[{"id":23368064,"name":"4, 3, 2, 1","trackName":"4, 3, 2, 1","artistName":"LL Cool J","albumName":"LL Cool J - Phenomenon","duration":256.687187,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Huh\nHa (ha), yeah (yeah)\nMake it butter (ay caramba)\nBankhead bounce, no doubt\nAyo watch yo' mouth\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nMo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\nPlayin' my position, hot Nixon\nThis one, for all the sick ones, confliction\nPoisonous darts sickening, best believe\nFinger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\nOn MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\nStart trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\nGotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\nLook good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\nFrom my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\nGot you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\nFuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\nA single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\nAyo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\nTurn a Christian to a certified sinner\nThe bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\nWhile you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\nShit I kept low, petro' your metre\nPolitic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\nShit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\nTerrorize your city, from the spliff committee\nKick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\nGritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\nWhen I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\nI drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\nAbsolut, I love to burn to the roots\nI keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\nVigilante hardcore to the penis\nTell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\nI'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\nI snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\nCanibus is the type who'll fight for mics\nBeatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\nWhen you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\nIf the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\nLike, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\nI could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\nAnd there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\nNigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\nWho wanna see Canibus get wild?\nWho wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\nI take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\nAnybody who ain't close enough to shit on\nZero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\nWhen I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\nStay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\nRun it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\nWhen in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\nSee that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\nWhere we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\nDon't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\nI'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\nLet me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\nThan receive, believe what I say when I tell you\nDon't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\nAnd when the lights is out, they don't come back on\nThis ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\nYou knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\nYou's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\nSo I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\nYou want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nCome on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\nWhen young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\nTell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\nThe symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\nYou holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\nHow dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\nYour little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\nWatch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\nI'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\nBlow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\nWith one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\nEvery little boy wanna pick up the mic\nAnd try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\nBut that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\nSwingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\nSnappin', you amateur MC's\nDon't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\nFor rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\nRingmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\nIn the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\nYour naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\nNow let's get back to this mic on my arm\nIf it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\nYou don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\nAnd you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\nAnd I'm daring every MC in the game\nTo play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\nI make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\nGo platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\nWatch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\nLl Cool J nigga, greatest of all time","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: 4, 3, 2, 1\n  artist: LL Cool J\n  album: LL Cool J - Phenomenon\n  duration_ms: 256687\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Huh\n  Ha (ha), yeah (yeah)\n  Make it butter (ay caramba)\n  Bankhead bounce, no doubt\n  Ayo watch yo' mouth\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Mo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\n  Playin' my position, hot Nixon\n  This one, for all the sick ones, confliction\n  Poisonous darts sickening, best believe\n  Finger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\n  On MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\n  Start trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\n  Gotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\n  Look good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\n  From my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\n  Got you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\n  Fuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\n  A single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\n  Ayo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\n  Turn a Christian to a certified sinner\n  The bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\n  While you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\n  Shit I kept low, petro' your metre\n  Politic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\n  Shit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\n  Terrorize your city, from the spliff committee\n  Kick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\n  Gritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\n  When I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\n  I drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\n  Absolut, I love to burn to the roots\n  I keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\n  Vigilante hardcore to the penis\n  Tell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\n  I'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\n  I snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\n  Canibus is the type who'll fight for mics\n  Beatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\n  When you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\n  If the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\n  Like, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\n  I could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\n  And there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\n  Nigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\n  Who wanna see Canibus get wild?\n  Who wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\n  I take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\n  Anybody who ain't close enough to shit on\n  Zero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\n  When I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\n  Stay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\n  Run it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\n  When in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\n  See that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\n  Where we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\n  Don't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\n  I'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\n  Let me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\n  Than receive, believe what I say when I tell you\n  Don't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\n  And when the lights is out, they don't come back on\n  This ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\n  You knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\n  You's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\n  So I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\n  You want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Come on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\n  When young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\n  Tell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\n  The symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\n  You holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\n  How dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\n  Your little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\n  Watch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\n  I'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\n  Blow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\n  With one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\n  Every little boy wanna pick up the mic\n  And try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\n  But that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\n  Swingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\n  Snappin', you amateur MC's\n  Don't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\n  For rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\n  Ringmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\n  In the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\n  Your naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\n  Now let's get back to this mic on my arm\n  If it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\n  You don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\n  And you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\n  And I'm daring every MC in the game\n  To play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\n  I make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\n  Go platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\n  Watch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\n  Ll Cool J nigga, greatest of all time\n"},{"id":22879308,"name":"4,3,2,1","trackName":"4,3,2,1","artistName":"LL Cool J, Method Man, Redman, DMX, Cannibus","albumName":"LL Cool J Essentials","duration":257.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Hah hah\nYeah yeah\nAy carumba\nI'm gonna Bankhead bounce!\nNo doubt\nWatch yo mouth!\n\nAyo, one two three four\nFive six seven\nBlaze the hot\nTrizack that sound like heaven\nSeven, six, five, four, to\nThree, two, one\nMa'mon Meth-Tical come and get some\n\nPlayin' my position, hot Nixon\nThis one, for all the sick ones, confliction\nPosionous darts sickening, best believe\nFinger itchin' with two broke legs, now I'm trippin'\nOn MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\nStart trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\n\nGotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\nLook good but fuck ugly\nTap your jaw from my punch buggy sonnin' you\nGot you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who?\nFuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin' through\nA single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu\n\nAyo I put it on a nigga, shited on a nigga\nTurn a Christian to a certified sinner\nThe bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\nWhen you got sent up I was hittin' ya ex hoe\nShit I kept low, petro' your metro\nPolitic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\nShit I'm drivin' in, come with fog halogen\n\nTerrorize your city, from the spliff committee\nKick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\nGritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\nWhen I approach, rappers be takin' notes\nI drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\nAbsolut, I love to burn to the roots\nI keep cummin' 'til you pour sperm from your boots\nVigilante, hardcore to the penis\nTell you fuck you, my attitude is anemic\n\nI'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\nI snatch your crown witcha head still attatched to it\nCanibus is the type who'll fight for mics\nBeatin' niggaz to death and beatin' dead niggaz to life\nWhen you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\nIf the signal was strong enough, and then I'll call your bluff\nLike, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\nI could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\n\nAnd there's nowhere to run ta, when I confront ya\nNigga, I call your bluff like it had a phone number\nWho wanna see Canibus get wild?\nWho wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile\nI take 'em on in all shapes, sizes, and forms, and spit on\nAnybody who ain't close enough to shit on\nZero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hunnid\nWhen I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it\n\nStay out the dark, cause if I catch you when the sun is down\nRun it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\nRun it now, however it's gonna go, it's gon' be that\nSee that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\nWhere we at, do your value your life, as much as your possesions?\nDon't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\nI'm gon' get you either way, and it's better to live\nLet me get what's up in your sock, cause it's, better to give\n\nThan receive, believe what I say when I tell ya\nDon't make me put you somewhere where nobody could smell ya\nAnd when the lights is out, they don't come back on\nThis ain't a flick, you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\nYou knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\nYou's a big nigga, ski mask for it baby\nSo I can hit you up on front street, thinkin' I'm sweet?\nWant heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\n\nAiyyo, one two three four\nFive six seven\nBlaze the hot trizack\nShine like heaven\nSeven six five four\nThree two one\nCome on Mr. Smith, come get some!\n\nWhen young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\nTell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\nThe symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\nYou hold the rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\nHow dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\nYour little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\nWatch your mouth, better yet, hold your tongue\nI'ma do this shit for free this time, this one's for fun\nBlow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\nWith one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\n\nEvery little boy wanna pick up the mic\nAnd try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\nBut that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike\nSwingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight\nStop it, you're amateur MC's\nDon't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas\nFor rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\nRingmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uhh)\nIn the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\nYour naive confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\n\nNow let's get back to this mic on my arm\nIf it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\nYou don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\nAnd you don't wanna make me mad nigga, you wanna socalize\nAnd I'm daring every MC in the game\nTo play yourself out position, and mention my name\nI make a rhyme for every syllable in your name\nGo platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\nWatch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\nLL Cool J nigga, greatest of all time","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: 4,3,2,1\n  artist: LL Cool J, Method Man, Redman, DMX, Cannibus\n  album: LL Cool J Essentials\n  duration_ms: 257000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Hah hah\n  Yeah yeah\n  Ay carumba\n  I'm gonna Bankhead bounce!\n  No doubt\n  Watch yo mouth!\n\n  Ayo, one two three four\n  Five six seven\n  Blaze the hot\n  Trizack that sound like heaven\n  Seven, six, five, four, to\n  Three, two, one\n  Ma'mon Meth-Tical come and get some\n\n  Playin' my position, hot Nixon\n  This one, for all the sick ones, confliction\n  Posionous darts sickening, best believe\n  Finger itchin' with two broke legs, now I'm trippin'\n  On MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\n  Start trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\n\n  Gotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\n  Look good but fuck ugly\n  Tap your jaw from my punch buggy sonnin' you\n  Got you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who?\n  Fuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin' through\n  A single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu\n\n  Ayo I put it on a nigga, shited on a nigga\n  Turn a Christian to a certified sinner\n  The bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\n  When you got sent up I was hittin' ya ex hoe\n  Shit I kept low, petro' your metro\n  Politic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\n  Shit I'm drivin' in, come with fog halogen\n\n  Terrorize your city, from the spliff committee\n  Kick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\n  Gritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\n  When I approach, rappers be takin' notes\n  I drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\n  Absolut, I love to burn to the roots\n  I keep cummin' 'til you pour sperm from your boots\n  Vigilante, hardcore to the penis\n  Tell you fuck you, my attitude is anemic\n\n  I'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\n  I snatch your crown witcha head still attatched to it\n  Canibus is the type who'll fight for mics\n  Beatin' niggaz to death and beatin' dead niggaz to life\n  When you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\n  If the signal was strong enough, and then I'll call your bluff\n  Like, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\n  I could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\n\n  And there's nowhere to run ta, when I confront ya\n  Nigga, I call your bluff like it had a phone number\n  Who wanna see Canibus get wild?\n  Who wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile\n  I take 'em on in all shapes, sizes, and forms, and spit on\n  Anybody who ain't close enough to shit on\n  Zero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hunnid\n  When I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it\n\n  Stay out the dark, cause if I catch you when the sun is down\n  Run it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\n  Run it now, however it's gonna go, it's gon' be that\n  See that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\n  Where we at, do your value your life, as much as your possesions?\n  Don't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\n  I'm gon' get you either way, and it's better to live\n  Let me get what's up in your sock, cause it's, better to give\n\n  Than receive, believe what I say when I tell ya\n  Don't make me put you somewhere where nobody could smell ya\n  And when the lights is out, they don't come back on\n  This ain't a flick, you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\n  You knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\n  You's a big nigga, ski mask for it baby\n  So I can hit you up on front street, thinkin' I'm sweet?\n  Want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\n\n  Aiyyo, one two three four\n  Five six seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack\n  Shine like heaven\n  Seven six five four\n  Three two one\n  Come on Mr. Smith, come get some!\n\n  When young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\n  Tell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\n  The symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\n  You hold the rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\n  How dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\n  Your little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\n  Watch your mouth, better yet, hold your tongue\n  I'ma do this shit for free this time, this one's for fun\n  Blow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\n  With one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\n\n  Every little boy wanna pick up the mic\n  And try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\n  But that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike\n  Swingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight\n  Stop it, you're amateur MC's\n  Don't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas\n  For rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\n  Ringmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uhh)\n  In the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\n  Your naive confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\n\n  Now let's get back to this mic on my arm\n  If it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\n  You don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\n  And you don't wanna make me mad nigga, you wanna socalize\n  And I'm daring every MC in the game\n  To play yourself out position, and mention my name\n  I make a rhyme for every syllable in your name\n  Go platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\n  Watch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\n  LL Cool J nigga, greatest of all time\n"},{"id":28041618,"name":"4, 3, 2, 1","trackName":"4, 3, 2, 1","artistName":"LL Cool J","albumName":"All World 2","duration":218.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Huh\nHa (ha), yeah (yeah)\nMake it butter (ay caramba)\nBankhead bounce, no doubt\nAyo watch yo' mouth\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nMo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\nPlayin' my position, hot Nixon\nThis one, for all the sick ones, confliction\nPoisonous darts sickening, best believe\nFinger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\nOn MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\nStart trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\nGotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\nLook good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\nFrom my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\nGot you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\nFuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\nA single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\nAyo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\nTurn a Christian to a certified sinner\nThe bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\nWhile you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\nShit I kept low, petro' your metre\nPolitic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\nShit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\nTerrorize your city, from the spliff committee\nKick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\nGritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\nWhen I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\nI drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\nAbsolut, I love to burn to the roots\nI keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\nVigilante hardcore to the penis\nTell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\nI'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\nI snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\nCanibus is the type who'll fight for mics\nBeatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\nWhen you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\nIf the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\nLike, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\nI could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\nAnd there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\nNigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\nWho wanna see Canibus get wild?\nWho wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\nI take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\nAnybody who ain't close enough to shit on\nZero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\nWhen I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\nStay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\nRun it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\nWhen in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\nSee that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\nWhere we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\nDon't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\nI'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\nLet me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\nThan receive, believe what I say when I tell you\nDon't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\nAnd when the lights is out, they don't come back on\nThis ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\nYou knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\nYou's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\nSo I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\nYou want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nCome on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\nWhen young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\nTell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\nThe symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\nYou holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\nHow dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\nYour little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\nWatch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\nI'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\nBlow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\nWith one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\nEvery little boy wanna pick up the mic\nAnd try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\nBut that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\nSwingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\nSnappin', you amateur MC's\nDon't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\nFor rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\nRingmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\nIn the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\nYour naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\nNow let's get back to this mic on my arm\nIf it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\nYou don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\nAnd you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\nAnd I'm daring every MC in the game\nTo play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\nI make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\nGo platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\nWatch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\nLl Cool J nigga, greatest of all time","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: 4, 3, 2, 1\n  artist: LL Cool J\n  album: All World 2\n  duration_ms: 218000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Huh\n  Ha (ha), yeah (yeah)\n  Make it butter (ay caramba)\n  Bankhead bounce, no doubt\n  Ayo watch yo' mouth\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Mo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\n  Playin' my position, hot Nixon\n  This one, for all the sick ones, confliction\n  Poisonous darts sickening, best believe\n  Finger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\n  On MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\n  Start trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\n  Gotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\n  Look good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\n  From my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\n  Got you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\n  Fuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\n  A single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\n  Ayo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\n  Turn a Christian to a certified sinner\n  The bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\n  While you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\n  Shit I kept low, petro' your metre\n  Politic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\n  Shit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\n  Terrorize your city, from the spliff committee\n  Kick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\n  Gritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\n  When I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\n  I drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\n  Absolut, I love to burn to the roots\n  I keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\n  Vigilante hardcore to the penis\n  Tell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\n  I'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\n  I snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\n  Canibus is the type who'll fight for mics\n  Beatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\n  When you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\n  If the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\n  Like, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\n  I could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\n  And there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\n  Nigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\n  Who wanna see Canibus get wild?\n  Who wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\n  I take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\n  Anybody who ain't close enough to shit on\n  Zero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\n  When I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\n  Stay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\n  Run it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\n  When in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\n  See that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\n  Where we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\n  Don't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\n  I'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\n  Let me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\n  Than receive, believe what I say when I tell you\n  Don't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\n  And when the lights is out, they don't come back on\n  This ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\n  You knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\n  You's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\n  So I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\n  You want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Come on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\n  When young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\n  Tell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\n  The symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\n  You holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\n  How dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\n  Your little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\n  Watch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\n  I'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\n  Blow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\n  With one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\n  Every little boy wanna pick up the mic\n  And try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\n  But that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\n  Swingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\n  Snappin', you amateur MC's\n  Don't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\n  For rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\n  Ringmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\n  In the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\n  Your naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\n  Now let's get back to this mic on my arm\n  If it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\n  You don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\n  And you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\n  And I'm daring every MC in the game\n  To play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\n  I make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\n  Go platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\n  Watch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\n  Ll Cool J nigga, greatest of all time\n"},{"id":31293419,"name":"4,3,2,1","trackName":"4,3,2,1","artistName":"LL Cool J","albumName":"Hidden Chambers Volume 1","duration":257.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Huh\nHa (ha), yeah (yeah)\nMake it butter (ay caramba)\nBankhead bounce, no doubt\nAyo watch yo' mouth\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nMo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\nPlayin' my position, hot Nixon\nThis one, for all the sick ones, confliction\nPoisonous darts sickening, best believe\nFinger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\nOn MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\nStart trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\nGotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\nLook good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\nFrom my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\nGot you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\nFuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\nA single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\nAyo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\nTurn a Christian to a certified sinner\nThe bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\nWhile you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\nShit I kept low, petro' your metre\nPolitic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\nShit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\nTerrorize your city, from the spliff committee\nKick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\nGritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\nWhen I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\nI drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\nAbsolut, I love to burn to the roots\nI keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\nVigilante hardcore to the penis\nTell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\nI'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\nI snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\nCanibus is the type who'll fight for mics\nBeatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\nWhen you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\nIf the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\nLike, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\nI could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\nAnd there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\nNigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\nWho wanna see Canibus get wild?\nWho wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\nI take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\nAnybody who ain't close enough to shit on\nZero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\nWhen I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\nStay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\nRun it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\nWhen in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\nSee that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\nWhere we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\nDon't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\nI'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\nLet me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\nThan receive, believe what I say when I tell you\nDon't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\nAnd when the lights is out, they don't come back on\nThis ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\nYou knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\nYou's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\nSo I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\nYou want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nCome on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\nWhen young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\nTell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\nThe symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\nYou holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\nHow dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\nYour little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\nWatch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\nI'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\nBlow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\nWith one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\nEvery little boy wanna pick up the mic\nAnd try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\nBut that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\nSwingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\nSnappin', you amateur MC's\nDon't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\nFor rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\nRingmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\nIn the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\nYour naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\nNow let's get back to this mic on my arm\nIf it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\nYou don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\nAnd you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\nAnd I'm daring every MC in the game\nTo play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\nI make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\nGo platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\nWatch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\nLl Cool J nigga, greatest of all time","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: 4,3,2,1\n  artist: LL Cool J\n  album: Hidden Chambers Volume 1\n  duration_ms: 257000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Huh\n  Ha (ha), yeah (yeah)\n  Make it butter (ay caramba)\n  Bankhead bounce, no doubt\n  Ayo watch yo' mouth\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Mo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\n  Playin' my position, hot Nixon\n  This one, for all the sick ones, confliction\n  Poisonous darts sickening, best believe\n  Finger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\n  On MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\n  Start trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\n  Gotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\n  Look good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\n  From my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\n  Got you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\n  Fuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\n  A single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\n  Ayo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\n  Turn a Christian to a certified sinner\n  The bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\n  While you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\n  Shit I kept low, petro' your metre\n  Politic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\n  Shit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\n  Terrorize your city, from the spliff committee\n  Kick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\n  Gritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\n  When I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\n  I drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\n  Absolut, I love to burn to the roots\n  I keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\n  Vigilante hardcore to the penis\n  Tell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\n  I'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\n  I snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\n  Canibus is the type who'll fight for mics\n  Beatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\n  When you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\n  If the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\n  Like, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\n  I could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\n  And there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\n  Nigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\n  Who wanna see Canibus get wild?\n  Who wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\n  I take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\n  Anybody who ain't close enough to shit on\n  Zero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\n  When I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\n  Stay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\n  Run it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\n  When in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\n  See that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\n  Where we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\n  Don't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\n  I'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\n  Let me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\n  Than receive, believe what I say when I tell you\n  Don't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\n  And when the lights is out, they don't come back on\n  This ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\n  You knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\n  You's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\n  So I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\n  You want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Come on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\n  When young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\n  Tell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\n  The symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\n  You holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\n  How dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\n  Your little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\n  Watch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\n  I'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\n  Blow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\n  With one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\n  Every little boy wanna pick up the mic\n  And try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\n  But that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\n  Swingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\n  Snappin', you amateur MC's\n  Don't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\n  For rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\n  Ringmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\n  In the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\n  Your naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\n  Now let's get back to this mic on my arm\n  If it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\n  You don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\n  And you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\n  And I'm daring every MC in the game\n  To play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\n  I make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\n  Go platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\n  Watch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\n  Ll Cool J nigga, greatest of all time\n"},{"id":25841249,"name":"4,3,2,1","trackName":"4,3,2,1","artistName":"Ll Cool J","albumName":"Top 250 of the Greatest Hip-Hop and Rap Songs Pt. 3","duration":257.7992,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Huh\nHa (ha), yeah (yeah)\nMake it butter (ay caramba)\nBankhead bounce, no doubt\nAyo watch yo' mouth\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nMo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\nPlayin' my position, hot Nixon\nThis one, for all the sick ones, confliction\nPoisonous darts sickening, best believe\nFinger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\nOn MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\nStart trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\nGotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\nLook good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\nFrom my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\nGot you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\nFuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\nA single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\nAyo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\nTurn a Christian to a certified sinner\nThe bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\nWhile you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\nShit I kept low, petro' your metre\nPolitic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\nShit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\nTerrorize your city, from the spliff committee\nKick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\nGritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\nWhen I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\nI drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\nAbsolut, I love to burn to the roots\nI keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\nVigilante hardcore to the penis\nTell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\nI'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\nI snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\nCanibus is the type who'll fight for mics\nBeatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\nWhen you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\nIf the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\nLike, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\nI could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\nAnd there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\nNigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\nWho wanna see Canibus get wild?\nWho wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\nI take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\nAnybody who ain't close enough to shit on\nZero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\nWhen I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\nStay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\nRun it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\nWhen in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\nSee that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\nWhere we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\nDon't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\nI'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\nLet me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\nThan receive, believe what I say when I tell you\nDon't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\nAnd when the lights is out, they don't come back on\nThis ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\nYou knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\nYou's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\nSo I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\nYou want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nCome on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\nWhen young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\nTell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\nThe symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\nYou holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\nHow dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\nYour little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\nWatch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\nI'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\nBlow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\nWith one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\nEvery little boy wanna pick up the mic\nAnd try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\nBut that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\nSwingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\nSnappin', you amateur MC's\nDon't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\nFor rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\nRingmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\nIn the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\nYour naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\nNow let's get back to this mic on my arm\nIf it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\nYou don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\nAnd you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\nAnd I'm daring every MC in the game\nTo play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\nI make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\nGo platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\nWatch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\nLl Cool J nigga, greatest of all time","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: 4,3,2,1\n  artist: Ll Cool J\n  album: Top 250 of the Greatest Hip-Hop and Rap Songs Pt. 3\n  duration_ms: 257799\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Huh\n  Ha (ha), yeah (yeah)\n  Make it butter (ay caramba)\n  Bankhead bounce, no doubt\n  Ayo watch yo' mouth\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Mo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\n  Playin' my position, hot Nixon\n  This one, for all the sick ones, confliction\n  Poisonous darts sickening, best believe\n  Finger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\n  On MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\n  Start trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\n  Gotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\n  Look good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\n  From my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\n  Got you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\n  Fuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\n  A single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\n  Ayo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\n  Turn a Christian to a certified sinner\n  The bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\n  While you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\n  Shit I kept low, petro' your metre\n  Politic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\n  Shit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\n  Terrorize your city, from the spliff committee\n  Kick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\n  Gritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\n  When I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\n  I drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\n  Absolut, I love to burn to the roots\n  I keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\n  Vigilante hardcore to the penis\n  Tell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\n  I'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\n  I snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\n  Canibus is the type who'll fight for mics\n  Beatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\n  When you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\n  If the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\n  Like, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\n  I could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\n  And there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\n  Nigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\n  Who wanna see Canibus get wild?\n  Who wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\n  I take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\n  Anybody who ain't close enough to shit on\n  Zero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\n  When I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\n  Stay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\n  Run it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\n  When in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\n  See that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\n  Where we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\n  Don't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\n  I'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\n  Let me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\n  Than receive, believe what I say when I tell you\n  Don't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\n  And when the lights is out, they don't come back on\n  This ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\n  You knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\n  You's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\n  So I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\n  You want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Come on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\n  When young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\n  Tell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\n  The symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\n  You holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\n  How dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\n  Your little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\n  Watch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\n  I'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\n  Blow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\n  With one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\n  Every little boy wanna pick up the mic\n  And try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\n  But that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\n  Swingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\n  Snappin', you amateur MC's\n  Don't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\n  For rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\n  Ringmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\n  In the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\n  Your naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\n  Now let's get back to this mic on my arm\n  If it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\n  You don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\n  And you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\n  And I'm daring every MC in the game\n  To play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\n  I make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\n  Go platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\n  Watch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\n  Ll Cool J nigga, greatest of all time\n"},{"id":25400524,"name":"4, 3, 2, 1","trackName":"4, 3, 2, 1","artistName":"LL Cool J","albumName":"The Source Presents Hip Hop Hits, Volume 2","duration":256.687062,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Huh\nHa (ha), yeah (yeah)\nMake it butter (ay caramba)\nBankhead bounce, no doubt\nAyo watch yo' mouth\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nMo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\nPlayin' my position, hot Nixon\nThis one, for all the sick ones, confliction\nPoisonous darts sickening, best believe\nFinger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\nOn MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\nStart trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\nGotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\nLook good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\nFrom my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\nGot you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\nFuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\nA single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\nAyo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\nTurn a Christian to a certified sinner\nThe bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\nWhile you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\nShit I kept low, petro' your metre\nPolitic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\nShit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\nTerrorize your city, from the spliff committee\nKick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\nGritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\nWhen I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\nI drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\nAbsolut, I love to burn to the roots\nI keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\nVigilante hardcore to the penis\nTell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\nI'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\nI snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\nCanibus is the type who'll fight for mics\nBeatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\nWhen you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\nIf the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\nLike, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\nI could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\nAnd there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\nNigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\nWho wanna see Canibus get wild?\nWho wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\nI take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\nAnybody who ain't close enough to shit on\nZero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\nWhen I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\nStay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\nRun it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\nWhen in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\nSee that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\nWhere we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\nDon't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\nI'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\nLet me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\nThan receive, believe what I say when I tell you\nDon't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\nAnd when the lights is out, they don't come back on\nThis ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\nYou knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\nYou's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\nSo I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\nYou want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nCome on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\nWhen young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\nTell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\nThe symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\nYou holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\nHow dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\nYour little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\nWatch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\nI'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\nBlow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\nWith one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\nEvery little boy wanna pick up the mic\nAnd try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\nBut that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\nSwingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\nSnappin', you amateur MC's\nDon't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\nFor rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\nRingmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\nIn the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\nYour naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\nNow let's get back to this mic on my arm\nIf it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\nYou don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\nAnd you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\nAnd I'm daring every MC in the game\nTo play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\nI make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\nGo platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\nWatch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\nLl Cool J nigga, greatest of all time","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: 4, 3, 2, 1\n  artist: LL Cool J\n  album: The Source Presents Hip Hop Hits, Volume 2\n  duration_ms: 256687\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Huh\n  Ha (ha), yeah (yeah)\n  Make it butter (ay caramba)\n  Bankhead bounce, no doubt\n  Ayo watch yo' mouth\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Mo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\n  Playin' my position, hot Nixon\n  This one, for all the sick ones, confliction\n  Poisonous darts sickening, best believe\n  Finger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\n  On MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\n  Start trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\n  Gotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\n  Look good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\n  From my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\n  Got you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\n  Fuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\n  A single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\n  Ayo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\n  Turn a Christian to a certified sinner\n  The bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\n  While you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\n  Shit I kept low, petro' your metre\n  Politic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\n  Shit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\n  Terrorize your city, from the spliff committee\n  Kick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\n  Gritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\n  When I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\n  I drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\n  Absolut, I love to burn to the roots\n  I keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\n  Vigilante hardcore to the penis\n  Tell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\n  I'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\n  I snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\n  Canibus is the type who'll fight for mics\n  Beatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\n  When you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\n  If the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\n  Like, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\n  I could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\n  And there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\n  Nigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\n  Who wanna see Canibus get wild?\n  Who wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\n  I take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\n  Anybody who ain't close enough to shit on\n  Zero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\n  When I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\n  Stay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\n  Run it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\n  When in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\n  See that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\n  Where we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\n  Don't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\n  I'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\n  Let me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\n  Than receive, believe what I say when I tell you\n  Don't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\n  And when the lights is out, they don't come back on\n  This ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\n  You knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\n  You's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\n  So I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\n  You want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Come on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\n  When young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\n  Tell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\n  The symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\n  You holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\n  How dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\n  Your little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\n  Watch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\n  I'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\n  Blow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\n  With one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\n  Every little boy wanna pick up the mic\n  And try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\n  But that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\n  Swingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\n  Snappin', you amateur MC's\n  Don't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\n  For rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\n  Ringmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\n  In the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\n  Your naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\n  Now let's get back to this mic on my arm\n  If it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\n  You don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\n  And you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\n  And I'm daring every MC in the game\n  To play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\n  I make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\n  Go platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\n  Watch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\n  Ll Cool J nigga, greatest of all time\n"},{"id":30504273,"name":"4,3,2,1","trackName":"4,3,2,1","artistName":"LL Cool J","albumName":"1001 Songs Before You Die","duration":258.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Huh\nHa (ha), yeah (yeah)\nMake it butter (ay caramba)\nBankhead bounce, no doubt\nAyo watch yo' mouth\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nMo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\nPlayin' my position, hot Nixon\nThis one, for all the sick ones, confliction\nPoisonous darts sickening, best believe\nFinger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\nOn MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\nStart trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\nGotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\nLook good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\nFrom my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\nGot you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\nFuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\nA single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\nAyo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\nTurn a Christian to a certified sinner\nThe bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\nWhile you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\nShit I kept low, petro' your metre\nPolitic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\nShit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\nTerrorize your city, from the spliff committee\nKick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\nGritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\nWhen I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\nI drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\nAbsolut, I love to burn to the roots\nI keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\nVigilante hardcore to the penis\nTell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\nI'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\nI snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\nCanibus is the type who'll fight for mics\nBeatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\nWhen you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\nIf the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\nLike, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\nI could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\nAnd there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\nNigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\nWho wanna see Canibus get wild?\nWho wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\nI take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\nAnybody who ain't close enough to shit on\nZero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\nWhen I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\nStay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\nRun it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\nWhen in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\nSee that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\nWhere we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\nDon't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\nI'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\nLet me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\nThan receive, believe what I say when I tell you\nDon't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\nAnd when the lights is out, they don't come back on\nThis ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\nYou knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\nYou's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\nSo I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\nYou want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nCome on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\nWhen young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\nTell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\nThe symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\nYou holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\nHow dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\nYour little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\nWatch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\nI'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\nBlow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\nWith one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\nEvery little boy wanna pick up the mic\nAnd try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\nBut that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\nSwingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\nSnappin', you amateur MC's\nDon't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\nFor rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\nRingmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\nIn the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\nYour naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\nNow let's get back to this mic on my arm\nIf it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\nYou don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\nAnd you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\nAnd I'm daring every MC in the game\nTo play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\nI make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\nGo platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\nWatch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\nLl Cool J nigga, greatest of all time","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: 4,3,2,1\n  artist: LL Cool J\n  album: 1001 Songs Before You Die\n  duration_ms: 258000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Huh\n  Ha (ha), yeah (yeah)\n  Make it butter (ay caramba)\n  Bankhead bounce, no doubt\n  Ayo watch yo' mouth\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Mo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\n  Playin' my position, hot Nixon\n  This one, for all the sick ones, confliction\n  Poisonous darts sickening, best believe\n  Finger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\n  On MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\n  Start trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\n  Gotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\n  Look good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\n  From my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\n  Got you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\n  Fuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\n  A single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\n  Ayo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\n  Turn a Christian to a certified sinner\n  The bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\n  While you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\n  Shit I kept low, petro' your metre\n  Politic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\n  Shit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\n  Terrorize your city, from the spliff committee\n  Kick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\n  Gritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\n  When I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\n  I drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\n  Absolut, I love to burn to the roots\n  I keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\n  Vigilante hardcore to the penis\n  Tell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\n  I'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\n  I snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\n  Canibus is the type who'll fight for mics\n  Beatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\n  When you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\n  If the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\n  Like, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\n  I could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\n  And there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\n  Nigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\n  Who wanna see Canibus get wild?\n  Who wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\n  I take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\n  Anybody who ain't close enough to shit on\n  Zero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\n  When I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\n  Stay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\n  Run it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\n  When in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\n  See that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\n  Where we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\n  Don't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\n  I'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\n  Let me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\n  Than receive, believe what I say when I tell you\n  Don't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\n  And when the lights is out, they don't come back on\n  This ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\n  You knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\n  You's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\n  So I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\n  You want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Come on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\n  When young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\n  Tell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\n  The symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\n  You holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\n  How dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\n  Your little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\n  Watch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\n  I'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\n  Blow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\n  With one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\n  Every little boy wanna pick up the mic\n  And try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\n  But that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\n  Swingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\n  Snappin', you amateur MC's\n  Don't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\n  For rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\n  Ringmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\n  In the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\n  Your naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\n  Now let's get back to this mic on my arm\n  If it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\n  You don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\n  And you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\n  And I'm daring every MC in the game\n  To play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\n  I make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\n  Go platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\n  Watch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\n  Ll Cool J nigga, greatest of all time\n"},{"id":30687334,"name":"4,3,2,1","trackName":"4,3,2,1","artistName":"Ll Cool J","albumName":"Top 500 of the Greatest Hip-Hop and Rap Songs","duration":258.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Huh\nHa (ha), yeah (yeah)\nMake it butter (ay caramba)\nBankhead bounce, no doubt\nAyo watch yo' mouth\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nMo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\nPlayin' my position, hot Nixon\nThis one, for all the sick ones, confliction\nPoisonous darts sickening, best believe\nFinger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\nOn MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\nStart trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\nGotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\nLook good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\nFrom my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\nGot you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\nFuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\nA single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\nAyo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\nTurn a Christian to a certified sinner\nThe bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\nWhile you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\nShit I kept low, petro' your metre\nPolitic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\nShit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\nTerrorize your city, from the spliff committee\nKick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\nGritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\nWhen I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\nI drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\nAbsolut, I love to burn to the roots\nI keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\nVigilante hardcore to the penis\nTell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\nI'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\nI snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\nCanibus is the type who'll fight for mics\nBeatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\nWhen you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\nIf the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\nLike, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\nI could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\nAnd there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\nNigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\nWho wanna see Canibus get wild?\nWho wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\nI take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\nAnybody who ain't close enough to shit on\nZero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\nWhen I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\nStay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\nRun it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\nWhen in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\nSee that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\nWhere we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\nDon't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\nI'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\nLet me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\nThan receive, believe what I say when I tell you\nDon't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\nAnd when the lights is out, they don't come back on\nThis ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\nYou knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\nYou's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\nSo I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\nYou want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nCome on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\nWhen young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\nTell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\nThe symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\nYou holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\nHow dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\nYour little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\nWatch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\nI'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\nBlow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\nWith one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\nEvery little boy wanna pick up the mic\nAnd try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\nBut that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\nSwingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\nSnappin', you amateur MC's\nDon't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\nFor rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\nRingmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\nIn the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\nYour naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\nNow let's get back to this mic on my arm\nIf it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\nYou don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\nAnd you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\nAnd I'm daring every MC in the game\nTo play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\nI make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\nGo platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\nWatch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\nLl Cool J nigga, greatest of all time","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: 4,3,2,1\n  artist: Ll Cool J\n  album: Top 500 of the Greatest Hip-Hop and Rap Songs\n  duration_ms: 258000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Huh\n  Ha (ha), yeah (yeah)\n  Make it butter (ay caramba)\n  Bankhead bounce, no doubt\n  Ayo watch yo' mouth\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Mo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\n  Playin' my position, hot Nixon\n  This one, for all the sick ones, confliction\n  Poisonous darts sickening, best believe\n  Finger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\n  On MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\n  Start trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\n  Gotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\n  Look good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\n  From my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\n  Got you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\n  Fuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\n  A single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\n  Ayo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\n  Turn a Christian to a certified sinner\n  The bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\n  While you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\n  Shit I kept low, petro' your metre\n  Politic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\n  Shit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\n  Terrorize your city, from the spliff committee\n  Kick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\n  Gritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\n  When I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\n  I drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\n  Absolut, I love to burn to the roots\n  I keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\n  Vigilante hardcore to the penis\n  Tell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\n  I'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\n  I snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\n  Canibus is the type who'll fight for mics\n  Beatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\n  When you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\n  If the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\n  Like, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\n  I could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\n  And there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\n  Nigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\n  Who wanna see Canibus get wild?\n  Who wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\n  I take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\n  Anybody who ain't close enough to shit on\n  Zero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\n  When I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\n  Stay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\n  Run it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\n  When in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\n  See that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\n  Where we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\n  Don't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\n  I'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\n  Let me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\n  Than receive, believe what I say when I tell you\n  Don't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\n  And when the lights is out, they don't come back on\n  This ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\n  You knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\n  You's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\n  So I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\n  You want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Come on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\n  When young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\n  Tell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\n  The symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\n  You holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\n  How dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\n  Your little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\n  Watch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\n  I'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\n  Blow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\n  With one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\n  Every little boy wanna pick up the mic\n  And try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\n  But that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\n  Swingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\n  Snappin', you amateur MC's\n  Don't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\n  For rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\n  Ringmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\n  In the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\n  Your naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\n  Now let's get back to this mic on my arm\n  If it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\n  You don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\n  And you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\n  And I'm daring every MC in the game\n  To play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\n  I make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\n  Go platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\n  Watch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\n  Ll Cool J nigga, greatest of all time\n"},{"id":29485383,"name":"4, 3, 2, 1","trackName":"4, 3, 2, 1","artistName":"LL Cool J","albumName":"Phenomenon (Japan Edition)","duration":257.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Huh\nHa (ha), yeah (yeah)\nMake it butter (ay caramba)\nBankhead bounce, no doubt\nAyo watch yo' mouth\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nMo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\nPlayin' my position, hot Nixon\nThis one, for all the sick ones, confliction\nPoisonous darts sickening, best believe\nFinger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\nOn MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\nStart trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\nGotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\nLook good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\nFrom my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\nGot you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\nFuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\nA single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\nAyo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\nTurn a Christian to a certified sinner\nThe bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\nWhile you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\nShit I kept low, petro' your metre\nPolitic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\nShit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\nTerrorize your city, from the spliff committee\nKick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\nGritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\nWhen I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\nI drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\nAbsolut, I love to burn to the roots\nI keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\nVigilante hardcore to the penis\nTell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\nI'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\nI snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\nCanibus is the type who'll fight for mics\nBeatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\nWhen you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\nIf the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\nLike, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\nI could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\nAnd there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\nNigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\nWho wanna see Canibus get wild?\nWho wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\nI take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\nAnybody who ain't close enough to shit on\nZero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\nWhen I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\nStay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\nRun it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\nWhen in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\nSee that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\nWhere we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\nDon't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\nI'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\nLet me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\nThan receive, believe what I say when I tell you\nDon't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\nAnd when the lights is out, they don't come back on\nThis ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\nYou knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\nYou's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\nSo I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\nYou want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nCome on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\nWhen young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\nTell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\nThe symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\nYou holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\nHow dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\nYour little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\nWatch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\nI'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\nBlow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\nWith one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\nEvery little boy wanna pick up the mic\nAnd try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\nBut that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\nSwingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\nSnappin', you amateur MC's\nDon't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\nFor rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\nRingmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\nIn the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\nYour naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\nNow let's get back to this mic on my arm\nIf it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\nYou don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\nAnd you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\nAnd I'm daring every MC in the game\nTo play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\nI make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\nGo platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\nWatch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\nLl Cool J nigga, greatest of all time","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: 4, 3, 2, 1\n  artist: LL Cool J\n  album: Phenomenon (Japan Edition)\n  duration_ms: 257000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Huh\n  Ha (ha), yeah (yeah)\n  Make it butter (ay caramba)\n  Bankhead bounce, no doubt\n  Ayo watch yo' mouth\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Mo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\n  Playin' my position, hot Nixon\n  This one, for all the sick ones, confliction\n  Poisonous darts sickening, best believe\n  Finger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\n  On MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\n  Start trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\n  Gotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\n  Look good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\n  From my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\n  Got you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\n  Fuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\n  A single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\n  Ayo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\n  Turn a Christian to a certified sinner\n  The bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\n  While you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\n  Shit I kept low, petro' your metre\n  Politic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\n  Shit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\n  Terrorize your city, from the spliff committee\n  Kick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\n  Gritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\n  When I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\n  I drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\n  Absolut, I love to burn to the roots\n  I keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\n  Vigilante hardcore to the penis\n  Tell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\n  I'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\n  I snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\n  Canibus is the type who'll fight for mics\n  Beatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\n  When you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\n  If the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\n  Like, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\n  I could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\n  And there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\n  Nigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\n  Who wanna see Canibus get wild?\n  Who wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\n  I take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\n  Anybody who ain't close enough to shit on\n  Zero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\n  When I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\n  Stay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\n  Run it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\n  When in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\n  See that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\n  Where we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\n  Don't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\n  I'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\n  Let me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\n  Than receive, believe what I say when I tell you\n  Don't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\n  And when the lights is out, they don't come back on\n  This ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\n  You knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\n  You's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\n  So I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\n  You want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Come on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\n  When young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\n  Tell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\n  The symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\n  You holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\n  How dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\n  Your little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\n  Watch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\n  I'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\n  Blow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\n  With one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\n  Every little boy wanna pick up the mic\n  And try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\n  But that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\n  Swingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\n  Snappin', you amateur MC's\n  Don't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\n  For rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\n  Ringmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\n  In the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\n  Your naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\n  Now let's get back to this mic on my arm\n  If it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\n  You don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\n  And you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\n  And I'm daring every MC in the game\n  To play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\n  I make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\n  Go platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\n  Watch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\n  Ll Cool J nigga, greatest of all time\n"},{"id":29971976,"name":"4,3,2,1","trackName":"4,3,2,1","artistName":"LL Cool J","albumName":"Phenomenon (Parental Advisory)","duration":256.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Huh\nHa (ha), yeah (yeah)\nMake it butter (ay caramba)\nBankhead bounce, no doubt\nAyo watch yo' mouth\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nMo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\nPlayin' my position, hot Nixon\nThis one, for all the sick ones, confliction\nPoisonous darts sickening, best believe\nFinger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\nOn MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\nStart trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\nGotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\nLook good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\nFrom my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\nGot you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\nFuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\nA single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\nAyo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\nTurn a Christian to a certified sinner\nThe bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\nWhile you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\nShit I kept low, petro' your metre\nPolitic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\nShit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\nTerrorize your city, from the spliff committee\nKick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\nGritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\nWhen I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\nI drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\nAbsolut, I love to burn to the roots\nI keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\nVigilante hardcore to the penis\nTell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\nI'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\nI snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\nCanibus is the type who'll fight for mics\nBeatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\nWhen you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\nIf the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\nLike, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\nI could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\nAnd there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\nNigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\nWho wanna see Canibus get wild?\nWho wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\nI take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\nAnybody who ain't close enough to shit on\nZero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\nWhen I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\nStay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\nRun it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\nWhen in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\nSee that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\nWhere we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\nDon't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\nI'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\nLet me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\nThan receive, believe what I say when I tell you\nDon't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\nAnd when the lights is out, they don't come back on\nThis ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\nYou knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\nYou's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\nSo I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\nYou want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nCome on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\nWhen young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\nTell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\nThe symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\nYou holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\nHow dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\nYour little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\nWatch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\nI'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\nBlow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\nWith one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\nEvery little boy wanna pick up the mic\nAnd try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\nBut that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\nSwingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\nSnappin', you amateur MC's\nDon't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\nFor rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\nRingmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\nIn the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\nYour naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\nNow let's get back to this mic on my arm\nIf it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\nYou don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\nAnd you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\nAnd I'm daring every MC in the game\nTo play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\nI make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\nGo platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\nWatch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\nLl Cool J nigga, greatest of all time","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: 4,3,2,1\n  artist: LL Cool J\n  album: Phenomenon (Parental Advisory)\n  duration_ms: 256000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Huh\n  Ha (ha), yeah (yeah)\n  Make it butter (ay caramba)\n  Bankhead bounce, no doubt\n  Ayo watch yo' mouth\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Mo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\n  Playin' my position, hot Nixon\n  This one, for all the sick ones, confliction\n  Poisonous darts sickening, best believe\n  Finger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\n  On MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\n  Start trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\n  Gotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\n  Look good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\n  From my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\n  Got you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\n  Fuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\n  A single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\n  Ayo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\n  Turn a Christian to a certified sinner\n  The bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\n  While you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\n  Shit I kept low, petro' your metre\n  Politic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\n  Shit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\n  Terrorize your city, from the spliff committee\n  Kick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\n  Gritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\n  When I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\n  I drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\n  Absolut, I love to burn to the roots\n  I keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\n  Vigilante hardcore to the penis\n  Tell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\n  I'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\n  I snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\n  Canibus is the type who'll fight for mics\n  Beatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\n  When you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\n  If the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\n  Like, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\n  I could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\n  And there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\n  Nigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\n  Who wanna see Canibus get wild?\n  Who wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\n  I take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\n  Anybody who ain't close enough to shit on\n  Zero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\n  When I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\n  Stay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\n  Run it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\n  When in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\n  See that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\n  Where we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\n  Don't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\n  I'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\n  Let me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\n  Than receive, believe what I say when I tell you\n  Don't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\n  And when the lights is out, they don't come back on\n  This ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\n  You knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\n  You's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\n  So I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\n  You want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Come on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\n  When young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\n  Tell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\n  The symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\n  You holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\n  How dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\n  Your little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\n  Watch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\n  I'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\n  Blow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\n  With one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\n  Every little boy wanna pick up the mic\n  And try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\n  But that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\n  Swingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\n  Snappin', you amateur MC's\n  Don't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\n  For rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\n  Ringmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\n  In the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\n  Your naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\n  Now let's get back to this mic on my arm\n  If it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\n  You don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\n  And you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\n  And I'm daring every MC in the game\n  To play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\n  I make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\n  Go platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\n  Watch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\n  Ll Cool J nigga, greatest of all time\n"},{"id":32895768,"name":"4, 3, 2, 1","trackName":"4, 3, 2, 1","artistName":"LL Cool J","albumName":"Phenomen","duration":257.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Huh\nHa (ha), yeah (yeah)\nMake it butter (ay caramba)\nBankhead bounce, no doubt\nAyo watch yo' mouth\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nMo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\nPlayin' my position, hot Nixon\nThis one, for all the sick ones, confliction\nPoisonous darts sickening, best believe\nFinger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\nOn MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\nStart trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\nGotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\nLook good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\nFrom my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\nGot you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\nFuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\nA single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\nAyo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\nTurn a Christian to a certified sinner\nThe bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\nWhile you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\nShit I kept low, petro' your metre\nPolitic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\nShit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\nTerrorize your city, from the spliff committee\nKick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\nGritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\nWhen I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\nI drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\nAbsolut, I love to burn to the roots\nI keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\nVigilante hardcore to the penis\nTell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\nI'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\nI snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\nCanibus is the type who'll fight for mics\nBeatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\nWhen you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\nIf the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\nLike, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\nI could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\nAnd there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\nNigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\nWho wanna see Canibus get wild?\nWho wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\nI take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\nAnybody who ain't close enough to shit on\nZero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\nWhen I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\nStay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\nRun it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\nWhen in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\nSee that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\nWhere we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\nDon't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\nI'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\nLet me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\nThan receive, believe what I say when I tell you\nDon't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\nAnd when the lights is out, they don't come back on\nThis ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\nYou knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\nYou's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\nSo I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\nYou want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nCome on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\nWhen young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\nTell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\nThe symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\nYou holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\nHow dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\nYour little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\nWatch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\nI'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\nBlow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\nWith one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\nEvery little boy wanna pick up the mic\nAnd try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\nBut that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\nSwingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\nSnappin', you amateur MC's\nDon't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\nFor rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\nRingmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\nIn the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\nYour naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\nNow let's get back to this mic on my arm\nIf it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\nYou don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\nAnd you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\nAnd I'm daring every MC in the game\nTo play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\nI make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\nGo platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\nWatch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\nLl Cool J nigga, greatest of all time","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: 4, 3, 2, 1\n  artist: LL Cool J\n  album: Phenomen\n  duration_ms: 257000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Huh\n  Ha (ha), yeah (yeah)\n  Make it butter (ay caramba)\n  Bankhead bounce, no doubt\n  Ayo watch yo' mouth\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Mo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\n  Playin' my position, hot Nixon\n  This one, for all the sick ones, confliction\n  Poisonous darts sickening, best believe\n  Finger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\n  On MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\n  Start trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\n  Gotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\n  Look good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\n  From my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\n  Got you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\n  Fuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\n  A single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\n  Ayo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\n  Turn a Christian to a certified sinner\n  The bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\n  While you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\n  Shit I kept low, petro' your metre\n  Politic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\n  Shit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\n  Terrorize your city, from the spliff committee\n  Kick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\n  Gritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\n  When I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\n  I drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\n  Absolut, I love to burn to the roots\n  I keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\n  Vigilante hardcore to the penis\n  Tell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\n  I'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\n  I snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\n  Canibus is the type who'll fight for mics\n  Beatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\n  When you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\n  If the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\n  Like, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\n  I could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\n  And there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\n  Nigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\n  Who wanna see Canibus get wild?\n  Who wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\n  I take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\n  Anybody who ain't close enough to shit on\n  Zero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\n  When I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\n  Stay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\n  Run it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\n  When in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\n  See that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\n  Where we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\n  Don't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\n  I'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\n  Let me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\n  Than receive, believe what I say when I tell you\n  Don't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\n  And when the lights is out, they don't come back on\n  This ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\n  You knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\n  You's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\n  So I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\n  You want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Come on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\n  When young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\n  Tell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\n  The symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\n  You holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\n  How dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\n  Your little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\n  Watch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\n  I'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\n  Blow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\n  With one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\n  Every little boy wanna pick up the mic\n  And try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\n  But that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\n  Swingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\n  Snappin', you amateur MC's\n  Don't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\n  For rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\n  Ringmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\n  In the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\n  Your naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\n  Now let's get back to this mic on my arm\n  If it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\n  You don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\n  And you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\n  And I'm daring every MC in the game\n  To play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\n  I make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\n  Go platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\n  Watch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\n  Ll Cool J nigga, greatest of all time\n"},{"id":31917017,"name":"4,3,2,1","trackName":"4,3,2,1","artistName":"Ll Cool J","albumName":"500 of the Greatest Hip-Hop","duration":258.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Huh\nHa (ha), yeah (yeah)\nMake it butter (ay caramba)\nBankhead bounce, no doubt\nAyo watch yo' mouth\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nMo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\nPlayin' my position, hot Nixon\nThis one, for all the sick ones, confliction\nPoisonous darts sickening, best believe\nFinger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\nOn MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\nStart trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\nGotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\nLook good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\nFrom my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\nGot you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\nFuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\nA single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\nAyo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\nTurn a Christian to a certified sinner\nThe bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\nWhile you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\nShit I kept low, petro' your metre\nPolitic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\nShit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\nTerrorize your city, from the spliff committee\nKick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\nGritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\nWhen I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\nI drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\nAbsolut, I love to burn to the roots\nI keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\nVigilante hardcore to the penis\nTell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\nI'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\nI snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\nCanibus is the type who'll fight for mics\nBeatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\nWhen you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\nIf the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\nLike, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\nI could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\nAnd there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\nNigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\nWho wanna see Canibus get wild?\nWho wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\nI take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\nAnybody who ain't close enough to shit on\nZero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\nWhen I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\nStay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\nRun it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\nWhen in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\nSee that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\nWhere we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\nDon't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\nI'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\nLet me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\nThan receive, believe what I say when I tell you\nDon't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\nAnd when the lights is out, they don't come back on\nThis ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\nYou knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\nYou's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\nSo I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\nYou want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nCome on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\nWhen young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\nTell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\nThe symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\nYou holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\nHow dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\nYour little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\nWatch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\nI'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\nBlow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\nWith one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\nEvery little boy wanna pick up the mic\nAnd try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\nBut that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\nSwingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\nSnappin', you amateur MC's\nDon't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\nFor rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\nRingmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\nIn the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\nYour naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\nNow let's get back to this mic on my arm\nIf it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\nYou don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\nAnd you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\nAnd I'm daring every MC in the game\nTo play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\nI make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\nGo platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\nWatch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\nLl Cool J nigga, greatest of all time","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: 4,3,2,1\n  artist: Ll Cool J\n  album: 500 of the Greatest Hip-Hop\n  duration_ms: 258000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Huh\n  Ha (ha), yeah (yeah)\n  Make it butter (ay caramba)\n  Bankhead bounce, no doubt\n  Ayo watch yo' mouth\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Mo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\n  Playin' my position, hot Nixon\n  This one, for all the sick ones, confliction\n  Poisonous darts sickening, best believe\n  Finger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\n  On MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\n  Start trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\n  Gotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\n  Look good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\n  From my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\n  Got you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\n  Fuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\n  A single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\n  Ayo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\n  Turn a Christian to a certified sinner\n  The bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\n  While you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\n  Shit I kept low, petro' your metre\n  Politic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\n  Shit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\n  Terrorize your city, from the spliff committee\n  Kick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\n  Gritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\n  When I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\n  I drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\n  Absolut, I love to burn to the roots\n  I keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\n  Vigilante hardcore to the penis\n  Tell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\n  I'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\n  I snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\n  Canibus is the type who'll fight for mics\n  Beatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\n  When you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\n  If the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\n  Like, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\n  I could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\n  And there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\n  Nigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\n  Who wanna see Canibus get wild?\n  Who wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\n  I take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\n  Anybody who ain't close enough to shit on\n  Zero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\n  When I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\n  Stay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\n  Run it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\n  When in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\n  See that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\n  Where we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\n  Don't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\n  I'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\n  Let me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\n  Than receive, believe what I say when I tell you\n  Don't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\n  And when the lights is out, they don't come back on\n  This ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\n  You knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\n  You's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\n  So I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\n  You want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Come on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\n  When young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\n  Tell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\n  The symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\n  You holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\n  How dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\n  Your little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\n  Watch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\n  I'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\n  Blow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\n  With one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\n  Every little boy wanna pick up the mic\n  And try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\n  But that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\n  Swingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\n  Snappin', you amateur MC's\n  Don't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\n  For rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\n  Ringmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\n  In the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\n  Your naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\n  Now let's get back to this mic on my arm\n  If it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\n  You don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\n  And you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\n  And I'm daring every MC in the game\n  To play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\n  I make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\n  Go platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\n  Watch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\n  Ll Cool J nigga, greatest of all time\n"},{"id":24333124,"name":"4, 3, 2, 1","trackName":"4, 3, 2, 1","artistName":"LL Cool J","albumName":"Phenomenon","duration":258.716735,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Huh\nHa (ha), yeah (yeah)\nMake it butter (ay caramba)\nBankhead bounce, no doubt\nAyo watch yo' mouth\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nMo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\nPlayin' my position, hot Nixon\nThis one, for all the sick ones, confliction\nPoisonous darts sickening, best believe\nFinger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\nOn MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\nStart trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\nGotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\nLook good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\nFrom my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\nGot you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\nFuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\nA single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\nAyo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\nTurn a Christian to a certified sinner\nThe bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\nWhile you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\nShit I kept low, petro' your metre\nPolitic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\nShit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\nTerrorize your city, from the spliff committee\nKick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\nGritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\nWhen I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\nI drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\nAbsolut, I love to burn to the roots\nI keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\nVigilante hardcore to the penis\nTell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\nI'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\nI snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\nCanibus is the type who'll fight for mics\nBeatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\nWhen you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\nIf the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\nLike, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\nI could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\nAnd there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\nNigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\nWho wanna see Canibus get wild?\nWho wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\nI take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\nAnybody who ain't close enough to shit on\nZero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\nWhen I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\nStay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\nRun it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\nWhen in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\nSee that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\nWhere we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\nDon't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\nI'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\nLet me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\nThan receive, believe what I say when I tell you\nDon't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\nAnd when the lights is out, they don't come back on\nThis ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\nYou knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\nYou's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\nSo I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\nYou want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nCome on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\nWhen young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\nTell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\nThe symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\nYou holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\nHow dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\nYour little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\nWatch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\nI'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\nBlow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\nWith one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\nEvery little boy wanna pick up the mic\nAnd try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\nBut that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\nSwingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\nSnappin', you amateur MC's\nDon't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\nFor rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\nRingmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\nIn the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\nYour naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\nNow let's get back to this mic on my arm\nIf it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\nYou don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\nAnd you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\nAnd I'm daring every MC in the game\nTo play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\nI make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\nGo platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\nWatch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\nLl Cool J nigga, greatest of all time","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: 4, 3, 2, 1\n  artist: LL Cool J\n  album: Phenomenon\n  duration_ms: 258717\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Huh\n  Ha (ha), yeah (yeah)\n  Make it butter (ay caramba)\n  Bankhead bounce, no doubt\n  Ayo watch yo' mouth\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Mo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\n  Playin' my position, hot Nixon\n  This one, for all the sick ones, confliction\n  Poisonous darts sickening, best believe\n  Finger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\n  On MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\n  Start trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\n  Gotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\n  Look good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\n  From my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\n  Got you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\n  Fuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\n  A single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\n  Ayo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\n  Turn a Christian to a certified sinner\n  The bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\n  While you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\n  Shit I kept low, petro' your metre\n  Politic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\n  Shit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\n  Terrorize your city, from the spliff committee\n  Kick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\n  Gritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\n  When I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\n  I drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\n  Absolut, I love to burn to the roots\n  I keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\n  Vigilante hardcore to the penis\n  Tell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\n  I'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\n  I snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\n  Canibus is the type who'll fight for mics\n  Beatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\n  When you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\n  If the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\n  Like, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\n  I could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\n  And there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\n  Nigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\n  Who wanna see Canibus get wild?\n  Who wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\n  I take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\n  Anybody who ain't close enough to shit on\n  Zero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\n  When I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\n  Stay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\n  Run it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\n  When in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\n  See that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\n  Where we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\n  Don't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\n  I'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\n  Let me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\n  Than receive, believe what I say when I tell you\n  Don't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\n  And when the lights is out, they don't come back on\n  This ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\n  You knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\n  You's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\n  So I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\n  You want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Come on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\n  When young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\n  Tell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\n  The symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\n  You holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\n  How dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\n  Your little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\n  Watch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\n  I'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\n  Blow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\n  With one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\n  Every little boy wanna pick up the mic\n  And try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\n  But that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\n  Swingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\n  Snappin', you amateur MC's\n  Don't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\n  For rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\n  Ringmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\n  In the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\n  Your naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\n  Now let's get back to this mic on my arm\n  If it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\n  You don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\n  And you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\n  And I'm daring every MC in the game\n  To play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\n  I make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\n  Go platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\n  Watch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\n  Ll Cool J nigga, greatest of all time\n"},{"id":23395321,"name":"4,3,2,1","trackName":"4,3,2,1","artistName":"LL Cool J","albumName":"1001 Songs Before You Die Cd 18","duration":256.914286,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Huh\nHa (ha), yeah (yeah)\nMake it butter (ay caramba)\nBankhead bounce, no doubt\nAyo watch yo' mouth\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nMo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\nPlayin' my position, hot Nixon\nThis one, for all the sick ones, confliction\nPoisonous darts sickening, best believe\nFinger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\nOn MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\nStart trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\nGotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\nLook good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\nFrom my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\nGot you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\nFuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\nA single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\nAyo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\nTurn a Christian to a certified sinner\nThe bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\nWhile you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\nShit I kept low, petro' your metre\nPolitic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\nShit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\nTerrorize your city, from the spliff committee\nKick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\nGritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\nWhen I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\nI drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\nAbsolut, I love to burn to the roots\nI keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\nVigilante hardcore to the penis\nTell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\nI'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\nI snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\nCanibus is the type who'll fight for mics\nBeatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\nWhen you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\nIf the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\nLike, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\nI could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\nAnd there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\nNigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\nWho wanna see Canibus get wild?\nWho wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\nI take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\nAnybody who ain't close enough to shit on\nZero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\nWhen I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\nStay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\nRun it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\nWhen in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\nSee that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\nWhere we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\nDon't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\nI'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\nLet me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\nThan receive, believe what I say when I tell you\nDon't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\nAnd when the lights is out, they don't come back on\nThis ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\nYou knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\nYou's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\nSo I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\nYou want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nCome on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\nWhen young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\nTell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\nThe symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\nYou holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\nHow dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\nYour little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\nWatch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\nI'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\nBlow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\nWith one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\nEvery little boy wanna pick up the mic\nAnd try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\nBut that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\nSwingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\nSnappin', you amateur MC's\nDon't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\nFor rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\nRingmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\nIn the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\nYour naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\nNow let's get back to this mic on my arm\nIf it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\nYou don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\nAnd you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\nAnd I'm daring every MC in the game\nTo play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\nI make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\nGo platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\nWatch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\nLl Cool J nigga, greatest of all time","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: 4,3,2,1\n  artist: LL Cool J\n  album: 1001 Songs Before You Die Cd 18\n  duration_ms: 256914\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Huh\n  Ha (ha), yeah (yeah)\n  Make it butter (ay caramba)\n  Bankhead bounce, no doubt\n  Ayo watch yo' mouth\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Mo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\n  Playin' my position, hot Nixon\n  This one, for all the sick ones, confliction\n  Poisonous darts sickening, best believe\n  Finger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\n  On MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\n  Start trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\n  Gotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\n  Look good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\n  From my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\n  Got you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\n  Fuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\n  A single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\n  Ayo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\n  Turn a Christian to a certified sinner\n  The bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\n  While you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\n  Shit I kept low, petro' your metre\n  Politic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\n  Shit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\n  Terrorize your city, from the spliff committee\n  Kick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\n  Gritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\n  When I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\n  I drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\n  Absolut, I love to burn to the roots\n  I keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\n  Vigilante hardcore to the penis\n  Tell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\n  I'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\n  I snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\n  Canibus is the type who'll fight for mics\n  Beatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\n  When you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\n  If the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\n  Like, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\n  I could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\n  And there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\n  Nigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\n  Who wanna see Canibus get wild?\n  Who wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\n  I take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\n  Anybody who ain't close enough to shit on\n  Zero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\n  When I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\n  Stay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\n  Run it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\n  When in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\n  See that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\n  Where we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\n  Don't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\n  I'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\n  Let me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\n  Than receive, believe what I say when I tell you\n  Don't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\n  And when the lights is out, they don't come back on\n  This ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\n  You knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\n  You's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\n  So I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\n  You want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Come on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\n  When young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\n  Tell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\n  The symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\n  You holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\n  How dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\n  Your little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\n  Watch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\n  I'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\n  Blow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\n  With one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\n  Every little boy wanna pick up the mic\n  And try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\n  But that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\n  Swingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\n  Snappin', you amateur MC's\n  Don't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\n  For rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\n  Ringmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\n  In the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\n  Your naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\n  Now let's get back to this mic on my arm\n  If it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\n  You don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\n  And you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\n  And I'm daring every MC in the game\n  To play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\n  I make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\n  Go platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\n  Watch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\n  Ll Cool J nigga, greatest of all time\n"},{"id":24667777,"name":"4,3,2,1","trackName":"4,3,2,1","artistName":"LL Cool J","albumName":"1001 Songs Before You Die [CD18]","duration":256.914286,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Huh\nHa (ha), yeah (yeah)\nMake it butter (ay caramba)\nBankhead bounce, no doubt\nAyo watch yo' mouth\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nMo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\nPlayin' my position, hot Nixon\nThis one, for all the sick ones, confliction\nPoisonous darts sickening, best believe\nFinger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\nOn MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\nStart trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\nGotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\nLook good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\nFrom my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\nGot you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\nFuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\nA single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\nAyo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\nTurn a Christian to a certified sinner\nThe bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\nWhile you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\nShit I kept low, petro' your metre\nPolitic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\nShit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\nTerrorize your city, from the spliff committee\nKick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\nGritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\nWhen I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\nI drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\nAbsolut, I love to burn to the roots\nI keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\nVigilante hardcore to the penis\nTell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\nI'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\nI snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\nCanibus is the type who'll fight for mics\nBeatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\nWhen you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\nIf the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\nLike, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\nI could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\nAnd there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\nNigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\nWho wanna see Canibus get wild?\nWho wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\nI take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\nAnybody who ain't close enough to shit on\nZero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\nWhen I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\nStay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\nRun it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\nWhen in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\nSee that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\nWhere we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\nDon't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\nI'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\nLet me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\nThan receive, believe what I say when I tell you\nDon't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\nAnd when the lights is out, they don't come back on\nThis ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\nYou knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\nYou's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\nSo I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\nYou want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nCome on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\nWhen young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\nTell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\nThe symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\nYou holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\nHow dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\nYour little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\nWatch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\nI'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\nBlow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\nWith one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\nEvery little boy wanna pick up the mic\nAnd try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\nBut that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\nSwingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\nSnappin', you amateur MC's\nDon't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\nFor rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\nRingmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\nIn the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\nYour naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\nNow let's get back to this mic on my arm\nIf it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\nYou don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\nAnd you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\nAnd I'm daring every MC in the game\nTo play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\nI make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\nGo platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\nWatch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\nLl Cool J nigga, greatest of all time","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: 4,3,2,1\n  artist: LL Cool J\n  album: 1001 Songs Before You Die [CD18]\n  duration_ms: 256914\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Huh\n  Ha (ha), yeah (yeah)\n  Make it butter (ay caramba)\n  Bankhead bounce, no doubt\n  Ayo watch yo' mouth\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Mo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\n  Playin' my position, hot Nixon\n  This one, for all the sick ones, confliction\n  Poisonous darts sickening, best believe\n  Finger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\n  On MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\n  Start trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\n  Gotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\n  Look good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\n  From my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\n  Got you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\n  Fuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\n  A single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\n  Ayo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\n  Turn a Christian to a certified sinner\n  The bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\n  While you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\n  Shit I kept low, petro' your metre\n  Politic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\n  Shit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\n  Terrorize your city, from the spliff committee\n  Kick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\n  Gritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\n  When I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\n  I drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\n  Absolut, I love to burn to the roots\n  I keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\n  Vigilante hardcore to the penis\n  Tell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\n  I'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\n  I snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\n  Canibus is the type who'll fight for mics\n  Beatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\n  When you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\n  If the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\n  Like, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\n  I could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\n  And there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\n  Nigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\n  Who wanna see Canibus get wild?\n  Who wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\n  I take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\n  Anybody who ain't close enough to shit on\n  Zero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\n  When I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\n  Stay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\n  Run it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\n  When in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\n  See that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\n  Where we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\n  Don't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\n  I'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\n  Let me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\n  Than receive, believe what I say when I tell you\n  Don't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\n  And when the lights is out, they don't come back on\n  This ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\n  You knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\n  You's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\n  So I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\n  You want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Come on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\n  When young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\n  Tell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\n  The symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\n  You holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\n  How dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\n  Your little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\n  Watch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\n  I'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\n  Blow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\n  With one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\n  Every little boy wanna pick up the mic\n  And try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\n  But that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\n  Swingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\n  Snappin', you amateur MC's\n  Don't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\n  For rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\n  Ringmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\n  In the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\n  Your naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\n  Now let's get back to this mic on my arm\n  If it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\n  You don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\n  And you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\n  And I'm daring every MC in the game\n  To play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\n  I make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\n  Go platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\n  Watch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\n  Ll Cool J nigga, greatest of all time\n"},{"id":23254555,"name":"4,3,2,1","trackName":"4,3,2,1","artistName":"LL COOL J","albumName":"Phenomenon","duration":256.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Huh\nHa (ha), yeah (yeah)\nMake it butter (ay caramba)\nBankhead bounce, no doubt\nAyo watch yo' mouth\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nMo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\nPlayin' my position, hot Nixon\nThis one, for all the sick ones, confliction\nPoisonous darts sickening, best believe\nFinger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\nOn MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\nStart trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\nGotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\nLook good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\nFrom my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\nGot you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\nFuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\nA single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\nAyo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\nTurn a Christian to a certified sinner\nThe bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\nWhile you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\nShit I kept low, petro' your metre\nPolitic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\nShit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\nTerrorize your city, from the spliff committee\nKick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\nGritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\nWhen I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\nI drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\nAbsolut, I love to burn to the roots\nI keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\nVigilante hardcore to the penis\nTell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\nI'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\nI snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\nCanibus is the type who'll fight for mics\nBeatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\nWhen you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\nIf the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\nLike, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\nI could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\nAnd there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\nNigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\nWho wanna see Canibus get wild?\nWho wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\nI take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\nAnybody who ain't close enough to shit on\nZero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\nWhen I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\nStay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\nRun it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\nWhen in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\nSee that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\nWhere we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\nDon't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\nI'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\nLet me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\nThan receive, believe what I say when I tell you\nDon't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\nAnd when the lights is out, they don't come back on\nThis ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\nYou knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\nYou's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\nSo I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\nYou want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nCome on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\nWhen young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\nTell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\nThe symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\nYou holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\nHow dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\nYour little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\nWatch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\nI'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\nBlow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\nWith one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\nEvery little boy wanna pick up the mic\nAnd try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\nBut that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\nSwingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\nSnappin', you amateur MC's\nDon't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\nFor rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\nRingmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\nIn the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\nYour naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\nNow let's get back to this mic on my arm\nIf it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\nYou don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\nAnd you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\nAnd I'm daring every MC in the game\nTo play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\nI make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\nGo platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\nWatch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\nLl Cool J nigga, greatest of all time","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: 4,3,2,1\n  artist: LL COOL J\n  album: Phenomenon\n  duration_ms: 256000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Huh\n  Ha (ha), yeah (yeah)\n  Make it butter (ay caramba)\n  Bankhead bounce, no doubt\n  Ayo watch yo' mouth\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Mo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\n  Playin' my position, hot Nixon\n  This one, for all the sick ones, confliction\n  Poisonous darts sickening, best believe\n  Finger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\n  On MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\n  Start trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\n  Gotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\n  Look good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\n  From my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\n  Got you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\n  Fuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\n  A single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\n  Ayo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\n  Turn a Christian to a certified sinner\n  The bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\n  While you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\n  Shit I kept low, petro' your metre\n  Politic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\n  Shit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\n  Terrorize your city, from the spliff committee\n  Kick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\n  Gritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\n  When I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\n  I drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\n  Absolut, I love to burn to the roots\n  I keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\n  Vigilante hardcore to the penis\n  Tell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\n  I'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\n  I snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\n  Canibus is the type who'll fight for mics\n  Beatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\n  When you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\n  If the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\n  Like, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\n  I could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\n  And there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\n  Nigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\n  Who wanna see Canibus get wild?\n  Who wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\n  I take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\n  Anybody who ain't close enough to shit on\n  Zero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\n  When I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\n  Stay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\n  Run it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\n  When in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\n  See that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\n  Where we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\n  Don't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\n  I'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\n  Let me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\n  Than receive, believe what I say when I tell you\n  Don't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\n  And when the lights is out, they don't come back on\n  This ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\n  You knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\n  You's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\n  So I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\n  You want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Come on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\n  When young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\n  Tell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\n  The symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\n  You holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\n  How dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\n  Your little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\n  Watch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\n  I'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\n  Blow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\n  With one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\n  Every little boy wanna pick up the mic\n  And try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\n  But that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\n  Swingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\n  Snappin', you amateur MC's\n  Don't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\n  For rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\n  Ringmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\n  In the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\n  Your naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\n  Now let's get back to this mic on my arm\n  If it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\n  You don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\n  And you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\n  And I'm daring every MC in the game\n  To play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\n  I make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\n  Go platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\n  Watch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\n  Ll Cool J nigga, greatest of all time\n"},{"id":37180961,"name":"4,3,2,1","trackName":"4,3,2,1","artistName":"Ll Cool J","albumName":"Rap Top 1000","duration":258.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Huh\nHa (ha), yeah (yeah)\nMake it butter (ay caramba)\nBankhead bounce, no doubt\nAyo watch yo' mouth\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nMo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\nPlayin' my position, hot Nixon\nThis one, for all the sick ones, confliction\nPoisonous darts sickening, best believe\nFinger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\nOn MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\nStart trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\nGotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\nLook good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\nFrom my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\nGot you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\nFuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\nA single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\nAyo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\nTurn a Christian to a certified sinner\nThe bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\nWhile you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\nShit I kept low, petro' your metre\nPolitic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\nShit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\nTerrorize your city, from the spliff committee\nKick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\nGritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\nWhen I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\nI drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\nAbsolut, I love to burn to the roots\nI keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\nVigilante hardcore to the penis\nTell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\nI'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\nI snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\nCanibus is the type who'll fight for mics\nBeatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\nWhen you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\nIf the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\nLike, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\nI could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\nAnd there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\nNigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\nWho wanna see Canibus get wild?\nWho wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\nI take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\nAnybody who ain't close enough to shit on\nZero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\nWhen I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\nStay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\nRun it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\nWhen in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\nSee that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\nWhere we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\nDon't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\nI'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\nLet me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\nThan receive, believe what I say when I tell you\nDon't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\nAnd when the lights is out, they don't come back on\nThis ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\nYou knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\nYou's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\nSo I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\nYou want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nCome on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\nWhen young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\nTell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\nThe symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\nYou holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\nHow dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\nYour little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\nWatch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\nI'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\nBlow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\nWith one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\nEvery little boy wanna pick up the mic\nAnd try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\nBut that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\nSwingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\nSnappin', you amateur MC's\nDon't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\nFor rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\nRingmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\nIn the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\nYour naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\nNow let's get back to this mic on my arm\nIf it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\nYou don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\nAnd you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\nAnd I'm daring every MC in the game\nTo play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\nI make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\nGo platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\nWatch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\nLl Cool J nigga, greatest of all time","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: 4,3,2,1\n  artist: Ll Cool J\n  album: Rap Top 1000\n  duration_ms: 258000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Huh\n  Ha (ha), yeah (yeah)\n  Make it butter (ay caramba)\n  Bankhead bounce, no doubt\n  Ayo watch yo' mouth\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Mo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\n  Playin' my position, hot Nixon\n  This one, for all the sick ones, confliction\n  Poisonous darts sickening, best believe\n  Finger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\n  On MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\n  Start trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\n  Gotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\n  Look good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\n  From my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\n  Got you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\n  Fuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\n  A single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\n  Ayo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\n  Turn a Christian to a certified sinner\n  The bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\n  While you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\n  Shit I kept low, petro' your metre\n  Politic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\n  Shit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\n  Terrorize your city, from the spliff committee\n  Kick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\n  Gritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\n  When I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\n  I drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\n  Absolut, I love to burn to the roots\n  I keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\n  Vigilante hardcore to the penis\n  Tell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\n  I'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\n  I snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\n  Canibus is the type who'll fight for mics\n  Beatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\n  When you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\n  If the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\n  Like, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\n  I could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\n  And there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\n  Nigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\n  Who wanna see Canibus get wild?\n  Who wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\n  I take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\n  Anybody who ain't close enough to shit on\n  Zero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\n  When I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\n  Stay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\n  Run it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\n  When in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\n  See that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\n  Where we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\n  Don't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\n  I'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\n  Let me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\n  Than receive, believe what I say when I tell you\n  Don't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\n  And when the lights is out, they don't come back on\n  This ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\n  You knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\n  You's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\n  So I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\n  You want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Come on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\n  When young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\n  Tell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\n  The symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\n  You holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\n  How dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\n  Your little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\n  Watch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\n  I'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\n  Blow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\n  With one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\n  Every little boy wanna pick up the mic\n  And try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\n  But that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\n  Swingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\n  Snappin', you amateur MC's\n  Don't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\n  For rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\n  Ringmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\n  In the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\n  Your naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\n  Now let's get back to this mic on my arm\n  If it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\n  You don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\n  And you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\n  And I'm daring every MC in the game\n  To play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\n  I make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\n  Go platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\n  Watch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\n  Ll Cool J nigga, greatest of all time\n"},{"id":34985796,"name":"4,3,2,1","trackName":"4,3,2,1","artistName":"LL COOL J","albumName":"Hip-Hop Throwback","duration":257.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Huh\nHa (ha), yeah (yeah)\nMake it butter (ay caramba)\nBankhead bounce, no doubt\nAyo watch yo' mouth\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nMo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\nPlayin' my position, hot Nixon\nThis one, for all the sick ones, confliction\nPoisonous darts sickening, best believe\nFinger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\nOn MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\nStart trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\nGotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\nLook good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\nFrom my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\nGot you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\nFuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\nA single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\nAyo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\nTurn a Christian to a certified sinner\nThe bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\nWhile you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\nShit I kept low, petro' your metre\nPolitic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\nShit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\nTerrorize your city, from the spliff committee\nKick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\nGritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\nWhen I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\nI drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\nAbsolut, I love to burn to the roots\nI keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\nVigilante hardcore to the penis\nTell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\nI'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\nI snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\nCanibus is the type who'll fight for mics\nBeatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\nWhen you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\nIf the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\nLike, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\nI could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\nAnd there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\nNigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\nWho wanna see Canibus get wild?\nWho wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\nI take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\nAnybody who ain't close enough to shit on\nZero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\nWhen I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\nStay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\nRun it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\nWhen in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\nSee that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\nWhere we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\nDon't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\nI'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\nLet me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\nThan receive, believe what I say when I tell you\nDon't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\nAnd when the lights is out, they don't come back on\nThis ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\nYou knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\nYou's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\nSo I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\nYou want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nCome on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\nWhen young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\nTell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\nThe symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\nYou holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\nHow dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\nYour little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\nWatch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\nI'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\nBlow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\nWith one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\nEvery little boy wanna pick up the mic\nAnd try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\nBut that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\nSwingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\nSnappin', you amateur MC's\nDon't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\nFor rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\nRingmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\nIn the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\nYour naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\nNow let's get back to this mic on my arm\nIf it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\nYou don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\nAnd you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\nAnd I'm daring every MC in the game\nTo play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\nI make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\nGo platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\nWatch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\nLl Cool J nigga, greatest of all time","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: 4,3,2,1\n  artist: LL COOL J\n  album: Hip-Hop Throwback\n  duration_ms: 257000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Huh\n  Ha (ha), yeah (yeah)\n  Make it butter (ay caramba)\n  Bankhead bounce, no doubt\n  Ayo watch yo' mouth\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Mo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\n  Playin' my position, hot Nixon\n  This one, for all the sick ones, confliction\n  Poisonous darts sickening, best believe\n  Finger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\n  On MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\n  Start trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\n  Gotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\n  Look good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\n  From my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\n  Got you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\n  Fuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\n  A single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\n  Ayo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\n  Turn a Christian to a certified sinner\n  The bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\n  While you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\n  Shit I kept low, petro' your metre\n  Politic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\n  Shit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\n  Terrorize your city, from the spliff committee\n  Kick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\n  Gritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\n  When I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\n  I drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\n  Absolut, I love to burn to the roots\n  I keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\n  Vigilante hardcore to the penis\n  Tell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\n  I'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\n  I snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\n  Canibus is the type who'll fight for mics\n  Beatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\n  When you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\n  If the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\n  Like, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\n  I could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\n  And there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\n  Nigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\n  Who wanna see Canibus get wild?\n  Who wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\n  I take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\n  Anybody who ain't close enough to shit on\n  Zero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\n  When I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\n  Stay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\n  Run it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\n  When in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\n  See that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\n  Where we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\n  Don't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\n  I'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\n  Let me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\n  Than receive, believe what I say when I tell you\n  Don't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\n  And when the lights is out, they don't come back on\n  This ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\n  You knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\n  You's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\n  So I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\n  You want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Come on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\n  When young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\n  Tell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\n  The symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\n  You holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\n  How dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\n  Your little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\n  Watch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\n  I'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\n  Blow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\n  With one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\n  Every little boy wanna pick up the mic\n  And try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\n  But that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\n  Swingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\n  Snappin', you amateur MC's\n  Don't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\n  For rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\n  Ringmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\n  In the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\n  Your naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\n  Now let's get back to this mic on my arm\n  If it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\n  You don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\n  And you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\n  And I'm daring every MC in the game\n  To play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\n  I make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\n  Go platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\n  Watch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\n  Ll Cool J nigga, greatest of all time\n"},{"id":35373203,"name":"4, 3, 2, 1","trackName":"4, 3, 2, 1","artistName":"Ll Cool J","albumName":"1997 Hot 100","duration":257.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Huh\nHa (ha), yeah (yeah)\nMake it butter (ay caramba)\nBankhead bounce, no doubt\nAyo watch yo' mouth\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nMo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\nPlayin' my position, hot Nixon\nThis one, for all the sick ones, confliction\nPoisonous darts sickening, best believe\nFinger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\nOn MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\nStart trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\nGotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\nLook good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\nFrom my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\nGot you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\nFuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\nA single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\nAyo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\nTurn a Christian to a certified sinner\nThe bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\nWhile you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\nShit I kept low, petro' your metre\nPolitic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\nShit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\nTerrorize your city, from the spliff committee\nKick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\nGritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\nWhen I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\nI drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\nAbsolut, I love to burn to the roots\nI keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\nVigilante hardcore to the penis\nTell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\nI'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\nI snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\nCanibus is the type who'll fight for mics\nBeatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\nWhen you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\nIf the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\nLike, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\nI could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\nAnd there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\nNigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\nWho wanna see Canibus get wild?\nWho wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\nI take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\nAnybody who ain't close enough to shit on\nZero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\nWhen I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\nStay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\nRun it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\nWhen in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\nSee that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\nWhere we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\nDon't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\nI'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\nLet me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\nThan receive, believe what I say when I tell you\nDon't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\nAnd when the lights is out, they don't come back on\nThis ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\nYou knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\nYou's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\nSo I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\nYou want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nCome on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\nWhen young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\nTell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\nThe symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\nYou holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\nHow dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\nYour little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\nWatch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\nI'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\nBlow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\nWith one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\nEvery little boy wanna pick up the mic\nAnd try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\nBut that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\nSwingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\nSnappin', you amateur MC's\nDon't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\nFor rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\nRingmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\nIn the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\nYour naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\nNow let's get back to this mic on my arm\nIf it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\nYou don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\nAnd you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\nAnd I'm daring every MC in the game\nTo play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\nI make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\nGo platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\nWatch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\nLl Cool J nigga, greatest of all time","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: 4, 3, 2, 1\n  artist: Ll Cool J\n  album: 1997 Hot 100\n  duration_ms: 257000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Huh\n  Ha (ha), yeah (yeah)\n  Make it butter (ay caramba)\n  Bankhead bounce, no doubt\n  Ayo watch yo' mouth\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Mo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\n  Playin' my position, hot Nixon\n  This one, for all the sick ones, confliction\n  Poisonous darts sickening, best believe\n  Finger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\n  On MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\n  Start trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\n  Gotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\n  Look good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\n  From my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\n  Got you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\n  Fuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\n  A single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\n  Ayo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\n  Turn a Christian to a certified sinner\n  The bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\n  While you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\n  Shit I kept low, petro' your metre\n  Politic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\n  Shit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\n  Terrorize your city, from the spliff committee\n  Kick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\n  Gritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\n  When I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\n  I drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\n  Absolut, I love to burn to the roots\n  I keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\n  Vigilante hardcore to the penis\n  Tell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\n  I'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\n  I snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\n  Canibus is the type who'll fight for mics\n  Beatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\n  When you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\n  If the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\n  Like, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\n  I could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\n  And there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\n  Nigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\n  Who wanna see Canibus get wild?\n  Who wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\n  I take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\n  Anybody who ain't close enough to shit on\n  Zero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\n  When I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\n  Stay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\n  Run it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\n  When in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\n  See that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\n  Where we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\n  Don't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\n  I'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\n  Let me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\n  Than receive, believe what I say when I tell you\n  Don't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\n  And when the lights is out, they don't come back on\n  This ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\n  You knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\n  You's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\n  So I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\n  You want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Come on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\n  When young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\n  Tell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\n  The symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\n  You holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\n  How dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\n  Your little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\n  Watch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\n  I'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\n  Blow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\n  With one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\n  Every little boy wanna pick up the mic\n  And try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\n  But that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\n  Swingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\n  Snappin', you amateur MC's\n  Don't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\n  For rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\n  Ringmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\n  In the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\n  Your naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\n  Now let's get back to this mic on my arm\n  If it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\n  You don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\n  And you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\n  And I'm daring every MC in the game\n  To play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\n  I make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\n  Go platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\n  Watch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\n  Ll Cool J nigga, greatest of all time\n"},{"id":28946751,"name":"4,3,2,1","trackName":"4,3,2,1","artistName":"Ll Cool J","albumName":"Top 1000 Hip-Hop & Rap Songs (1979-2009)","duration":258.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Huh\nHa (ha), yeah (yeah)\nMake it butter (ay caramba)\nBankhead bounce, no doubt\nAyo watch yo' mouth\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nMo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\nPlayin' my position, hot Nixon\nThis one, for all the sick ones, confliction\nPoisonous darts sickening, best believe\nFinger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\nOn MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\nStart trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\nGotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\nLook good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\nFrom my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\nGot you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\nFuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\nA single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\nAyo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\nTurn a Christian to a certified sinner\nThe bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\nWhile you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\nShit I kept low, petro' your metre\nPolitic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\nShit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\nTerrorize your city, from the spliff committee\nKick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\nGritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\nWhen I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\nI drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\nAbsolut, I love to burn to the roots\nI keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\nVigilante hardcore to the penis\nTell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\nI'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\nI snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\nCanibus is the type who'll fight for mics\nBeatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\nWhen you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\nIf the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\nLike, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\nI could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\nAnd there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\nNigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\nWho wanna see Canibus get wild?\nWho wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\nI take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\nAnybody who ain't close enough to shit on\nZero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\nWhen I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\nStay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\nRun it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\nWhen in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\nSee that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\nWhere we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\nDon't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\nI'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\nLet me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\nThan receive, believe what I say when I tell you\nDon't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\nAnd when the lights is out, they don't come back on\nThis ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\nYou knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\nYou's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\nSo I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\nYou want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\nAyo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\nBlaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\nSeven, six, five, four, three, two, one\nCome on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\nWhen young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\nTell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\nThe symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\nYou holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\nHow dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\nYour little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\nWatch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\nI'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\nBlow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\nWith one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\nEvery little boy wanna pick up the mic\nAnd try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\nBut that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\nSwingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\nSnappin', you amateur MC's\nDon't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\nFor rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\nRingmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\nIn the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\nYour naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\nNow let's get back to this mic on my arm\nIf it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\nYou don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\nAnd you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\nAnd I'm daring every MC in the game\nTo play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\nI make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\nGo platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\nWatch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\nLl Cool J nigga, greatest of all time","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: 4,3,2,1\n  artist: Ll Cool J\n  album: Top 1000 Hip-Hop & Rap Songs (1979-2009)\n  duration_ms: 258000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Huh\n  Ha (ha), yeah (yeah)\n  Make it butter (ay caramba)\n  Bankhead bounce, no doubt\n  Ayo watch yo' mouth\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Mo' mon Meth-Tical come and get some (yeah)\n  Playin' my position, hot Nixon\n  This one, for all the sick ones, confliction\n  Poisonous darts sickening, best believe\n  Finger itchin with two broke legs, now I'm trippin\n  On MC's cliche, shot that ricochets\n  Start trouble bust bubbles, hip to wicked ways\n  Gotta love me, G-O-D no one above me\n  Look good but fuck ugly, tap your jaw\n  From my Punch Buggy sonnin' you\n  Got you shittin' in your last Huggie, runnin' who? (Runnin' who?)\n  Fuckin' punk, get a speed bump comin through\n  A single shot make your meat lump, respect Wu (uh-huh, yo)\n  Ayo I put it on a nigga, shitted on a nigga\n  Turn a Christian to a certified sinner\n  The bomb I release, time pent up (explodes)\n  While you got set up I was hittin' your ex ho\n  Shit I kept low, petro' your metre\n  Politic, keep the chickenheads gobblin'\n  Shit I'm drivin' in, come with funk halogen\n  Terrorize your city, from the spliff committee\n  Kick ass 'til both Timberlands turn shitty\n  Gritty, smack the driver's head in the gypsy\n  When I approach rappers be takin' notes (uh-huh)\n  I drop like I shoulda invented the raincoat\n  Absolut, I love to burn to the roots\n  I keep comin 'til your pour sperm from your boots\n  Vigilante hardcore to the penis\n  Tell you, \"Fuck you\", my attitude is anemic\n  I'm the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it\n  I snatch your crown witcha head still attached to it (yeah)\n  Canibus is the type who'll fight for mics\n  Beatin' niggas to death and beatin' dead niggas to life\n  When you look at me long enough, I start to read your thoughts\n  If the signal was strong enough and then I'll call your bluff\n  Like, \"Yo, how many rhymes you got?\"\n  I could go on for more Milleniums than Mazda's got on the car lot\n  And there's nowhere to run to, when I confront ya\n  Nigga, I'll call your bluff like you had a phone number\n  Who wanna see Canibus get wild?\n  Who wanna act fly and get shot down with a surface-to-air missile?\n  I take 'em on in all shapes sizes and forms and spit on\n  Anybody who ain't close enough to shit on\n  Zero to sixty? I'm already doin' a hundred\n  When I'm blunted and I give it to any nigga that want it (yeah)\n  Stay out the dar 'cause if I catch you when the sun is down\n  Run it clown, come up off that, or I'm gon' gun it down\n  When in doubt, however it's gon' go it's gon' be that\n  See that, that shit'll finish you dawg, believe that\n  Where we at? Do your value your life, as much as your possessions?\n  Don't be a stupid nigga, learn a lesson\n  I'm gon' get you either way and it's better to live\n  Let me get what's between your sock 'cause it's, better to give\n  Than receive, believe what I say when I tell you\n  Don't make me put your somewhere where nobody'll smell you\n  And when the lights is out, they don't come back on\n  This ain't a flick you ain't gon' come back on, you ain't that strong\n  You knew it was wrong, but you asked for it baby\n  You's a pink nigga, ski mask for it baby\n  So I can hit you up on Front Street, think it's dumb sweet?\n  You want heat? One deep, leave him behind, front seat\n  Ayo, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven\n  Blaze the hot trizack that sound like Heaven (uh-huh)\n  Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one\n  Come on Mr. Smith, come get some (some, some, some) (yeah)\n  When young sons fantasize of borrowing flows\n  Tell little shorty with the big mouth the bank is closed (ha, word up)\n  The symbol on my arm is off limits to challengers\n  You holdin' rusty swords I swing the Excalibur\n  How dare you step up in my dimension (uh-huh)\n  Your little ass should be somewhere cryin' on detention\n  Watch your mouth better yet hold your tongue (uh)\n  I'ma do this shit for free this time this one's for fun\n  Blow you to pieces, leave you covered in feces\n  With one thesis (LL Cool J is hard)\n  Every little boy wanna pick up the mic\n  And try to run with the big boys and live up to the real hype\n  But that's like pickin' up a ball, playin' with Mike (uh-huh)\n  Swingin' at Ken Griffey or challengin' Roy to a fight (uh)\n  Snappin', you amateur MC's\n  Don't you know I'm like the Dream Team tourin' overseas?\n  For rappers in my circle I'm a deadly disease\n  Ringmaster, bringin' a tiger cub to his knees (uh)\n  In the history of rap they've never seen such prominence\n  Your naïve confidence gets crushed by my dominance (word up)\n  Now let's get back to this mic on my arm\n  If it ever left my side it'd transform into a time bomb\n  You don't wanna borrow that, you wanna idolize\n  And you don't wanna make me mad, nigga, you wanna socialize (yeah)\n  And I'm daring every MC in the game\n  To play yourself out position and mention my name (LL)\n  I make a rhyme for every syllable in your name (uh-huh)\n  Go platinum for every time your grimy ass was on the train\n  Watch your mouth, don't ever step out of line\n  Ll Cool J nigga, greatest of all time\n"}]