\n  Stressed out, sittin', thinkin' past bed time\n  Scared, can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\n  Diamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\n  Fat shit, I'm talkin' code 'cause my phone's tapped\n\n  Crack heads worship me like I'm Jesus\n  Uncle Sam can't stand me 'cause I'm fuckin' all his nieces\n  Cuties every color, who I wanna fuck next?\n  Buy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\n\n  Look at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\n  Bulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\n  A large ratio in this game dies\n  But I'm flippin' pies til the Senate legalize\n\n  I gotta flip these bricks\n  'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, you know?)\n  From O-Z's to ki's\n  The triple beam brings fame to my name\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\n  Niggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n  (Money's on my fuckin' brain)\n  'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  It ain't nothin' but a game\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\n  I'm sportin' flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Benz with the chrome rims\n  Presidential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\n  Pockets filled with lucci, leather wallets designed by Gucci\n  Parlay in restaurants, eatin' shrimp, scampi and sushi\n\n  Fly minks, with icicles that blink inside Cuban links\n  Lookin' [Incomprehensible], brothers stink\n  Got loot like I'm doin' banks\n  Hundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\n  Front row seats up at the Grammys, the broke niggaz can't stand me\n\n  Hold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\n  Just home by the dingos, I step up in 'em rockin' Kangols\n  Straight up fakin' no jacks 'cause all my crack shacks are jam packed\n  My mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track like Amtrak\n\n  So stand back 'cause I'ma make whatever it takes\n  To shake Jakes and shoot snakes\n  And bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\n  Cut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\n  Still like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor 'cause I'm ill\n\n  It's war but no more kids are bein' kidnapped, matter of fact\n  Ain't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\n  There's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\n  So niggaz in pajamas get they wigs, split like bananas\n\n  Stable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin' bodies\n  Neighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\n  Yeah, paid as a motherfuckin' bank teller\n  The Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin' drug seller\n\n  I gotta flip these bricks\n  'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n  From O-Z's to ki's\n  The triple beam brings fame to my name\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\n  Niggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n  (Money's on my fuckin' brain)\n  'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  It ain't nothin' but a game\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n"},{"id":9699413,"name":"Money on My Brain","trackName":"Money on My Brain","artistName":"Kool G Rap feat. B‐1, MF Grimm","albumName":"4,5,6","duration":293.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Ninety-five, keep it live\nYeah, to make papers, know I'm sayin'?\nMotherfuckin' Kool G. Rap and B1\nAnd my motherfuckin' man Grimm\nJust comin' with somethin' to keep the brain stem\n\nIt's Big 1, son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\nAnd I'ma exploit, heaven and earth for what it's worth\nIt's the MC extraordinaire, the jewels glare\nThe God is rare, I'm takin' bitches back to my lair\n\nI want mines and yours, strippin' niggaz to they drawers\nNo probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\nIt's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\nIn eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n\nNow, I'm sippin' Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\nAs the sirens race to the scene\nTryin' to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\nSeats for Carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n\nI got the game down to a science, it's the clients\nThat turn small time hustlers into giants\nThree course meal, waitin' for my appetizer\nBlowin' like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n\nParaphernalia and material, makes the crew imperial\nI put the fear in you, sippin' beer with two\nHandlin' business properly, form a monopoly\nStoont property, if not, another robbery\n\nI'm puttin' forth the effort, murder's the method, the steak is peppered\nSon, when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\nBloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\nDon't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n\nI gotta flip these bricks\n'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\nFrom O-Z's to ki's\nThe triple beam brings fame to my name\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\nNiggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\nIt ain't nothin' but a game\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, son)\n\nCryin', hopin' God forgive me for the ones I killed\nBut until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\nLike McDonald's makin' mills servin'\nFuck a Landcruiser, now, pulls a cab to Suburbans\n\nStressed out, sittin', thinkin' past bed time\nScared, can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\nDiamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\nFat shit, I'm talkin' code 'cause my phone's tapped\n\nCrack heads worship me like I'm Jesus\nUncle Sam can't stand me 'cause I'm fuckin' all his nieces\nCuties every color, who I wanna fuck next?\nBuy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\n\nLook at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\nBulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\nA large ratio in this game dies\nBut I'm flippin' pies til the Senate legalize\n\nI gotta flip these bricks\n'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, you know?)\nFrom O-Z's to ki's\nThe triple beam brings fame to my name\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\nNiggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n(Money's on my fuckin' brain)\n'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\nIt ain't nothin' but a game\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\nI'm sportin' flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Benz with the chrome rims\nPresidential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\nPockets filled with lucci, leather wallets designed by Gucci\nParlay in restaurants, eatin' shrimp, scampi and sushi\n\nFly minks, with icicles that blink inside Cuban links\nLookin' [Incomprehensible], brothers stink\nGot loot like I'm doin' banks\nHundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\nFront row seats up at the Grammys, the broke niggaz can't stand me\n\nHold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\nJust home by the dingos, I step up in 'em rockin' Kangols\nStraight up fakin' no jacks 'cause all my crack shacks are jam packed\nMy mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track like Amtrak\n\nSo stand back 'cause I'ma make whatever it takes\nTo shake Jakes and shoot snakes\nAnd bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\nCut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\nStill like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor 'cause I'm ill\n\nIt's war but no more kids are bein' kidnapped, matter of fact\nAin't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\nThere's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\nSo niggaz in pajamas get they wigs, split like bananas\n\nStable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin' bodies\nNeighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\nYeah, paid as a motherfuckin' bank teller\nThe Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin' drug seller\n\nI gotta flip these bricks\n'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\nFrom O-Z's to ki's\nThe triple beam brings fame to my name\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\nNiggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n(Money's on my fuckin' brain)\n'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\nIt ain't nothin' but a game\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Money on My Brain\n  artist: Kool G Rap feat. B‐1, MF Grimm\n  album: 4,5,6\n  duration_ms: 293000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Ninety-five, keep it live\n  Yeah, to make papers, know I'm sayin'?\n  Motherfuckin' Kool G. Rap and B1\n  And my motherfuckin' man Grimm\n  Just comin' with somethin' to keep the brain stem\n\n  It's Big 1, son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\n  And I'ma exploit, heaven and earth for what it's worth\n  It's the MC extraordinaire, the jewels glare\n  The God is rare, I'm takin' bitches back to my lair\n\n  I want mines and yours, strippin' niggaz to they drawers\n  No probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\n  It's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\n  In eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n\n  Now, I'm sippin' Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\n  As the sirens race to the scene\n  Tryin' to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\n  Seats for Carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n\n  I got the game down to a science, it's the clients\n  That turn small time hustlers into giants\n  Three course meal, waitin' for my appetizer\n  Blowin' like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n\n  Paraphernalia and material, makes the crew imperial\n  I put the fear in you, sippin' beer with two\n  Handlin' business properly, form a monopoly\n  Stoont property, if not, another robbery\n\n  I'm puttin' forth the effort, murder's the method, the steak is peppered\n  Son, when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\n  Bloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\n  Don't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n\n  I gotta flip these bricks\n  'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n  From O-Z's to ki's\n  The triple beam brings fame to my name\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\n  Niggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n  'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  It ain't nothin' but a game\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, son)\n\n  Cryin', hopin' God forgive me for the ones I killed\n  But until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\n  Like McDonald's makin' mills servin'\n  Fuck a Landcruiser, now, pulls a cab to Suburbans\n\n  Stressed out, sittin', thinkin' past bed time\n  Scared, can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\n  Diamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\n  Fat shit, I'm talkin' code 'cause my phone's tapped\n\n  Crack heads worship me like I'm Jesus\n  Uncle Sam can't stand me 'cause I'm fuckin' all his nieces\n  Cuties every color, who I wanna fuck next?\n  Buy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\n\n  Look at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\n  Bulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\n  A large ratio in this game dies\n  But I'm flippin' pies til the Senate legalize\n\n  I gotta flip these bricks\n  'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, you know?)\n  From O-Z's to ki's\n  The triple beam brings fame to my name\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\n  Niggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n  (Money's on my fuckin' brain)\n  'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  It ain't nothin' but a game\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\n  I'm sportin' flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Benz with the chrome rims\n  Presidential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\n  Pockets filled with lucci, leather wallets designed by Gucci\n  Parlay in restaurants, eatin' shrimp, scampi and sushi\n\n  Fly minks, with icicles that blink inside Cuban links\n  Lookin' [Incomprehensible], brothers stink\n  Got loot like I'm doin' banks\n  Hundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\n  Front row seats up at the Grammys, the broke niggaz can't stand me\n\n  Hold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\n  Just home by the dingos, I step up in 'em rockin' Kangols\n  Straight up fakin' no jacks 'cause all my crack shacks are jam packed\n  My mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track like Amtrak\n\n  So stand back 'cause I'ma make whatever it takes\n  To shake Jakes and shoot snakes\n  And bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\n  Cut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\n  Still like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor 'cause I'm ill\n\n  It's war but no more kids are bein' kidnapped, matter of fact\n  Ain't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\n  There's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\n  So niggaz in pajamas get they wigs, split like bananas\n\n  Stable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin' bodies\n  Neighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\n  Yeah, paid as a motherfuckin' bank teller\n  The Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin' drug seller\n\n  I gotta flip these bricks\n  'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n  From O-Z's to ki's\n  The triple beam brings fame to my name\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\n  Niggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n  (Money's on my fuckin' brain)\n  'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  It ain't nothin' but a game\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n"},{"id":33809799,"name":"Money on My Brain","trackName":"Money on My Brain","artistName":"B-1, Kool G Rap, MF DOOM, MF Grimm","albumName":"Best of Mf","duration":293.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"'95, Keep it live, yeah, to make papers, you know what I'm sayin'?\nMotherfuckin' Kool G Rap, the B-1, and my motherfuckin' man Grimm\nHe's comin' with somethin' to kick the brainstem\nWord up, word up, man, word, '95\nLadies and gentlemen, word up\n\nIt's big one, son, Jamaica, Queens is the turf\nAnd I'ma exploit Heaven and Earth for what it's worth\nIt's the MC extraordinaire, the jewels glare, the God is rare\nI'm takin' bitches back to my lair\nI want mines and yours, strippin' niggas to they drawers\nNo probable cause, with the chrome double-fours\nIt's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\nIn '84, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n\nNow I'm sippin' Harveys Bristol Cream with the Glock 17\nAs the sirens race to the scene\nTryna get dough like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\nSeats Recaro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n\nI got the game down to a science\nIt's the clients that turn small-time hustlers into giants\nThree-course meal, waitin' for my appetizer\nBlowin' like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n\nParaphernalia and material makes the crew imperial\nI'm puttin' fear in you, sippin' beer with two\nHandlin' business properly, form a monopoly\nStorefront property, if not, another robbery\nI'm puttin' forth the effort, murder's the method\nThe steak is peppered, son, when I let\nOff, you meet your Lord and Shepherd\nBloody money gets niggas deaded and wetted, don't forget it\nMoney's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n\nI gotta flip these bricks 'cause bein' broke drive me insane\nMoney's on my motherfuckin' brain\nFrom O-Z's to ki's, the triple beam bring fame to my name\nMoney's on my motherfuckin' brain\nNiggas be schemin' and teamin', but still, I maintain\nMoney's on my motherfuckin' brain\n'Cause money and murder go hand in hand, it ain't nothin' but a game\nMoney's on my motherfuckin' brain, son\n\nCryin', hopin' God forgive me for the ones I killed\nBut until still, I drop my eyes with hundred-dollar bills\nLike McDonald's, makin' mills servin'\nFuck a Land Cruiser now, 'cause I got\nTwo Suburbans (From Staten Island)\nStressed out, sittin', thinkin' past bedtime\nScared, can't sleep, nightmares about Fed time\nDiamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\n\nFat shit, I talk in code 'cause my phone's tapped\nCrackheads worship me like I'm Jesus\nUncle Sam can't stand me 'cause I'm fuckin' all his nieces (Right)\nCuties every color, who I wanna fuck next?\nBuy a new car, maybe Lamborghini truck next\nLook at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\nBulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck TECs\n\nA large ratio in this game dies\n\nBut I'm flippin' pies 'til the Senate legalize\n\nI gotta flip these bricks 'cause bein' broke drive me insane\nMoney's on my motherfuckin' brain (Yeah, you know it)\nFrom O-Z's to ki's, the triple beam bring fame to my name\nMoney's on my motherfuckin' brain (Motherfuckin' right)\nNiggas be schemin' and teamin', but still, I maintain\nMoney's on my fuckin' brain (Yeah, let's keep it together)\n'Cause money and murder go hand in hand, it ain't nothin' but a game\nMoney's on my motherfuckin' brain (Represent this thing)\n\nI'm sportin' flavors and Timbs, a '95 Benz with the chrome rims\nPresidential Rolex, two-carat diamonds with the snow gems\nPockets filled with lucci, leather wallets designed by Gucci\nParty in restaurants, eatin' shrimp, scampi, and sushi\n\nFly minks, wet icicles that blink inside Cuban links\nLookin' spank, puffin' stank, got loot like I'm doin' banks\nHundred-dollar bottles of Shammy, condos in Miami\nFrom O-Z's up at the Grammys, the broke niggas can't stand me\nHold the flame, blow, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\nIt's on by the dingos, I step up and I'm rockin' Kangols\n\nStraight up fakin' no jax 'cause all my crack shacks are jam-packed\nMy math stacks so that I'm on the right track like Amtrak\nSo stand back 'cause I'ma make whatever it takes\nTo shake Jakes or shoot snakes and\nBake more snowflake cakes than Drakes\n\nCut up your grill like I'm the Barber of the Ville\nSteal like Gotti, bodies are found inside the harbor 'cause I'm ill\nTo sport, but no more kids are bein' kidnapped\nMatter of fact, ain't with the shit\nBlack, I was young when I did that\nThere's dope in the Copacabanas, cock back the hammers\n'Til niggas in pajamas get they wigs split like bananas\n\nSame with the hotties, niggas with shotties catchin' bodies\nNeighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\nYeah, paid as a motherfuckin' bank teller\n\nThe Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin' drug seller\n\nI gotta flip these bricks 'cause bein' broke drive me insane\nMoney's on my motherfuckin' brain (Motherfuckin' right)\nFrom O-Z's to ki's, the triple beam bring fame to my name\nMoney's on my motherfuckin' brain (Paper, baby)\nNiggas be schemin' and teamin', but still, I maintain\nMoney's on my fuckin' brain (Get the C.R.E.A.M.)\n'Cause money and murder go hand in hand, it ain't nothin' but a game\nMoney's on my motherfuckin' brain\n\nWord up, yeah, just that real shit for the '95, baby\nYou know it, fuck all you broke motherfuckers\nOh, you motherfuckers, nigga\nRepresentin' Manhattan, yeah\nCorona in the motherfuckin' house, dog\nKeepin' it real, represent the Diamond D's\nWord, big dude, keepin' it real for the '95, dog\n\nUh, yeah, kickin' that shit\nBig ups to my nigga J Black, yeah\nLong drop, pass that weed, fool\nUnderground motherfuckin' flavor, fools","syncedLyrics":"[00:06.02] '95, Keep it live, yeah, to make papers, you know what I'm sayin'?\n[00:09.71] Motherfuckin' Kool G Rap, the B-1, and my motherfuckin' man Grimm\n[00:14.05] He's comin' with somethin' to kick the brainstem\n[00:16.24] Word up, word up, man, word, '95\n[00:20.28] Ladies and gentlemen, word up\n[00:21.65] It's big one, son, Jamaica, Queens is the turf\n[00:24.19] And I'ma exploit Heaven and Earth for what it's worth\n[00:26.92] It's the MC extraordinaire, the jewels glare, the God is rare\n[00:30.58] I'm takin' bitches back to my lair\n[00:32.23] I want mines and yours, strippin' niggas to they drawers\n[00:34.99] No probable cause, with the chrome double-fours\n[00:37.65] It's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\n[00:40.53] In '84, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n[00:43.27] Now I'm sippin' Harveys Bristol Cream with the Glock 17\n[00:46.37] As the sirens race to the scene\n[00:48.25] Tryna get dough like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\n[00:51.16] Seats Recaro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n[00:53.86] I got the game down to a science\n[00:55.95] It's the clients that turn small-time hustlers into giants\n[00:59.26] Three-course meal, waitin' for my appetizer\n[01:01.62] Blowin' like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n[01:04.69] Paraphernalia and material makes the crew imperial\n[01:07.84] I'm puttin' fear in you, sippin' beer with two\n[01:10.25] Handlin' business properly, form a monopoly\n[01:12.54] Storefront property, if not, another robbery\n[01:15.18] I'm puttin' forth the effort, murder's the method\n[01:17.44] The steak is peppered, son, when I let\n[01:19.32] Off, you meet your Lord and Shepherd\n[01:20.64] Bloody money gets niggas deaded and wetted, don't forget it\n[01:23.50] Money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n[01:25.68] I gotta flip these bricks 'cause bein' broke drive me insane\n[01:28.67] Money's on my motherfuckin' brain\n[01:31.02] From O-Z's to ki's, the triple beam bring fame to my name\n[01:34.03] Money's on my motherfuckin' brain\n[01:36.62] Niggas be schemin' and teamin', but still, I maintain\n[01:39.31] Money's on my motherfuckin' brain\n[01:41.89] 'Cause money and murder go hand in hand, it ain't nothin' but a game\n[01:45.01] Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, son\n[01:47.23] Cryin', hopin' God forgive me for the ones I killed\n[01:49.77] But until still, I drop my eyes with hundred-dollar bills\n[01:53.05] Like McDonald's, makin' mills servin'\n[01:55.02] Fuck a Land Cruiser now, 'cause I got\n[01:56.92] Two Suburbans (From Staten Island)\n[01:58.38] Stressed out, sittin', thinkin' past bedtime\n[02:00.69] Scared, can't sleep, nightmares about Fed time\n[02:03.30] Diamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\n[02:06.33] Fat shit, I talk in code 'cause my phone's tapped\n[02:09.06] Crackheads worship me like I'm Jesus\n[02:11.16] Uncle Sam can't stand me 'cause I'm fuckin' all his nieces (Right)\n[02:14.09] Cuties every color, who I wanna fuck next?\n[02:16.72] Buy a new car, maybe Lamborghini truck next\n[02:19.78] Look at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\n[02:22.08] Bulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck TECs\n[02:25.06] A large ratio in this game dies\n[02:26.93] But I'm flippin' pies 'til the Senate legalize\n[02:29.73] I gotta flip these bricks 'cause bein' broke drive me insane\n[02:32.84] Money's on my motherfuckin' brain (Yeah, you know it)\n[02:35.07] From O-Z's to ki's, the triple beam bring fame to my name\n[02:38.35] Money's on my motherfuckin' brain (Motherfuckin' right)\n[02:40.79] Niggas be schemin' and teamin', but still, I maintain\n[02:43.88] Money's on my fuckin' brain (Yeah, let's keep it together)\n[02:45.83] 'Cause money and murder go hand in hand, it ain't nothin' but a game\n[02:49.06] Money's on my motherfuckin' brain (Represent this thing)\n[02:51.00] I'm sportin' flavors and Timbs, a '95 Benz with the chrome rims\n[02:53.97] Presidential Rolex, two-carat diamonds with the snow gems\n[02:56.68] Pockets filled with lucci, leather wallets designed by Gucci\n[02:59.11] Party in restaurants, eatin' shrimp, scampi, and sushi\n[03:01.97] Fly minks, wet icicles that blink inside Cuban links\n[03:04.70] Lookin' spank, puffin' stank, got loot like I'm doin' banks\n[03:07.35] Hundred-dollar bottles of Shammy, condos in Miami\n[03:09.94] From O-Z's up at the Grammys, the broke niggas can't stand me\n[03:12.45] Hold the flame, blow, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\n[03:15.37] It's on by the dingos, I step up and I'm rockin' Kangols\n[03:18.07] Straight up fakin' no jax 'cause all my crack shacks are jam-packed\n[03:20.74] My math stacks so that I'm on the right track like Amtrak\n[03:23.57] So stand back 'cause I'ma make whatever it takes\n[03:25.67] To shake Jakes or shoot snakes and\n[03:27.18] Bake more snowflake cakes than Drakes\n[03:29.03] Cut up your grill like I'm the Barber of the Ville\n[03:31.13] Steal like Gotti, bodies are found inside the harbor 'cause I'm ill\n[03:33.88] To sport, but no more kids are bein' kidnapped\n[03:36.26] Matter of fact, ain't with the shit\n[03:37.72] Black, I was young when I did that\n[03:39.47] There's dope in the Copacabanas, cock back the hammers\n[03:41.82] 'Til niggas in pajamas get they wigs split like bananas\n[03:44.76] Same with the hotties, niggas with shotties catchin' bodies\n[03:47.20] Neighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\n[03:50.07] Yeah, paid as a motherfuckin' bank teller\n[03:52.43] The Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin' drug seller\n[03:55.16] I gotta flip these bricks 'cause bein' broke drive me insane\n[03:58.26] Money's on my motherfuckin' brain (Motherfuckin' right)\n[04:00.81] From O-Z's to ki's, the triple beam bring fame to my name\n[04:03.69] Money's on my motherfuckin' brain (Paper, baby)\n[04:06.23] Niggas be schemin' and teamin', but still, I maintain\n[04:09.52] Money's on my fuckin' brain (Get the C.R.E.A.M.)\n[04:11.37] 'Cause money and murder go hand in hand, it ain't nothin' but a game\n[04:14.22] Money's on my motherfuckin' brain\n[04:16.93] Word up, yeah, just that real shit for the '95, baby\n[04:19.85] You know it, fuck all you broke motherfuckers\n[04:22.63] Oh, you motherfuckers, nigga\n[04:23.39] Representin' Manhattan, yeah\n[04:25.69] Corona in the motherfuckin' house, dog\n[04:29.09] Keepin' it real, represent the Diamond D's\n[04:32.46] Word, big dude, keepin' it real for the '95, dog\n[04:38.76] Uh, yeah, kickin' that shit\n[04:41.83] Big ups to my nigga J Black, yeah\n[04:44.54] Long drop, pass that weed, fool\n[04:46.84] Underground motherfuckin' flavor, fools\n[04:54.00] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Money on My Brain\n  artist: B-1, Kool G Rap, MF DOOM, MF Grimm\n  album: Best of Mf\n  duration_ms: 293000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: '''95, Keep it live, yeah, to make papers, you know what I''m sayin''?'\n  start_ms: 6020\n  end_ms: 9710\n- text: Motherfuckin' Kool G Rap, the B-1, and my motherfuckin' man Grimm\n  start_ms: 9710\n  end_ms: 14050\n- text: He's comin' with somethin' to kick the brainstem\n  start_ms: 14050\n  end_ms: 16240\n- text: Word up, word up, man, word, '95\n  start_ms: 16240\n  end_ms: 20280\n- text: Ladies and gentlemen, word up\n  start_ms: 20280\n  end_ms: 21650\n- text: It's big one, son, Jamaica, Queens is the turf\n  start_ms: 21650\n  end_ms: 24190\n- text: And I'ma exploit Heaven and Earth for what it's worth\n  start_ms: 24190\n  end_ms: 26920\n- text: It's the MC extraordinaire, the jewels glare, the God is rare\n  start_ms: 26920\n  end_ms: 30580\n- text: I'm takin' bitches back to my lair\n  start_ms: 30580\n  end_ms: 32230\n- text: I want mines and yours, strippin' niggas to they drawers\n  start_ms: 32230\n  end_ms: 34990\n- text: No probable cause, with the chrome double-fours\n  start_ms: 34990\n  end_ms: 37650\n- text: It's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\n  start_ms: 37650\n  end_ms: 40530\n- text: In '84, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n  start_ms: 40530\n  end_ms: 43270\n- text: Now I'm sippin' Harveys Bristol Cream with the Glock 17\n  start_ms: 43270\n  end_ms: 46370\n- text: As the sirens race to the scene\n  start_ms: 46370\n  end_ms: 48250\n- text: Tryna get dough like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\n  start_ms: 48250\n  end_ms: 51160\n- text: Seats Recaro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n  start_ms: 51160\n  end_ms: 53860\n- text: I got the game down to a science\n  start_ms: 53860\n  end_ms: 55950\n- text: It's the clients that turn small-time hustlers into giants\n  start_ms: 55950\n  end_ms: 59260\n- text: Three-course meal, waitin' for my appetizer\n  start_ms: 59260\n  end_ms: 61620\n- text: Blowin' like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n  start_ms: 61620\n  end_ms: 64690\n- text: Paraphernalia and material makes the crew imperial\n  start_ms: 64690\n  end_ms: 67840\n- text: I'm puttin' fear in you, sippin' beer with two\n  start_ms: 67840\n  end_ms: 70250\n- text: Handlin' business properly, form a monopoly\n  start_ms: 70250\n  end_ms: 72540\n- text: Storefront property, if not, another robbery\n  start_ms: 72540\n  end_ms: 75180\n- text: I'm puttin' forth the effort, murder's the method\n  start_ms: 75180\n  end_ms: 77440\n- text: The steak is peppered, son, when I let\n  start_ms: 77440\n  end_ms: 79320\n- text: Off, you meet your Lord and Shepherd\n  start_ms: 79320\n  end_ms: 80640\n- text: Bloody money gets niggas deaded and wetted, don't forget it\n  start_ms: 80640\n  end_ms: 83500\n- text: Money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n  start_ms: 83500\n  end_ms: 85680\n- text: I gotta flip these bricks 'cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  start_ms: 85680\n  end_ms: 88670\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin' brain\n  start_ms: 88670\n  end_ms: 91020\n- text: From O-Z's to ki's, the triple beam bring fame to my name\n  start_ms: 91020\n  end_ms: 94030\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin' brain\n  start_ms: 94030\n  end_ms: 96620\n- text: Niggas be schemin' and teamin', but still, I maintain\n  start_ms: 96620\n  end_ms: 99310\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin' brain\n  start_ms: 99310\n  end_ms: 101890\n- text: '''Cause money and murder go hand in hand, it ain''t nothin'' but a game'\n  start_ms: 101890\n  end_ms: 105010\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, son\n  start_ms: 105010\n  end_ms: 107230\n- text: Cryin', hopin' God forgive me for the ones I killed\n  start_ms: 107230\n  end_ms: 109770\n- text: But until still, I drop my eyes with hundred-dollar bills\n  start_ms: 109770\n  end_ms: 113050\n- text: Like McDonald's, makin' mills servin'\n  start_ms: 113050\n  end_ms: 115020\n- text: Fuck a Land Cruiser now, 'cause I got\n  start_ms: 115020\n  end_ms: 116920\n- text: Two Suburbans (From Staten Island)\n  start_ms: 116920\n  end_ms: 118380\n- text: Stressed out, sittin', thinkin' past bedtime\n  start_ms: 118380\n  end_ms: 120690\n- text: Scared, can't sleep, nightmares about Fed time\n  start_ms: 120690\n  end_ms: 123300\n- text: Diamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\n  start_ms: 123300\n  end_ms: 126330\n- text: Fat shit, I talk in code 'cause my phone's tapped\n  start_ms: 126330\n  end_ms: 129060\n- text: Crackheads worship me like I'm Jesus\n  start_ms: 129060\n  end_ms: 131160\n- text: Uncle Sam can't stand me 'cause I'm fuckin' all his nieces (Right)\n  start_ms: 131160\n  end_ms: 134090\n- text: Cuties every color, who I wanna fuck next?\n  start_ms: 134090\n  end_ms: 136720\n- text: Buy a new car, maybe Lamborghini truck next\n  start_ms: 136720\n  end_ms: 139780\n- text: Look at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\n  start_ms: 139780\n  end_ms: 142080\n- text: Bulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck TECs\n  start_ms: 142080\n  end_ms: 145060\n- text: A large ratio in this game dies\n  start_ms: 145060\n  end_ms: 146930\n- text: But I'm flippin' pies 'til the Senate legalize\n  start_ms: 146930\n  end_ms: 149730\n- text: I gotta flip these bricks 'cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  start_ms: 149730\n  end_ms: 152840\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin' brain (Yeah, you know it)\n  start_ms: 152840\n  end_ms: 155070\n- text: From O-Z's to ki's, the triple beam bring fame to my name\n  start_ms: 155070\n  end_ms: 158350\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin' brain (Motherfuckin' right)\n  start_ms: 158350\n  end_ms: 160790\n- text: Niggas be schemin' and teamin', but still, I maintain\n  start_ms: 160790\n  end_ms: 163880\n- text: Money's on my fuckin' brain (Yeah, let's keep it together)\n  start_ms: 163880\n  end_ms: 165830\n- text: '''Cause money and murder go hand in hand, it ain''t nothin'' but a game'\n  start_ms: 165830\n  end_ms: 169060\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin' brain (Represent this thing)\n  start_ms: 169060\n  end_ms: 171000\n- text: I'm sportin' flavors and Timbs, a '95 Benz with the chrome rims\n  start_ms: 171000\n  end_ms: 173970\n- text: Presidential Rolex, two-carat diamonds with the snow gems\n  start_ms: 173970\n  end_ms: 176680\n- text: Pockets filled with lucci, leather wallets designed by Gucci\n  start_ms: 176680\n  end_ms: 179110\n- text: Party in restaurants, eatin' shrimp, scampi, and sushi\n  start_ms: 179110\n  end_ms: 181970\n- text: Fly minks, wet icicles that blink inside Cuban links\n  start_ms: 181970\n  end_ms: 184700\n- text: Lookin' spank, puffin' stank, got loot like I'm doin' banks\n  start_ms: 184700\n  end_ms: 187350\n- text: Hundred-dollar bottles of Shammy, condos in Miami\n  start_ms: 187350\n  end_ms: 189940\n- text: From O-Z's up at the Grammys, the broke niggas can't stand me\n  start_ms: 189940\n  end_ms: 192450\n- text: Hold the flame, blow, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\n  start_ms: 192450\n  end_ms: 195370\n- text: It's on by the dingos, I step up and I'm rockin' Kangols\n  start_ms: 195370\n  end_ms: 198070\n- text: Straight up fakin' no jax 'cause all my crack shacks are jam-packed\n  start_ms: 198070\n  end_ms: 200740\n- text: My math stacks so that I'm on the right track like Amtrak\n  start_ms: 200740\n  end_ms: 203570\n- text: So stand back 'cause I'ma make whatever it takes\n  start_ms: 203570\n  end_ms: 205670\n- text: To shake Jakes or shoot snakes and\n  start_ms: 205670\n  end_ms: 207180\n- text: Bake more snowflake cakes than Drakes\n  start_ms: 207180\n  end_ms: 209030\n- text: Cut up your grill like I'm the Barber of the Ville\n  start_ms: 209030\n  end_ms: 211130\n- text: Steal like Gotti, bodies are found inside the harbor 'cause I'm ill\n  start_ms: 211130\n  end_ms: 213880\n- text: To sport, but no more kids are bein' kidnapped\n  start_ms: 213880\n  end_ms: 216260\n- text: Matter of fact, ain't with the shit\n  start_ms: 216260\n  end_ms: 217720\n- text: Black, I was young when I did that\n  start_ms: 217720\n  end_ms: 219470\n- text: There's dope in the Copacabanas, cock back the hammers\n  start_ms: 219470\n  end_ms: 221820\n- text: '''Til niggas in pajamas get they wigs split like bananas'\n  start_ms: 221820\n  end_ms: 224760\n- text: Same with the hotties, niggas with shotties catchin' bodies\n  start_ms: 224760\n  end_ms: 227200\n- text: Neighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\n  start_ms: 227200\n  end_ms: 230070\n- text: Yeah, paid as a motherfuckin' bank teller\n  start_ms: 230070\n  end_ms: 232430\n- text: The Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin' drug seller\n  start_ms: 232430\n  end_ms: 235160\n- text: I gotta flip these bricks 'cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  start_ms: 235160\n  end_ms: 238260\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin' brain (Motherfuckin' right)\n  start_ms: 238260\n  end_ms: 240810\n- text: From O-Z's to ki's, the triple beam bring fame to my name\n  start_ms: 240810\n  end_ms: 243690\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin' brain (Paper, baby)\n  start_ms: 243690\n  end_ms: 246230\n- text: Niggas be schemin' and teamin', but still, I maintain\n  start_ms: 246230\n  end_ms: 249520\n- text: Money's on my fuckin' brain (Get the C.R.E.A.M.)\n  start_ms: 249520\n  end_ms: 251370\n- text: '''Cause money and murder go hand in hand, it ain''t nothin'' but a game'\n  start_ms: 251370\n  end_ms: 254220\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin' brain\n  start_ms: 254220\n  end_ms: 256930\n- text: Word up, yeah, just that real shit for the '95, baby\n  start_ms: 256930\n  end_ms: 259850\n- text: You know it, fuck all you broke motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 259850\n  end_ms: 262630\n- text: Oh, you motherfuckers, nigga\n  start_ms: 262630\n  end_ms: 263390\n- text: Representin' Manhattan, yeah\n  start_ms: 263390\n  end_ms: 265690\n- text: Corona in the motherfuckin' house, dog\n  start_ms: 265690\n  end_ms: 269090\n- text: Keepin' it real, represent the Diamond D's\n  start_ms: 269090\n  end_ms: 272460\n- text: Word, big dude, keepin' it real for the '95, dog\n  start_ms: 272460\n  end_ms: 278760\n- text: Uh, yeah, kickin' that shit\n  start_ms: 278760\n  end_ms: 281830\n- text: Big ups to my nigga J Black, yeah\n  start_ms: 281830\n  end_ms: 284540\n- text: Long drop, pass that weed, fool\n  start_ms: 284540\n  end_ms: 286840\n- text: Underground motherfuckin' flavor, fools\n  start_ms: 286840\n  end_ms: 294000\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 294000\nplain: |-\n  '95, Keep it live, yeah, to make papers, you know what I'm sayin'?\n  Motherfuckin' Kool G Rap, the B-1, and my motherfuckin' man Grimm\n  He's comin' with somethin' to kick the brainstem\n  Word up, word up, man, word, '95\n  Ladies and gentlemen, word up\n\n  It's big one, son, Jamaica, Queens is the turf\n  And I'ma exploit Heaven and Earth for what it's worth\n  It's the MC extraordinaire, the jewels glare, the God is rare\n  I'm takin' bitches back to my lair\n  I want mines and yours, strippin' niggas to they drawers\n  No probable cause, with the chrome double-fours\n  It's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\n  In '84, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n\n  Now I'm sippin' Harveys Bristol Cream with the Glock 17\n  As the sirens race to the scene\n  Tryna get dough like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\n  Seats Recaro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n\n  I got the game down to a science\n  It's the clients that turn small-time hustlers into giants\n  Three-course meal, waitin' for my appetizer\n  Blowin' like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n\n  Paraphernalia and material makes the crew imperial\n  I'm puttin' fear in you, sippin' beer with two\n  Handlin' business properly, form a monopoly\n  Storefront property, if not, another robbery\n  I'm puttin' forth the effort, murder's the method\n  The steak is peppered, son, when I let\n  Off, you meet your Lord and Shepherd\n  Bloody money gets niggas deaded and wetted, don't forget it\n  Money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n\n  I gotta flip these bricks 'cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  Money's on my motherfuckin' brain\n  From O-Z's to ki's, the triple beam bring fame to my name\n  Money's on my motherfuckin' brain\n  Niggas be schemin' and teamin', but still, I maintain\n  Money's on my motherfuckin' brain\n  'Cause money and murder go hand in hand, it ain't nothin' but a game\n  Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, son\n\n  Cryin', hopin' God forgive me for the ones I killed\n  But until still, I drop my eyes with hundred-dollar bills\n  Like McDonald's, makin' mills servin'\n  Fuck a Land Cruiser now, 'cause I got\n  Two Suburbans (From Staten Island)\n  Stressed out, sittin', thinkin' past bedtime\n  Scared, can't sleep, nightmares about Fed time\n  Diamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\n\n  Fat shit, I talk in code 'cause my phone's tapped\n  Crackheads worship me like I'm Jesus\n  Uncle Sam can't stand me 'cause I'm fuckin' all his nieces (Right)\n  Cuties every color, who I wanna fuck next?\n  Buy a new car, maybe Lamborghini truck next\n  Look at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\n  Bulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck TECs\n\n  A large ratio in this game dies\n\n  But I'm flippin' pies 'til the Senate legalize\n\n  I gotta flip these bricks 'cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  Money's on my motherfuckin' brain (Yeah, you know it)\n  From O-Z's to ki's, the triple beam bring fame to my name\n  Money's on my motherfuckin' brain (Motherfuckin' right)\n  Niggas be schemin' and teamin', but still, I maintain\n  Money's on my fuckin' brain (Yeah, let's keep it together)\n  'Cause money and murder go hand in hand, it ain't nothin' but a game\n  Money's on my motherfuckin' brain (Represent this thing)\n\n  I'm sportin' flavors and Timbs, a '95 Benz with the chrome rims\n  Presidential Rolex, two-carat diamonds with the snow gems\n  Pockets filled with lucci, leather wallets designed by Gucci\n  Party in restaurants, eatin' shrimp, scampi, and sushi\n\n  Fly minks, wet icicles that blink inside Cuban links\n  Lookin' spank, puffin' stank, got loot like I'm doin' banks\n  Hundred-dollar bottles of Shammy, condos in Miami\n  From O-Z's up at the Grammys, the broke niggas can't stand me\n  Hold the flame, blow, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\n  It's on by the dingos, I step up and I'm rockin' Kangols\n\n  Straight up fakin' no jax 'cause all my crack shacks are jam-packed\n  My math stacks so that I'm on the right track like Amtrak\n  So stand back 'cause I'ma make whatever it takes\n  To shake Jakes or shoot snakes and\n  Bake more snowflake cakes than Drakes\n\n  Cut up your grill like I'm the Barber of the Ville\n  Steal like Gotti, bodies are found inside the harbor 'cause I'm ill\n  To sport, but no more kids are bein' kidnapped\n  Matter of fact, ain't with the shit\n  Black, I was young when I did that\n  There's dope in the Copacabanas, cock back the hammers\n  'Til niggas in pajamas get they wigs split like bananas\n\n  Same with the hotties, niggas with shotties catchin' bodies\n  Neighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\n  Yeah, paid as a motherfuckin' bank teller\n\n  The Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin' drug seller\n\n  I gotta flip these bricks 'cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  Money's on my motherfuckin' brain (Motherfuckin' right)\n  From O-Z's to ki's, the triple beam bring fame to my name\n  Money's on my motherfuckin' brain (Paper, baby)\n  Niggas be schemin' and teamin', but still, I maintain\n  Money's on my fuckin' brain (Get the C.R.E.A.M.)\n  'Cause money and murder go hand in hand, it ain't nothin' but a game\n  Money's on my motherfuckin' brain\n\n  Word up, yeah, just that real shit for the '95, baby\n  You know it, fuck all you broke motherfuckers\n  Oh, you motherfuckers, nigga\n  Representin' Manhattan, yeah\n  Corona in the motherfuckin' house, dog\n  Keepin' it real, represent the Diamond D's\n  Word, big dude, keepin' it real for the '95, dog\n\n  Uh, yeah, kickin' that shit\n  Big ups to my nigga J Black, yeah\n  Long drop, pass that weed, fool\n  Underground motherfuckin' flavor, fools\n"},{"id":34093055,"name":"Money on My Brain","trackName":"Money on My Brain","artistName":"MF DOOM, MF Grimm, B-1, Kool G Rap","albumName":"Best of Mf","duration":294.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"'95, Keep it live, yeah, to make papers, you know what I'm sayin'?\nMotherfuckin' Kool G Rap, the B-1, and my motherfuckin' man Grimm\nHe's comin' with somethin' to kick the brainstem\nWord up, word up, man, word, '95\nLadies and gentlemen, word up\n\nIt's big one, son, Jamaica, Queens is the turf\nAnd I'ma exploit Heaven and Earth for what it's worth\nIt's the MC extraordinaire, the jewels glare, the God is rare\nI'm takin' bitches back to my lair\nI want mines and yours, strippin' niggas to they drawers\nNo probable cause, with the chrome double-fours\nIt's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\nIn '84, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n\nNow I'm sippin' Harveys Bristol Cream with the Glock 17\nAs the sirens race to the scene\nTryna get dough like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\nSeats Recaro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n\nI got the game down to a science\nIt's the clients that turn small-time hustlers into giants\nThree-course meal, waitin' for my appetizer\nBlowin' like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n\nParaphernalia and material makes the crew imperial\nI'm puttin' fear in you, sippin' beer with two\nHandlin' business properly, form a monopoly\nStorefront property, if not, another robbery\nI'm puttin' forth the effort, murder's the method\nThe steak is peppered, son, when I let\nOff, you meet your Lord and Shepherd\nBloody money gets niggas deaded and wetted, don't forget it\nMoney's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n\nI gotta flip these bricks 'cause bein' broke drive me insane\nMoney's on my motherfuckin' brain\nFrom O-Z's to ki's, the triple beam bring fame to my name\nMoney's on my motherfuckin' brain\nNiggas be schemin' and teamin', but still, I maintain\nMoney's on my motherfuckin' brain\n'Cause money and murder go hand in hand, it ain't nothin' but a game\nMoney's on my motherfuckin' brain, son\n\nCryin', hopin' God forgive me for the ones I killed\nBut until still, I drop my eyes with hundred-dollar bills\nLike McDonald's, makin' mills servin'\nFuck a Land Cruiser now, 'cause I got\nTwo Suburbans (From Staten Island)\nStressed out, sittin', thinkin' past bedtime\nScared, can't sleep, nightmares about Fed time\nDiamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\n\nFat shit, I talk in code 'cause my phone's tapped\nCrackheads worship me like I'm Jesus\nUncle Sam can't stand me 'cause I'm fuckin' all his nieces (Right)\nCuties every color, who I wanna fuck next?\nBuy a new car, maybe Lamborghini truck next\nLook at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\nBulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck TECs\n\nA large ratio in this game dies\n\nBut I'm flippin' pies 'til the Senate legalize\n\nI gotta flip these bricks 'cause bein' broke drive me insane\nMoney's on my motherfuckin' brain (Yeah, you know it)\nFrom O-Z's to ki's, the triple beam bring fame to my name\nMoney's on my motherfuckin' brain (Motherfuckin' right)\nNiggas be schemin' and teamin', but still, I maintain\nMoney's on my fuckin' brain (Yeah, let's keep it together)\n'Cause money and murder go hand in hand, it ain't nothin' but a game\nMoney's on my motherfuckin' brain (Represent this thing)\n\nI'm sportin' flavors and Timbs, a '95 Benz with the chrome rims\nPresidential Rolex, two-carat diamonds with the snow gems\nPockets filled with lucci, leather wallets designed by Gucci\nParty in restaurants, eatin' shrimp, scampi, and sushi\n\nFly minks, wet icicles that blink inside Cuban links\nLookin' spank, puffin' stank, got loot like I'm doin' banks\nHundred-dollar bottles of Shammy, condos in Miami\nFrom O-Z's up at the Grammys, the broke niggas can't stand me\nHold the flame, blow, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\nIt's on by the dingos, I step up and I'm rockin' Kangols\n\nStraight up fakin' no jax 'cause all my crack shacks are jam-packed\nMy math stacks so that I'm on the right track like Amtrak\nSo stand back 'cause I'ma make whatever it takes\nTo shake Jakes or shoot snakes and\nBake more snowflake cakes than Drakes\n\nCut up your grill like I'm the Barber of the Ville\nSteal like Gotti, bodies are found inside the harbor 'cause I'm ill\nTo sport, but no more kids are bein' kidnapped\nMatter of fact, ain't with the shit\nBlack, I was young when I did that\nThere's dope in the Copacabanas, cock back the hammers\n'Til niggas in pajamas get they wigs split like bananas\n\nSame with the hotties, niggas with shotties catchin' bodies\nNeighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\nYeah, paid as a motherfuckin' bank teller\n\nThe Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin' drug seller\n\nI gotta flip these bricks 'cause bein' broke drive me insane\nMoney's on my motherfuckin' brain (Motherfuckin' right)\nFrom O-Z's to ki's, the triple beam bring fame to my name\nMoney's on my motherfuckin' brain (Paper, baby)\nNiggas be schemin' and teamin', but still, I maintain\nMoney's on my fuckin' brain (Get the C.R.E.A.M.)\n'Cause money and murder go hand in hand, it ain't nothin' but a game\nMoney's on my motherfuckin' brain\n\nWord up, yeah, just that real shit for the '95, baby\nYou know it, fuck all you broke motherfuckers\nOh, you motherfuckers, nigga\nRepresentin' Manhattan, yeah\nCorona in the motherfuckin' house, dog\nKeepin' it real, represent the Diamond D's\nWord, big dude, keepin' it real for the '95, dog\n\nUh, yeah, kickin' that shit\nBig ups to my nigga J Black, yeah\nLong drop, pass that weed, fool\nUnderground motherfuckin' flavor, fools","syncedLyrics":"[00:06.02] '95, Keep it live, yeah, to make papers, you know what I'm sayin'?\n[00:09.71] Motherfuckin' Kool G Rap, the B-1, and my motherfuckin' man Grimm\n[00:14.05] He's comin' with somethin' to kick the brainstem\n[00:16.24] Word up, word up, man, word, '95\n[00:20.28] Ladies and gentlemen, word up\n[00:21.65] It's big one, son, Jamaica, Queens is the turf\n[00:24.19] And I'ma exploit Heaven and Earth for what it's worth\n[00:26.92] It's the MC extraordinaire, the jewels glare, the God is rare\n[00:30.58] I'm takin' bitches back to my lair\n[00:32.23] I want mines and yours, strippin' niggas to they drawers\n[00:34.99] No probable cause, with the chrome double-fours\n[00:37.65] It's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\n[00:40.53] In '84, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n[00:43.27] Now I'm sippin' Harveys Bristol Cream with the Glock 17\n[00:46.37] As the sirens race to the scene\n[00:48.25] Tryna get dough like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\n[00:51.16] Seats Recaro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n[00:53.86] I got the game down to a science\n[00:55.95] It's the clients that turn small-time hustlers into giants\n[00:59.26] Three-course meal, waitin' for my appetizer\n[01:01.62] Blowin' like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n[01:04.69] Paraphernalia and material makes the crew imperial\n[01:07.84] I'm puttin' fear in you, sippin' beer with two\n[01:10.25] Handlin' business properly, form a monopoly\n[01:12.54] Storefront property, if not, another robbery\n[01:15.18] I'm puttin' forth the effort, murder's the method\n[01:17.44] The steak is peppered, son, when I let\n[01:19.32] Off, you meet your Lord and Shepherd\n[01:20.64] Bloody money gets niggas deaded and wetted, don't forget it\n[01:23.50] Money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n[01:25.68] I gotta flip these bricks 'cause bein' broke drive me insane\n[01:28.67] Money's on my motherfuckin' brain\n[01:31.02] From O-Z's to ki's, the triple beam bring fame to my name\n[01:34.03] Money's on my motherfuckin' brain\n[01:36.62] Niggas be schemin' and teamin', but still, I maintain\n[01:39.31] Money's on my motherfuckin' brain\n[01:41.89] 'Cause money and murder go hand in hand, it ain't nothin' but a game\n[01:45.01] Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, son\n[01:47.23] Cryin', hopin' God forgive me for the ones I killed\n[01:49.77] But until still, I drop my eyes with hundred-dollar bills\n[01:53.05] Like McDonald's, makin' mills servin'\n[01:55.02] Fuck a Land Cruiser now, 'cause I got\n[01:56.92] Two Suburbans (From Staten Island)\n[01:58.38] Stressed out, sittin', thinkin' past bedtime\n[02:00.69] Scared, can't sleep, nightmares about Fed time\n[02:03.30] Diamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\n[02:06.33] Fat shit, I talk in code 'cause my phone's tapped\n[02:09.06] Crackheads worship me like I'm Jesus\n[02:11.16] Uncle Sam can't stand me 'cause I'm fuckin' all his nieces (Right)\n[02:14.09] Cuties every color, who I wanna fuck next?\n[02:16.72] Buy a new car, maybe Lamborghini truck next\n[02:19.78] Look at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\n[02:22.08] Bulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck TECs\n[02:25.06] A large ratio in this game dies\n[02:26.93] But I'm flippin' pies 'til the Senate legalize\n[02:29.73] I gotta flip these bricks 'cause bein' broke drive me insane\n[02:32.84] Money's on my motherfuckin' brain (Yeah, you know it)\n[02:35.07] From O-Z's to ki's, the triple beam bring fame to my name\n[02:38.35] Money's on my motherfuckin' brain (Motherfuckin' right)\n[02:40.79] Niggas be schemin' and teamin', but still, I maintain\n[02:43.88] Money's on my fuckin' brain (Yeah, let's keep it together)\n[02:45.83] 'Cause money and murder go hand in hand, it ain't nothin' but a game\n[02:49.06] Money's on my motherfuckin' brain (Represent this thing)\n[02:51.00] I'm sportin' flavors and Timbs, a '95 Benz with the chrome rims\n[02:53.97] Presidential Rolex, two-carat diamonds with the snow gems\n[02:56.68] Pockets filled with lucci, leather wallets designed by Gucci\n[02:59.11] Party in restaurants, eatin' shrimp, scampi, and sushi\n[03:01.97] Fly minks, wet icicles that blink inside Cuban links\n[03:04.70] Lookin' spank, puffin' stank, got loot like I'm doin' banks\n[03:07.35] Hundred-dollar bottles of Shammy, condos in Miami\n[03:09.94] From O-Z's up at the Grammys, the broke niggas can't stand me\n[03:12.45] Hold the flame, blow, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\n[03:15.37] It's on by the dingos, I step up and I'm rockin' Kangols\n[03:18.07] Straight up fakin' no jax 'cause all my crack shacks are jam-packed\n[03:20.74] My math stacks so that I'm on the right track like Amtrak\n[03:23.57] So stand back 'cause I'ma make whatever it takes\n[03:25.67] To shake Jakes or shoot snakes and\n[03:27.18] Bake more snowflake cakes than Drakes\n[03:29.03] Cut up your grill like I'm the Barber of the Ville\n[03:31.13] Steal like Gotti, bodies are found inside the harbor 'cause I'm ill\n[03:33.88] To sport, but no more kids are bein' kidnapped\n[03:36.26] Matter of fact, ain't with the shit\n[03:37.72] Black, I was young when I did that\n[03:39.47] There's dope in the Copacabanas, cock back the hammers\n[03:41.82] 'Til niggas in pajamas get they wigs split like bananas\n[03:44.76] Same with the hotties, niggas with shotties catchin' bodies\n[03:47.20] Neighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\n[03:50.07] Yeah, paid as a motherfuckin' bank teller\n[03:52.43] The Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin' drug seller\n[03:55.16] I gotta flip these bricks 'cause bein' broke drive me insane\n[03:58.26] Money's on my motherfuckin' brain (Motherfuckin' right)\n[04:00.81] From O-Z's to ki's, the triple beam bring fame to my name\n[04:03.69] Money's on my motherfuckin' brain (Paper, baby)\n[04:06.23] Niggas be schemin' and teamin', but still, I maintain\n[04:09.52] Money's on my fuckin' brain (Get the C.R.E.A.M.)\n[04:11.37] 'Cause money and murder go hand in hand, it ain't nothin' but a game\n[04:14.22] Money's on my motherfuckin' brain\n[04:16.93] Word up, yeah, just that real shit for the '95, baby\n[04:19.85] You know it, fuck all you broke motherfuckers\n[04:22.63] Oh, you motherfuckers, nigga\n[04:23.39] Representin' Manhattan, yeah\n[04:25.69] Corona in the motherfuckin' house, dog\n[04:29.09] Keepin' it real, represent the Diamond D's\n[04:32.46] Word, big dude, keepin' it real for the '95, dog\n[04:38.76] Uh, yeah, kickin' that shit\n[04:41.83] Big ups to my nigga J Black, yeah\n[04:44.54] Long drop, pass that weed, fool\n[04:46.84] Underground motherfuckin' flavor, fools\n[04:54.00] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Money on My Brain\n  artist: MF DOOM, MF Grimm, B-1, Kool G Rap\n  album: Best of Mf\n  duration_ms: 294000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: '''95, Keep it live, yeah, to make papers, you know what I''m sayin''?'\n  start_ms: 6020\n  end_ms: 9710\n- text: Motherfuckin' Kool G Rap, the B-1, and my motherfuckin' man Grimm\n  start_ms: 9710\n  end_ms: 14050\n- text: He's comin' with somethin' to kick the brainstem\n  start_ms: 14050\n  end_ms: 16240\n- text: Word up, word up, man, word, '95\n  start_ms: 16240\n  end_ms: 20280\n- text: Ladies and gentlemen, word up\n  start_ms: 20280\n  end_ms: 21650\n- text: It's big one, son, Jamaica, Queens is the turf\n  start_ms: 21650\n  end_ms: 24190\n- text: And I'ma exploit Heaven and Earth for what it's worth\n  start_ms: 24190\n  end_ms: 26920\n- text: It's the MC extraordinaire, the jewels glare, the God is rare\n  start_ms: 26920\n  end_ms: 30580\n- text: I'm takin' bitches back to my lair\n  start_ms: 30580\n  end_ms: 32230\n- text: I want mines and yours, strippin' niggas to they drawers\n  start_ms: 32230\n  end_ms: 34990\n- text: No probable cause, with the chrome double-fours\n  start_ms: 34990\n  end_ms: 37650\n- text: It's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\n  start_ms: 37650\n  end_ms: 40530\n- text: In '84, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n  start_ms: 40530\n  end_ms: 43270\n- text: Now I'm sippin' Harveys Bristol Cream with the Glock 17\n  start_ms: 43270\n  end_ms: 46370\n- text: As the sirens race to the scene\n  start_ms: 46370\n  end_ms: 48250\n- text: Tryna get dough like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\n  start_ms: 48250\n  end_ms: 51160\n- text: Seats Recaro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n  start_ms: 51160\n  end_ms: 53860\n- text: I got the game down to a science\n  start_ms: 53860\n  end_ms: 55950\n- text: It's the clients that turn small-time hustlers into giants\n  start_ms: 55950\n  end_ms: 59260\n- text: Three-course meal, waitin' for my appetizer\n  start_ms: 59260\n  end_ms: 61620\n- text: Blowin' like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n  start_ms: 61620\n  end_ms: 64690\n- text: Paraphernalia and material makes the crew imperial\n  start_ms: 64690\n  end_ms: 67840\n- text: I'm puttin' fear in you, sippin' beer with two\n  start_ms: 67840\n  end_ms: 70250\n- text: Handlin' business properly, form a monopoly\n  start_ms: 70250\n  end_ms: 72540\n- text: Storefront property, if not, another robbery\n  start_ms: 72540\n  end_ms: 75180\n- text: I'm puttin' forth the effort, murder's the method\n  start_ms: 75180\n  end_ms: 77440\n- text: The steak is peppered, son, when I let\n  start_ms: 77440\n  end_ms: 79320\n- text: Off, you meet your Lord and Shepherd\n  start_ms: 79320\n  end_ms: 80640\n- text: Bloody money gets niggas deaded and wetted, don't forget it\n  start_ms: 80640\n  end_ms: 83500\n- text: Money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n  start_ms: 83500\n  end_ms: 85680\n- text: I gotta flip these bricks 'cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  start_ms: 85680\n  end_ms: 88670\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin' brain\n  start_ms: 88670\n  end_ms: 91020\n- text: From O-Z's to ki's, the triple beam bring fame to my name\n  start_ms: 91020\n  end_ms: 94030\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin' brain\n  start_ms: 94030\n  end_ms: 96620\n- text: Niggas be schemin' and teamin', but still, I maintain\n  start_ms: 96620\n  end_ms: 99310\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin' brain\n  start_ms: 99310\n  end_ms: 101890\n- text: '''Cause money and murder go hand in hand, it ain''t nothin'' but a game'\n  start_ms: 101890\n  end_ms: 105010\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, son\n  start_ms: 105010\n  end_ms: 107230\n- text: Cryin', hopin' God forgive me for the ones I killed\n  start_ms: 107230\n  end_ms: 109770\n- text: But until still, I drop my eyes with hundred-dollar bills\n  start_ms: 109770\n  end_ms: 113050\n- text: Like McDonald's, makin' mills servin'\n  start_ms: 113050\n  end_ms: 115020\n- text: Fuck a Land Cruiser now, 'cause I got\n  start_ms: 115020\n  end_ms: 116920\n- text: Two Suburbans (From Staten Island)\n  start_ms: 116920\n  end_ms: 118380\n- text: Stressed out, sittin', thinkin' past bedtime\n  start_ms: 118380\n  end_ms: 120690\n- text: Scared, can't sleep, nightmares about Fed time\n  start_ms: 120690\n  end_ms: 123300\n- text: Diamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\n  start_ms: 123300\n  end_ms: 126330\n- text: Fat shit, I talk in code 'cause my phone's tapped\n  start_ms: 126330\n  end_ms: 129060\n- text: Crackheads worship me like I'm Jesus\n  start_ms: 129060\n  end_ms: 131160\n- text: Uncle Sam can't stand me 'cause I'm fuckin' all his nieces (Right)\n  start_ms: 131160\n  end_ms: 134090\n- text: Cuties every color, who I wanna fuck next?\n  start_ms: 134090\n  end_ms: 136720\n- text: Buy a new car, maybe Lamborghini truck next\n  start_ms: 136720\n  end_ms: 139780\n- text: Look at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\n  start_ms: 139780\n  end_ms: 142080\n- text: Bulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck TECs\n  start_ms: 142080\n  end_ms: 145060\n- text: A large ratio in this game dies\n  start_ms: 145060\n  end_ms: 146930\n- text: But I'm flippin' pies 'til the Senate legalize\n  start_ms: 146930\n  end_ms: 149730\n- text: I gotta flip these bricks 'cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  start_ms: 149730\n  end_ms: 152840\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin' brain (Yeah, you know it)\n  start_ms: 152840\n  end_ms: 155070\n- text: From O-Z's to ki's, the triple beam bring fame to my name\n  start_ms: 155070\n  end_ms: 158350\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin' brain (Motherfuckin' right)\n  start_ms: 158350\n  end_ms: 160790\n- text: Niggas be schemin' and teamin', but still, I maintain\n  start_ms: 160790\n  end_ms: 163880\n- text: Money's on my fuckin' brain (Yeah, let's keep it together)\n  start_ms: 163880\n  end_ms: 165830\n- text: '''Cause money and murder go hand in hand, it ain''t nothin'' but a game'\n  start_ms: 165830\n  end_ms: 169060\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin' brain (Represent this thing)\n  start_ms: 169060\n  end_ms: 171000\n- text: I'm sportin' flavors and Timbs, a '95 Benz with the chrome rims\n  start_ms: 171000\n  end_ms: 173970\n- text: Presidential Rolex, two-carat diamonds with the snow gems\n  start_ms: 173970\n  end_ms: 176680\n- text: Pockets filled with lucci, leather wallets designed by Gucci\n  start_ms: 176680\n  end_ms: 179110\n- text: Party in restaurants, eatin' shrimp, scampi, and sushi\n  start_ms: 179110\n  end_ms: 181970\n- text: Fly minks, wet icicles that blink inside Cuban links\n  start_ms: 181970\n  end_ms: 184700\n- text: Lookin' spank, puffin' stank, got loot like I'm doin' banks\n  start_ms: 184700\n  end_ms: 187350\n- text: Hundred-dollar bottles of Shammy, condos in Miami\n  start_ms: 187350\n  end_ms: 189940\n- text: From O-Z's up at the Grammys, the broke niggas can't stand me\n  start_ms: 189940\n  end_ms: 192450\n- text: Hold the flame, blow, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\n  start_ms: 192450\n  end_ms: 195370\n- text: It's on by the dingos, I step up and I'm rockin' Kangols\n  start_ms: 195370\n  end_ms: 198070\n- text: Straight up fakin' no jax 'cause all my crack shacks are jam-packed\n  start_ms: 198070\n  end_ms: 200740\n- text: My math stacks so that I'm on the right track like Amtrak\n  start_ms: 200740\n  end_ms: 203570\n- text: So stand back 'cause I'ma make whatever it takes\n  start_ms: 203570\n  end_ms: 205670\n- text: To shake Jakes or shoot snakes and\n  start_ms: 205670\n  end_ms: 207180\n- text: Bake more snowflake cakes than Drakes\n  start_ms: 207180\n  end_ms: 209030\n- text: Cut up your grill like I'm the Barber of the Ville\n  start_ms: 209030\n  end_ms: 211130\n- text: Steal like Gotti, bodies are found inside the harbor 'cause I'm ill\n  start_ms: 211130\n  end_ms: 213880\n- text: To sport, but no more kids are bein' kidnapped\n  start_ms: 213880\n  end_ms: 216260\n- text: Matter of fact, ain't with the shit\n  start_ms: 216260\n  end_ms: 217720\n- text: Black, I was young when I did that\n  start_ms: 217720\n  end_ms: 219470\n- text: There's dope in the Copacabanas, cock back the hammers\n  start_ms: 219470\n  end_ms: 221820\n- text: '''Til niggas in pajamas get they wigs split like bananas'\n  start_ms: 221820\n  end_ms: 224760\n- text: Same with the hotties, niggas with shotties catchin' bodies\n  start_ms: 224760\n  end_ms: 227200\n- text: Neighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\n  start_ms: 227200\n  end_ms: 230070\n- text: Yeah, paid as a motherfuckin' bank teller\n  start_ms: 230070\n  end_ms: 232430\n- text: The Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin' drug seller\n  start_ms: 232430\n  end_ms: 235160\n- text: I gotta flip these bricks 'cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  start_ms: 235160\n  end_ms: 238260\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin' brain (Motherfuckin' right)\n  start_ms: 238260\n  end_ms: 240810\n- text: From O-Z's to ki's, the triple beam bring fame to my name\n  start_ms: 240810\n  end_ms: 243690\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin' brain (Paper, baby)\n  start_ms: 243690\n  end_ms: 246230\n- text: Niggas be schemin' and teamin', but still, I maintain\n  start_ms: 246230\n  end_ms: 249520\n- text: Money's on my fuckin' brain (Get the C.R.E.A.M.)\n  start_ms: 249520\n  end_ms: 251370\n- text: '''Cause money and murder go hand in hand, it ain''t nothin'' but a game'\n  start_ms: 251370\n  end_ms: 254220\n- text: Money's on my motherfuckin' brain\n  start_ms: 254220\n  end_ms: 256930\n- text: Word up, yeah, just that real shit for the '95, baby\n  start_ms: 256930\n  end_ms: 259850\n- text: You know it, fuck all you broke motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 259850\n  end_ms: 262630\n- text: Oh, you motherfuckers, nigga\n  start_ms: 262630\n  end_ms: 263390\n- text: Representin' Manhattan, yeah\n  start_ms: 263390\n  end_ms: 265690\n- text: Corona in the motherfuckin' house, dog\n  start_ms: 265690\n  end_ms: 269090\n- text: Keepin' it real, represent the Diamond D's\n  start_ms: 269090\n  end_ms: 272460\n- text: Word, big dude, keepin' it real for the '95, dog\n  start_ms: 272460\n  end_ms: 278760\n- text: Uh, yeah, kickin' that shit\n  start_ms: 278760\n  end_ms: 281830\n- text: Big ups to my nigga J Black, yeah\n  start_ms: 281830\n  end_ms: 284540\n- text: Long drop, pass that weed, fool\n  start_ms: 284540\n  end_ms: 286840\n- text: Underground motherfuckin' flavor, fools\n  start_ms: 286840\n  end_ms: 294000\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 294000\nplain: |-\n  '95, Keep it live, yeah, to make papers, you know what I'm sayin'?\n  Motherfuckin' Kool G Rap, the B-1, and my motherfuckin' man Grimm\n  He's comin' with somethin' to kick the brainstem\n  Word up, word up, man, word, '95\n  Ladies and gentlemen, word up\n\n  It's big one, son, Jamaica, Queens is the turf\n  And I'ma exploit Heaven and Earth for what it's worth\n  It's the MC extraordinaire, the jewels glare, the God is rare\n  I'm takin' bitches back to my lair\n  I want mines and yours, strippin' niggas to they drawers\n  No probable cause, with the chrome double-fours\n  It's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\n  In '84, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n\n  Now I'm sippin' Harveys Bristol Cream with the Glock 17\n  As the sirens race to the scene\n  Tryna get dough like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\n  Seats Recaro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n\n  I got the game down to a science\n  It's the clients that turn small-time hustlers into giants\n  Three-course meal, waitin' for my appetizer\n  Blowin' like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n\n  Paraphernalia and material makes the crew imperial\n  I'm puttin' fear in you, sippin' beer with two\n  Handlin' business properly, form a monopoly\n  Storefront property, if not, another robbery\n  I'm puttin' forth the effort, murder's the method\n  The steak is peppered, son, when I let\n  Off, you meet your Lord and Shepherd\n  Bloody money gets niggas deaded and wetted, don't forget it\n  Money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n\n  I gotta flip these bricks 'cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  Money's on my motherfuckin' brain\n  From O-Z's to ki's, the triple beam bring fame to my name\n  Money's on my motherfuckin' brain\n  Niggas be schemin' and teamin', but still, I maintain\n  Money's on my motherfuckin' brain\n  'Cause money and murder go hand in hand, it ain't nothin' but a game\n  Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, son\n\n  Cryin', hopin' God forgive me for the ones I killed\n  But until still, I drop my eyes with hundred-dollar bills\n  Like McDonald's, makin' mills servin'\n  Fuck a Land Cruiser now, 'cause I got\n  Two Suburbans (From Staten Island)\n  Stressed out, sittin', thinkin' past bedtime\n  Scared, can't sleep, nightmares about Fed time\n  Diamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\n\n  Fat shit, I talk in code 'cause my phone's tapped\n  Crackheads worship me like I'm Jesus\n  Uncle Sam can't stand me 'cause I'm fuckin' all his nieces (Right)\n  Cuties every color, who I wanna fuck next?\n  Buy a new car, maybe Lamborghini truck next\n  Look at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\n  Bulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck TECs\n\n  A large ratio in this game dies\n\n  But I'm flippin' pies 'til the Senate legalize\n\n  I gotta flip these bricks 'cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  Money's on my motherfuckin' brain (Yeah, you know it)\n  From O-Z's to ki's, the triple beam bring fame to my name\n  Money's on my motherfuckin' brain (Motherfuckin' right)\n  Niggas be schemin' and teamin', but still, I maintain\n  Money's on my fuckin' brain (Yeah, let's keep it together)\n  'Cause money and murder go hand in hand, it ain't nothin' but a game\n  Money's on my motherfuckin' brain (Represent this thing)\n\n  I'm sportin' flavors and Timbs, a '95 Benz with the chrome rims\n  Presidential Rolex, two-carat diamonds with the snow gems\n  Pockets filled with lucci, leather wallets designed by Gucci\n  Party in restaurants, eatin' shrimp, scampi, and sushi\n\n  Fly minks, wet icicles that blink inside Cuban links\n  Lookin' spank, puffin' stank, got loot like I'm doin' banks\n  Hundred-dollar bottles of Shammy, condos in Miami\n  From O-Z's up at the Grammys, the broke niggas can't stand me\n  Hold the flame, blow, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\n  It's on by the dingos, I step up and I'm rockin' Kangols\n\n  Straight up fakin' no jax 'cause all my crack shacks are jam-packed\n  My math stacks so that I'm on the right track like Amtrak\n  So stand back 'cause I'ma make whatever it takes\n  To shake Jakes or shoot snakes and\n  Bake more snowflake cakes than Drakes\n\n  Cut up your grill like I'm the Barber of the Ville\n  Steal like Gotti, bodies are found inside the harbor 'cause I'm ill\n  To sport, but no more kids are bein' kidnapped\n  Matter of fact, ain't with the shit\n  Black, I was young when I did that\n  There's dope in the Copacabanas, cock back the hammers\n  'Til niggas in pajamas get they wigs split like bananas\n\n  Same with the hotties, niggas with shotties catchin' bodies\n  Neighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\n  Yeah, paid as a motherfuckin' bank teller\n\n  The Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin' drug seller\n\n  I gotta flip these bricks 'cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  Money's on my motherfuckin' brain (Motherfuckin' right)\n  From O-Z's to ki's, the triple beam bring fame to my name\n  Money's on my motherfuckin' brain (Paper, baby)\n  Niggas be schemin' and teamin', but still, I maintain\n  Money's on my fuckin' brain (Get the C.R.E.A.M.)\n  'Cause money and murder go hand in hand, it ain't nothin' but a game\n  Money's on my motherfuckin' brain\n\n  Word up, yeah, just that real shit for the '95, baby\n  You know it, fuck all you broke motherfuckers\n  Oh, you motherfuckers, nigga\n  Representin' Manhattan, yeah\n  Corona in the motherfuckin' house, dog\n  Keepin' it real, represent the Diamond D's\n  Word, big dude, keepin' it real for the '95, dog\n\n  Uh, yeah, kickin' that shit\n  Big ups to my nigga J Black, yeah\n  Long drop, pass that weed, fool\n  Underground motherfuckin' flavor, fools\n"},{"id":27999686,"name":"MF Grimm Feat. Kool G Rap and B1 - Money on My Brain","trackName":"MF Grimm Feat. Kool G Rap and B1 - Money on My Brain","artistName":"MF DOOM","albumName":"Best of MF","duration":295.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Ninety-five, keep it live\nYeah, to make papers, know I'm sayin'?\nMotherfuckin' Kool G. Rap and B1\nAnd my motherfuckin' man Grimm\nJust comin' with somethin' to keep the brain stem\n\nIt's Big 1, son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\nAnd I'ma exploit, heaven and earth for what it's worth\nIt's the MC extraordinaire, the jewels glare\nThe God is rare, I'm takin' bitches back to my lair\n\nI want mines and yours, strippin' niggaz to they drawers\nNo probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\nIt's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\nIn eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n\nNow, I'm sippin' Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\nAs the sirens race to the scene\nTryin' to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\nSeats for Carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n\nI got the game down to a science, it's the clients\nThat turn small time hustlers into giants\nThree course meal, waitin' for my appetizer\nBlowin' like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n\nParaphernalia and material, makes the crew imperial\nI put the fear in you, sippin' beer with two\nHandlin' business properly, form a monopoly\nStoont property, if not, another robbery\n\nI'm puttin' forth the effort, murder's the method, the steak is peppered\nSon, when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\nBloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\nDon't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n\nI gotta flip these bricks\n'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\nFrom O-Z's to ki's\nThe triple beam brings fame to my name\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\nNiggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\nIt ain't nothin' but a game\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, son)\n\nCryin', hopin' God forgive me for the ones I killed\nBut until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\nLike McDonald's makin' mills servin'\nFuck a Landcruiser, now, pulls a cab to Suburbans\n\nStressed out, sittin', thinkin' past bed time\nScared, can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\nDiamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\nFat shit, I'm talkin' code 'cause my phone's tapped\n\nCrack heads worship me like I'm Jesus\nUncle Sam can't stand me 'cause I'm fuckin' all his nieces\nCuties every color, who I wanna fuck next?\nBuy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\n\nLook at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\nBulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\nA large ratio in this game dies\nBut I'm flippin' pies til the Senate legalize\n\nI gotta flip these bricks\n'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, you know?)\nFrom O-Z's to ki's\nThe triple beam brings fame to my name\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\nNiggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n(Money's on my fuckin' brain)\n'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\nIt ain't nothin' but a game\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\nI'm sportin' flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Benz with the chrome rims\nPresidential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\nPockets filled with lucci, leather wallets designed by Gucci\nParlay in restaurants, eatin' shrimp, scampi and sushi\n\nFly minks, with icicles that blink inside Cuban links\nLookin' [Incomprehensible], brothers stink\nGot loot like I'm doin' banks\nHundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\nFront row seats up at the Grammys, the broke niggaz can't stand me\n\nHold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\nJust home by the dingos, I step up in 'em rockin' Kangols\nStraight up fakin' no jacks 'cause all my crack shacks are jam packed\nMy mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track like Amtrak\n\nSo stand back 'cause I'ma make whatever it takes\nTo shake Jakes and shoot snakes\nAnd bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\nCut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\nStill like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor 'cause I'm ill\n\nIt's war but no more kids are bein' kidnapped, matter of fact\nAin't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\nThere's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\nSo niggaz in pajamas get they wigs, split like bananas\n\nStable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin' bodies\nNeighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\nYeah, paid as a motherfuckin' bank teller\nThe Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin' drug seller\n\nI gotta flip these bricks\n'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\nFrom O-Z's to ki's\nThe triple beam brings fame to my name\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\nNiggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n(Money's on my fuckin' brain)\n'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\nIt ain't nothin' but a game\n(Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: MF Grimm Feat. Kool G Rap and B1 - Money on My Brain\n  artist: MF DOOM\n  album: Best of MF\n  duration_ms: 295000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Ninety-five, keep it live\n  Yeah, to make papers, know I'm sayin'?\n  Motherfuckin' Kool G. Rap and B1\n  And my motherfuckin' man Grimm\n  Just comin' with somethin' to keep the brain stem\n\n  It's Big 1, son, Jamaica Queens is the turf\n  And I'ma exploit, heaven and earth for what it's worth\n  It's the MC extraordinaire, the jewels glare\n  The God is rare, I'm takin' bitches back to my lair\n\n  I want mines and yours, strippin' niggaz to they drawers\n  No probable cause, with the chrome double 4's\n  It's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka\n  In eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers\n\n  Now, I'm sippin' Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17\n  As the sirens race to the scene\n  Tryin' to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow\n  Seats for Carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo\n\n  I got the game down to a science, it's the clients\n  That turn small time hustlers into giants\n  Three course meal, waitin' for my appetizer\n  Blowin' like a geyser, time only makes me wiser\n\n  Paraphernalia and material, makes the crew imperial\n  I put the fear in you, sippin' beer with two\n  Handlin' business properly, form a monopoly\n  Stoont property, if not, another robbery\n\n  I'm puttin' forth the effort, murder's the method, the steak is peppered\n  Son, when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd\n  Bloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted\n  Don't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic\n\n  I gotta flip these bricks\n  'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n  From O-Z's to ki's\n  The triple beam brings fame to my name\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\n  Niggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n  'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  It ain't nothin' but a game\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, son)\n\n  Cryin', hopin' God forgive me for the ones I killed\n  But until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills\n  Like McDonald's makin' mills servin'\n  Fuck a Landcruiser, now, pulls a cab to Suburbans\n\n  Stressed out, sittin', thinkin' past bed time\n  Scared, can't sleep, nightmares about fed time\n  Diamonds, linens, ostrich and all that\n  Fat shit, I'm talkin' code 'cause my phone's tapped\n\n  Crack heads worship me like I'm Jesus\n  Uncle Sam can't stand me 'cause I'm fuckin' all his nieces\n  Cuties every color, who I wanna fuck next?\n  Buy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next\n\n  Look at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks\n  Bulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs\n  A large ratio in this game dies\n  But I'm flippin' pies til the Senate legalize\n\n  I gotta flip these bricks\n  'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain, you know?)\n  From O-Z's to ki's\n  The triple beam brings fame to my name\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\n  Niggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n  (Money's on my fuckin' brain)\n  'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  It ain't nothin' but a game\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\n  I'm sportin' flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Benz with the chrome rims\n  Presidential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems\n  Pockets filled with lucci, leather wallets designed by Gucci\n  Parlay in restaurants, eatin' shrimp, scampi and sushi\n\n  Fly minks, with icicles that blink inside Cuban links\n  Lookin' [Incomprehensible], brothers stink\n  Got loot like I'm doin' banks\n  Hundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami\n  Front row seats up at the Grammys, the broke niggaz can't stand me\n\n  Hold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo\n  Just home by the dingos, I step up in 'em rockin' Kangols\n  Straight up fakin' no jacks 'cause all my crack shacks are jam packed\n  My mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track like Amtrak\n\n  So stand back 'cause I'ma make whatever it takes\n  To shake Jakes and shoot snakes\n  And bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's\n  Cut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville\n  Still like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor 'cause I'm ill\n\n  It's war but no more kids are bein' kidnapped, matter of fact\n  Ain't with the shit black, I was young when I did that\n  There's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers\n  So niggaz in pajamas get they wigs, split like bananas\n\n  Stable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin' bodies\n  Neighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti\n  Yeah, paid as a motherfuckin' bank teller\n  The Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin' drug seller\n\n  I gotta flip these bricks\n  'Cause bein' broke drive me insane\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n  From O-Z's to ki's\n  The triple beam brings fame to my name\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n\n  Niggaz be scheamin' and teamin' but still I maintain\n  (Money's on my fuckin' brain)\n  'Cause money and murder go hand in hand\n  It ain't nothin' but a game\n  (Money's on my motherfuckin' brain)\n"}]