[{"id":35314527,"name":"The Ripper Strikes Back","trackName":"The Ripper Strikes Back","artistName":"LL Cool J","albumName":"The Ripper Strikes Back","duration":327.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"We just gon have some fun with hip hop\nA lil hip hop... relax, hold on to ya seats\nOh yeah this is the total banger too\nWord up, total banger baby\nHip-Hop style baby, y'all remember\n\nBy the middle of March, when the pregnancy starts\nIn your ladies' placenta, that means L just entered\nDuck taped your little bitch ass for frontin\nYou four level crackhead ass ain't hurtin nuttin\nNigga you want the fame, now you're famous overnight\nFamous for getting fucked by a stick of dynamite\nYou're weak nigga, you bout to die up in your sleep\nThe overlord of rap will never meet defeat\nPain and agony, I don't touch them zones\nFucking everlasting lyrical methods is my throne\nBlast ya fifty pound ass and make you float\nYou read it shook nigga, I wrote the book, nigga\nHeld down my crown for a decade and a half\nNow I'm bout to give your grimy ass a blood bath\nTalk about bein broke, nigga I'm rich\nCause I learned, to seperated the money from the bitch\nDon't hate me cause I'm paid, hate me because\nI'm everything you want to be: handsome, young, plus legendary\nTalk about Farrakhan, nigga you got to call Jesse Jackson\nFor some Affirmative Action\n\nrepeat 4X\n\nCan-I-Bus! Yes you can!\n\nDon't ever open your mouth and mention my seeds\nTalk about my book you bought to read\nYou know you watch the sitcom nigga so stop that\nMad rapper, but now you turned mad actor\nForty-nine pounds and tryin to be a mobster\nRun around town with the Bob Marley imposters\nAsk Canibus, he ain't understandin this\nCause ninety-nine percent of his fans, don't exist\nI'm goin underground and blowin your rep down\nNext time, save that shit for the Lyricist's Lounge\nOr a House Party, where you can battle some clown\nOn top of all that, I'll beat your homeless ass down\nHeard that convicted rapist on the record too\nFresh out of jail, ass cheeks still black and blue\nTell me bout the things ear biter taught you\nHow to bust a nut or two? (Yeah that's butta boo)\nYou be decomposin, but you frozen because my title's golden\nSteady rollin in a world that I'm controllin\nVanguard awards are for Kings who get OFF!\nClimbed platinum mountains, the praise of the Lord\nTalkin bout my first and second and third born\nNow I got a fourth, Canibus, but he cut off\nFrom the riches of my empire, I'm like a pimp\nWho thought he had a bitch to retire but found a new Canipus to hire\nYou're hardcore, in a sense like Heather Hunter\nBut definitely not with the lyrics that drop thunder\nFound you in a trash can, hat black, cause you scared to bust\nNigga in Todd we trust\n\nNow break it down for me!\n\nSee I, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, amateur, M, C's\nin hip-hop, word up, no bullshit\nOh I ain't done yet\n\nYou soft as a newborn baby takin a nap\nMake my dick hard with that bitch ass track\nWhere you at? Smokin in some one room flat\nSuckin on Clef's dick hopin to come back\nNever that, nigga my styles is unlimited\nYours is prohibited, of course that's contributed\nTo not knowin ya limits and who you need to test\nWhen you step into the house of the Lord and get blessed\nGet on your knees, bow down to my degrees\nYoung slacker, save that demo for Jack the Rapper\nYou gargoyle, slash olive oil, pussycat\nI wrapped up in aluminum foil, ready to boil\nI'ma tear the skin off ya ass with ten knuckles\nRhymes was weak, they made me chuckle like a name buckle\nYou call em lyrics, nigga you need to stop\nYou goin out --- ahh fuck it, you goin pop\nI feed you a poisonousso don't try it\nNo more rhymin, you on a lyric fast diet\nCall the paramedic and tell them that he pathetic\nHis rhymes ain't energetic you're sweet as a diabetic\nCareer be over next year, yeah I said it\nLook over your shoulder nigga, where you headed\nMUTHAFUCKA, where's a rhyme when you need it?\nFirst rule of lyrical war, never repeat it\nYou said that same bullshit at House of Blues\nLit the pipe, dropped the match, and sparked the wrong fuse\nTattoo?, yeah nigga I'm goin at you\nStop basin', and you can be a role model too\nDiss my moms, who's the real Rap Don?\nWho ruled for fifteen years and drops bombs?\nWho's copped solid gold Grammy's that say Todd\nwhile you droppeds at niggas' proms\nFaggot, you better battle number two\nCause number one, got his title locked down son\nThe King of all rappers that ever graced the stage\nor the mic, best that ever did it I'm wicked\nWrite aand flip it, melt it down to liquid\nAnd drown shorty, fill his lungs until I rip it\nChest busts open, heart bursts and smokin\nYOU SEE THAT NIGGA SON? (Damn L, we was only jokin)\nManeuver manipulate brainwaves transform\nyour thought process, when my pen gets corressed\nWarning, all MC's better retreat\nLook at corny-buster, he can't walk down his own street\nBetter run and get the Fugees\nCause I EAT, EAT, EAT, MC's\nDevour they titles, cause I'm an idol slash icon\nAnd tell Wyclef, don't even turn his fuckin mic on\nSoulja nigga, thought I told ya nigga\nCrossover, slam dunk, game over nigga (one more time son)\nSoulja nigga, thought I told ya nigga\nCrossover, slam dunk, game over nigga\n\n\" Now wait for the studio audience to applaud, faggot, hahahah \"","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: The Ripper Strikes Back\n  artist: LL Cool J\n  album: The Ripper Strikes Back\n  duration_ms: 327000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  We just gon have some fun with hip hop\n  A lil hip hop... relax, hold on to ya seats\n  Oh yeah this is the total banger too\n  Word up, total banger baby\n  Hip-Hop style baby, y'all remember\n\n  By the middle of March, when the pregnancy starts\n  In your ladies' placenta, that means L just entered\n  Duck taped your little bitch ass for frontin\n  You four level crackhead ass ain't hurtin nuttin\n  Nigga you want the fame, now you're famous overnight\n  Famous for getting fucked by a stick of dynamite\n  You're weak nigga, you bout to die up in your sleep\n  The overlord of rap will never meet defeat\n  Pain and agony, I don't touch them zones\n  Fucking everlasting lyrical methods is my throne\n  Blast ya fifty pound ass and make you float\n  You read it shook nigga, I wrote the book, nigga\n  Held down my crown for a decade and a half\n  Now I'm bout to give your grimy ass a blood bath\n  Talk about bein broke, nigga I'm rich\n  Cause I learned, to seperated the money from the bitch\n  Don't hate me cause I'm paid, hate me because\n  I'm everything you want to be: handsome, young, plus legendary\n  Talk about Farrakhan, nigga you got to call Jesse Jackson\n  For some Affirmative Action\n\n  repeat 4X\n\n  Can-I-Bus! Yes you can!\n\n  Don't ever open your mouth and mention my seeds\n  Talk about my book you bought to read\n  You know you watch the sitcom nigga so stop that\n  Mad rapper, but now you turned mad actor\n  Forty-nine pounds and tryin to be a mobster\n  Run around town with the Bob Marley imposters\n  Ask Canibus, he ain't understandin this\n  Cause ninety-nine percent of his fans, don't exist\n  I'm goin underground and blowin your rep down\n  Next time, save that shit for the Lyricist's Lounge\n  Or a House Party, where you can battle some clown\n  On top of all that, I'll beat your homeless ass down\n  Heard that convicted rapist on the record too\n  Fresh out of jail, ass cheeks still black and blue\n  Tell me bout the things ear biter taught you\n  How to bust a nut or two? (Yeah that's butta boo)\n  You be decomposin, but you frozen because my title's golden\n  Steady rollin in a world that I'm controllin\n  Vanguard awards are for Kings who get OFF!\n  Climbed platinum mountains, the praise of the Lord\n  Talkin bout my first and second and third born\n  Now I got a fourth, Canibus, but he cut off\n  From the riches of my empire, I'm like a pimp\n  Who thought he had a bitch to retire but found a new Canipus to hire\n  You're hardcore, in a sense like Heather Hunter\n  But definitely not with the lyrics that drop thunder\n  Found you in a trash can, hat black, cause you scared to bust\n  Nigga in Todd we trust\n\n  Now break it down for me!\n\n  See I, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, amateur, M, C's\n  in hip-hop, word up, no bullshit\n  Oh I ain't done yet\n\n  You soft as a newborn baby takin a nap\n  Make my dick hard with that bitch ass track\n  Where you at? Smokin in some one room flat\n  Suckin on Clef's dick hopin to come back\n  Never that, nigga my styles is unlimited\n  Yours is prohibited, of course that's contributed\n  To not knowin ya limits and who you need to test\n  When you step into the house of the Lord and get blessed\n  Get on your knees, bow down to my degrees\n  Young slacker, save that demo for Jack the Rapper\n  You gargoyle, slash olive oil, pussycat\n  I wrapped up in aluminum foil, ready to boil\n  I'ma tear the skin off ya ass with ten knuckles\n  Rhymes was weak, they made me chuckle like a name buckle\n  You call em lyrics, nigga you need to stop\n  You goin out --- ahh fuck it, you goin pop\n  I feed you a poisonousso don't try it\n  No more rhymin, you on a lyric fast diet\n  Call the paramedic and tell them that he pathetic\n  His rhymes ain't energetic you're sweet as a diabetic\n  Career be over next year, yeah I said it\n  Look over your shoulder nigga, where you headed\n  MUTHAFUCKA, where's a rhyme when you need it?\n  First rule of lyrical war, never repeat it\n  You said that same bullshit at House of Blues\n  Lit the pipe, dropped the match, and sparked the wrong fuse\n  Tattoo?, yeah nigga I'm goin at you\n  Stop basin', and you can be a role model too\n  Diss my moms, who's the real Rap Don?\n  Who ruled for fifteen years and drops bombs?\n  Who's copped solid gold Grammy's that say Todd\n  while you droppeds at niggas' proms\n  Faggot, you better battle number two\n  Cause number one, got his title locked down son\n  The King of all rappers that ever graced the stage\n  or the mic, best that ever did it I'm wicked\n  Write aand flip it, melt it down to liquid\n  And drown shorty, fill his lungs until I rip it\n  Chest busts open, heart bursts and smokin\n  YOU SEE THAT NIGGA SON? (Damn L, we was only jokin)\n  Maneuver manipulate brainwaves transform\n  your thought process, when my pen gets corressed\n  Warning, all MC's better retreat\n  Look at corny-buster, he can't walk down his own street\n  Better run and get the Fugees\n  Cause I EAT, EAT, EAT, MC's\n  Devour they titles, cause I'm an idol slash icon\n  And tell Wyclef, don't even turn his fuckin mic on\n  Soulja nigga, thought I told ya nigga\n  Crossover, slam dunk, game over nigga (one more time son)\n  Soulja nigga, thought I told ya nigga\n  Crossover, slam dunk, game over nigga\n\n  \" Now wait for the studio audience to applaud, faggot, hahahah \"\n"},{"id":30110709,"name":"The Ripper Strikes Back","trackName":"The Ripper Strikes Back","artistName":"LL Cool J","albumName":"Survival of the Illest","duration":330.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"We just gon have some fun with hip hop\nA lil hip hop... relax, hold on to ya seats\nOh yeah this is the total banger too\nWord up, total banger baby\nHip-Hop style baby, y'all remember\n\nBy the middle of March, when the pregnancy starts\nIn your ladies' placenta, that means L just entered\nDuck taped your little bitch ass for frontin\nYou four level crackhead ass ain't hurtin nuttin\nNigga you want the fame, now you're famous overnight\nFamous for getting fucked by a stick of dynamite\nYou're weak nigga, you bout to die up in your sleep\nThe overlord of rap will never meet defeat\nPain and agony, I don't touch them zones\nFucking everlasting lyrical methods is my throne\nBlast ya fifty pound ass and make you float\nYou read it shook nigga, I wrote the book, nigga\nHeld down my crown for a decade and a half\nNow I'm bout to give your grimy ass a blood bath\nTalk about bein broke, nigga I'm rich\nCause I learned, to seperated the money from the bitch\nDon't hate me cause I'm paid, hate me because\nI'm everything you want to be: handsome, young, plus legendary\nTalk about Farrakhan, nigga you got to call Jesse Jackson\nFor some Affirmative Action\n\nrepeat 4X\n\nCan-I-Bus! Yes you can!\n\nDon't ever open your mouth and mention my seeds\nTalk about my book you bought to read\nYou know you watch the sitcom nigga so stop that\nMad rapper, but now you turned mad actor\nForty-nine pounds and tryin to be a mobster\nRun around town with the Bob Marley imposters\nAsk Canibus, he ain't understandin this\nCause ninety-nine percent of his fans, don't exist\nI'm goin underground and blowin your rep down\nNext time, save that shit for the Lyricist's Lounge\nOr a House Party, where you can battle some clown\nOn top of all that, I'll beat your homeless ass down\nHeard that convicted rapist on the record too\nFresh out of jail, ass cheeks still black and blue\nTell me bout the things ear biter taught you\nHow to bust a nut or two? (Yeah that's butta boo)\nYou be decomposin, but you frozen because my title's golden\nSteady rollin in a world that I'm controllin\nVanguard awards are for Kings who get OFF!\nClimbed platinum mountains, the praise of the Lord\nTalkin bout my first and second and third born\nNow I got a fourth, Canibus, but he cut off\nFrom the riches of my empire, I'm like a pimp\nWho thought he had a bitch to retire but found a new Canipus to hire\nYou're hardcore, in a sense like Heather Hunter\nBut definitely not with the lyrics that drop thunder\nFound you in a trash can, hat black, cause you scared to bust\nNigga in Todd we trust\n\nNow break it down for me!\n\nSee I, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, amateur, M, C's\nin hip-hop, word up, no bullshit\nOh I ain't done yet\n\nYou soft as a newborn baby takin a nap\nMake my dick hard with that bitch ass track\nWhere you at? Smokin in some one room flat\nSuckin on Clef's dick hopin to come back\nNever that, nigga my styles is unlimited\nYours is prohibited, of course that's contributed\nTo not knowin ya limits and who you need to test\nWhen you step into the house of the Lord and get blessed\nGet on your knees, bow down to my degrees\nYoung slacker, save that demo for Jack the Rapper\nYou gargoyle, slash olive oil, pussycat\nI wrapped up in aluminum foil, ready to boil\nI'ma tear the skin off ya ass with ten knuckles\nRhymes was weak, they made me chuckle like a name buckle\nYou call em lyrics, nigga you need to stop\nYou goin out --- ahh fuck it, you goin pop\nI feed you a poisonousso don't try it\nNo more rhymin, you on a lyric fast diet\nCall the paramedic and tell them that he pathetic\nHis rhymes ain't energetic you're sweet as a diabetic\nCareer be over next year, yeah I said it\nLook over your shoulder nigga, where you headed\nMUTHAFUCKA, where's a rhyme when you need it?\nFirst rule of lyrical war, never repeat it\nYou said that same bullshit at House of Blues\nLit the pipe, dropped the match, and sparked the wrong fuse\nTattoo?, yeah nigga I'm goin at you\nStop basin', and you can be a role model too\nDiss my moms, who's the real Rap Don?\nWho ruled for fifteen years and drops bombs?\nWho's copped solid gold Grammy's that say Todd\nwhile you droppeds at niggas' proms\nFaggot, you better battle number two\nCause number one, got his title locked down son\nThe King of all rappers that ever graced the stage\nor the mic, best that ever did it I'm wicked\nWrite aand flip it, melt it down to liquid\nAnd drown shorty, fill his lungs until I rip it\nChest busts open, heart bursts and smokin\nYOU SEE THAT NIGGA SON? (Damn L, we was only jokin)\nManeuver manipulate brainwaves transform\nyour thought process, when my pen gets corressed\nWarning, all MC's better retreat\nLook at corny-buster, he can't walk down his own street\nBetter run and get the Fugees\nCause I EAT, EAT, EAT, MC's\nDevour they titles, cause I'm an idol slash icon\nAnd tell Wyclef, don't even turn his fuckin mic on\nSoulja nigga, thought I told ya nigga\nCrossover, slam dunk, game over nigga (one more time son)\nSoulja nigga, thought I told ya nigga\nCrossover, slam dunk, game over nigga\n\n\" Now wait for the studio audience to applaud, faggot, hahahah \"","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: The Ripper Strikes Back\n  artist: LL Cool J\n  album: Survival of the Illest\n  duration_ms: 330000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  We just gon have some fun with hip hop\n  A lil hip hop... relax, hold on to ya seats\n  Oh yeah this is the total banger too\n  Word up, total banger baby\n  Hip-Hop style baby, y'all remember\n\n  By the middle of March, when the pregnancy starts\n  In your ladies' placenta, that means L just entered\n  Duck taped your little bitch ass for frontin\n  You four level crackhead ass ain't hurtin nuttin\n  Nigga you want the fame, now you're famous overnight\n  Famous for getting fucked by a stick of dynamite\n  You're weak nigga, you bout to die up in your sleep\n  The overlord of rap will never meet defeat\n  Pain and agony, I don't touch them zones\n  Fucking everlasting lyrical methods is my throne\n  Blast ya fifty pound ass and make you float\n  You read it shook nigga, I wrote the book, nigga\n  Held down my crown for a decade and a half\n  Now I'm bout to give your grimy ass a blood bath\n  Talk about bein broke, nigga I'm rich\n  Cause I learned, to seperated the money from the bitch\n  Don't hate me cause I'm paid, hate me because\n  I'm everything you want to be: handsome, young, plus legendary\n  Talk about Farrakhan, nigga you got to call Jesse Jackson\n  For some Affirmative Action\n\n  repeat 4X\n\n  Can-I-Bus! Yes you can!\n\n  Don't ever open your mouth and mention my seeds\n  Talk about my book you bought to read\n  You know you watch the sitcom nigga so stop that\n  Mad rapper, but now you turned mad actor\n  Forty-nine pounds and tryin to be a mobster\n  Run around town with the Bob Marley imposters\n  Ask Canibus, he ain't understandin this\n  Cause ninety-nine percent of his fans, don't exist\n  I'm goin underground and blowin your rep down\n  Next time, save that shit for the Lyricist's Lounge\n  Or a House Party, where you can battle some clown\n  On top of all that, I'll beat your homeless ass down\n  Heard that convicted rapist on the record too\n  Fresh out of jail, ass cheeks still black and blue\n  Tell me bout the things ear biter taught you\n  How to bust a nut or two? (Yeah that's butta boo)\n  You be decomposin, but you frozen because my title's golden\n  Steady rollin in a world that I'm controllin\n  Vanguard awards are for Kings who get OFF!\n  Climbed platinum mountains, the praise of the Lord\n  Talkin bout my first and second and third born\n  Now I got a fourth, Canibus, but he cut off\n  From the riches of my empire, I'm like a pimp\n  Who thought he had a bitch to retire but found a new Canipus to hire\n  You're hardcore, in a sense like Heather Hunter\n  But definitely not with the lyrics that drop thunder\n  Found you in a trash can, hat black, cause you scared to bust\n  Nigga in Todd we trust\n\n  Now break it down for me!\n\n  See I, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, amateur, M, C's\n  in hip-hop, word up, no bullshit\n  Oh I ain't done yet\n\n  You soft as a newborn baby takin a nap\n  Make my dick hard with that bitch ass track\n  Where you at? Smokin in some one room flat\n  Suckin on Clef's dick hopin to come back\n  Never that, nigga my styles is unlimited\n  Yours is prohibited, of course that's contributed\n  To not knowin ya limits and who you need to test\n  When you step into the house of the Lord and get blessed\n  Get on your knees, bow down to my degrees\n  Young slacker, save that demo for Jack the Rapper\n  You gargoyle, slash olive oil, pussycat\n  I wrapped up in aluminum foil, ready to boil\n  I'ma tear the skin off ya ass with ten knuckles\n  Rhymes was weak, they made me chuckle like a name buckle\n  You call em lyrics, nigga you need to stop\n  You goin out --- ahh fuck it, you goin pop\n  I feed you a poisonousso don't try it\n  No more rhymin, you on a lyric fast diet\n  Call the paramedic and tell them that he pathetic\n  His rhymes ain't energetic you're sweet as a diabetic\n  Career be over next year, yeah I said it\n  Look over your shoulder nigga, where you headed\n  MUTHAFUCKA, where's a rhyme when you need it?\n  First rule of lyrical war, never repeat it\n  You said that same bullshit at House of Blues\n  Lit the pipe, dropped the match, and sparked the wrong fuse\n  Tattoo?, yeah nigga I'm goin at you\n  Stop basin', and you can be a role model too\n  Diss my moms, who's the real Rap Don?\n  Who ruled for fifteen years and drops bombs?\n  Who's copped solid gold Grammy's that say Todd\n  while you droppeds at niggas' proms\n  Faggot, you better battle number two\n  Cause number one, got his title locked down son\n  The King of all rappers that ever graced the stage\n  or the mic, best that ever did it I'm wicked\n  Write aand flip it, melt it down to liquid\n  And drown shorty, fill his lungs until I rip it\n  Chest busts open, heart bursts and smokin\n  YOU SEE THAT NIGGA SON? (Damn L, we was only jokin)\n  Maneuver manipulate brainwaves transform\n  your thought process, when my pen gets corressed\n  Warning, all MC's better retreat\n  Look at corny-buster, he can't walk down his own street\n  Better run and get the Fugees\n  Cause I EAT, EAT, EAT, MC's\n  Devour they titles, cause I'm an idol slash icon\n  And tell Wyclef, don't even turn his fuckin mic on\n  Soulja nigga, thought I told ya nigga\n  Crossover, slam dunk, game over nigga (one more time son)\n  Soulja nigga, thought I told ya nigga\n  Crossover, slam dunk, game over nigga\n\n  \" Now wait for the studio audience to applaud, faggot, hahahah \"\n"},{"id":29618355,"name":"The Ripper Strikes Back","trackName":"The Ripper Strikes Back","artistName":"LL Cool J","albumName":"Def Jam: Survival of the Illest, Volume 1","duration":330.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"We just gon have some fun with hip hop\nA lil hip hop... relax, hold on to ya seats\nOh yeah this is the total banger too\nWord up, total banger baby\nHip-Hop style baby, y'all remember\n\nBy the middle of March, when the pregnancy starts\nIn your ladies' placenta, that means L just entered\nDuck taped your little bitch ass for frontin\nYou four level crackhead ass ain't hurtin nuttin\nNigga you want the fame, now you're famous overnight\nFamous for getting fucked by a stick of dynamite\nYou're weak nigga, you bout to die up in your sleep\nThe overlord of rap will never meet defeat\nPain and agony, I don't touch them zones\nFucking everlasting lyrical methods is my throne\nBlast ya fifty pound ass and make you float\nYou read it shook nigga, I wrote the book, nigga\nHeld down my crown for a decade and a half\nNow I'm bout to give your grimy ass a blood bath\nTalk about bein broke, nigga I'm rich\nCause I learned, to seperated the money from the bitch\nDon't hate me cause I'm paid, hate me because\nI'm everything you want to be: handsome, young, plus legendary\nTalk about Farrakhan, nigga you got to call Jesse Jackson\nFor some Affirmative Action\n\nrepeat 4X\n\nCan-I-Bus! Yes you can!\n\nDon't ever open your mouth and mention my seeds\nTalk about my book you bought to read\nYou know you watch the sitcom nigga so stop that\nMad rapper, but now you turned mad actor\nForty-nine pounds and tryin to be a mobster\nRun around town with the Bob Marley imposters\nAsk Canibus, he ain't understandin this\nCause ninety-nine percent of his fans, don't exist\nI'm goin underground and blowin your rep down\nNext time, save that shit for the Lyricist's Lounge\nOr a House Party, where you can battle some clown\nOn top of all that, I'll beat your homeless ass down\nHeard that convicted rapist on the record too\nFresh out of jail, ass cheeks still black and blue\nTell me bout the things ear biter taught you\nHow to bust a nut or two? (Yeah that's butta boo)\nYou be decomposin, but you frozen because my title's golden\nSteady rollin in a world that I'm controllin\nVanguard awards are for Kings who get OFF!\nClimbed platinum mountains, the praise of the Lord\nTalkin bout my first and second and third born\nNow I got a fourth, Canibus, but he cut off\nFrom the riches of my empire, I'm like a pimp\nWho thought he had a bitch to retire but found a new Canipus to hire\nYou're hardcore, in a sense like Heather Hunter\nBut definitely not with the lyrics that drop thunder\nFound you in a trash can, hat black, cause you scared to bust\nNigga in Todd we trust\n\nNow break it down for me!\n\nSee I, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, amateur, M, C's\nin hip-hop, word up, no bullshit\nOh I ain't done yet\n\nYou soft as a newborn baby takin a nap\nMake my dick hard with that bitch ass track\nWhere you at? Smokin in some one room flat\nSuckin on Clef's dick hopin to come back\nNever that, nigga my styles is unlimited\nYours is prohibited, of course that's contributed\nTo not knowin ya limits and who you need to test\nWhen you step into the house of the Lord and get blessed\nGet on your knees, bow down to my degrees\nYoung slacker, save that demo for Jack the Rapper\nYou gargoyle, slash olive oil, pussycat\nI wrapped up in aluminum foil, ready to boil\nI'ma tear the skin off ya ass with ten knuckles\nRhymes was weak, they made me chuckle like a name buckle\nYou call em lyrics, nigga you need to stop\nYou goin out --- ahh fuck it, you goin pop\nI feed you a poisonousso don't try it\nNo more rhymin, you on a lyric fast diet\nCall the paramedic and tell them that he pathetic\nHis rhymes ain't energetic you're sweet as a diabetic\nCareer be over next year, yeah I said it\nLook over your shoulder nigga, where you headed\nMUTHAFUCKA, where's a rhyme when you need it?\nFirst rule of lyrical war, never repeat it\nYou said that same bullshit at House of Blues\nLit the pipe, dropped the match, and sparked the wrong fuse\nTattoo?, yeah nigga I'm goin at you\nStop basin', and you can be a role model too\nDiss my moms, who's the real Rap Don?\nWho ruled for fifteen years and drops bombs?\nWho's copped solid gold Grammy's that say Todd\nwhile you droppeds at niggas' proms\nFaggot, you better battle number two\nCause number one, got his title locked down son\nThe King of all rappers that ever graced the stage\nor the mic, best that ever did it I'm wicked\nWrite aand flip it, melt it down to liquid\nAnd drown shorty, fill his lungs until I rip it\nChest busts open, heart bursts and smokin\nYOU SEE THAT NIGGA SON? (Damn L, we was only jokin)\nManeuver manipulate brainwaves transform\nyour thought process, when my pen gets corressed\nWarning, all MC's better retreat\nLook at corny-buster, he can't walk down his own street\nBetter run and get the Fugees\nCause I EAT, EAT, EAT, MC's\nDevour they titles, cause I'm an idol slash icon\nAnd tell Wyclef, don't even turn his fuckin mic on\nSoulja nigga, thought I told ya nigga\nCrossover, slam dunk, game over nigga (one more time son)\nSoulja nigga, thought I told ya nigga\nCrossover, slam dunk, game over nigga\n\n\" Now wait for the studio audience to applaud, faggot, hahahah \"","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: The Ripper Strikes Back\n  artist: LL Cool J\n  album: 'Def Jam: Survival of the Illest, Volume 1'\n  duration_ms: 330000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  We just gon have some fun with hip hop\n  A lil hip hop... relax, hold on to ya seats\n  Oh yeah this is the total banger too\n  Word up, total banger baby\n  Hip-Hop style baby, y'all remember\n\n  By the middle of March, when the pregnancy starts\n  In your ladies' placenta, that means L just entered\n  Duck taped your little bitch ass for frontin\n  You four level crackhead ass ain't hurtin nuttin\n  Nigga you want the fame, now you're famous overnight\n  Famous for getting fucked by a stick of dynamite\n  You're weak nigga, you bout to die up in your sleep\n  The overlord of rap will never meet defeat\n  Pain and agony, I don't touch them zones\n  Fucking everlasting lyrical methods is my throne\n  Blast ya fifty pound ass and make you float\n  You read it shook nigga, I wrote the book, nigga\n  Held down my crown for a decade and a half\n  Now I'm bout to give your grimy ass a blood bath\n  Talk about bein broke, nigga I'm rich\n  Cause I learned, to seperated the money from the bitch\n  Don't hate me cause I'm paid, hate me because\n  I'm everything you want to be: handsome, young, plus legendary\n  Talk about Farrakhan, nigga you got to call Jesse Jackson\n  For some Affirmative Action\n\n  repeat 4X\n\n  Can-I-Bus! Yes you can!\n\n  Don't ever open your mouth and mention my seeds\n  Talk about my book you bought to read\n  You know you watch the sitcom nigga so stop that\n  Mad rapper, but now you turned mad actor\n  Forty-nine pounds and tryin to be a mobster\n  Run around town with the Bob Marley imposters\n  Ask Canibus, he ain't understandin this\n  Cause ninety-nine percent of his fans, don't exist\n  I'm goin underground and blowin your rep down\n  Next time, save that shit for the Lyricist's Lounge\n  Or a House Party, where you can battle some clown\n  On top of all that, I'll beat your homeless ass down\n  Heard that convicted rapist on the record too\n  Fresh out of jail, ass cheeks still black and blue\n  Tell me bout the things ear biter taught you\n  How to bust a nut or two? (Yeah that's butta boo)\n  You be decomposin, but you frozen because my title's golden\n  Steady rollin in a world that I'm controllin\n  Vanguard awards are for Kings who get OFF!\n  Climbed platinum mountains, the praise of the Lord\n  Talkin bout my first and second and third born\n  Now I got a fourth, Canibus, but he cut off\n  From the riches of my empire, I'm like a pimp\n  Who thought he had a bitch to retire but found a new Canipus to hire\n  You're hardcore, in a sense like Heather Hunter\n  But definitely not with the lyrics that drop thunder\n  Found you in a trash can, hat black, cause you scared to bust\n  Nigga in Todd we trust\n\n  Now break it down for me!\n\n  See I, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, amateur, M, C's\n  in hip-hop, word up, no bullshit\n  Oh I ain't done yet\n\n  You soft as a newborn baby takin a nap\n  Make my dick hard with that bitch ass track\n  Where you at? Smokin in some one room flat\n  Suckin on Clef's dick hopin to come back\n  Never that, nigga my styles is unlimited\n  Yours is prohibited, of course that's contributed\n  To not knowin ya limits and who you need to test\n  When you step into the house of the Lord and get blessed\n  Get on your knees, bow down to my degrees\n  Young slacker, save that demo for Jack the Rapper\n  You gargoyle, slash olive oil, pussycat\n  I wrapped up in aluminum foil, ready to boil\n  I'ma tear the skin off ya ass with ten knuckles\n  Rhymes was weak, they made me chuckle like a name buckle\n  You call em lyrics, nigga you need to stop\n  You goin out --- ahh fuck it, you goin pop\n  I feed you a poisonousso don't try it\n  No more rhymin, you on a lyric fast diet\n  Call the paramedic and tell them that he pathetic\n  His rhymes ain't energetic you're sweet as a diabetic\n  Career be over next year, yeah I said it\n  Look over your shoulder nigga, where you headed\n  MUTHAFUCKA, where's a rhyme when you need it?\n  First rule of lyrical war, never repeat it\n  You said that same bullshit at House of Blues\n  Lit the pipe, dropped the match, and sparked the wrong fuse\n  Tattoo?, yeah nigga I'm goin at you\n  Stop basin', and you can be a role model too\n  Diss my moms, who's the real Rap Don?\n  Who ruled for fifteen years and drops bombs?\n  Who's copped solid gold Grammy's that say Todd\n  while you droppeds at niggas' proms\n  Faggot, you better battle number two\n  Cause number one, got his title locked down son\n  The King of all rappers that ever graced the stage\n  or the mic, best that ever did it I'm wicked\n  Write aand flip it, melt it down to liquid\n  And drown shorty, fill his lungs until I rip it\n  Chest busts open, heart bursts and smokin\n  YOU SEE THAT NIGGA SON? (Damn L, we was only jokin)\n  Maneuver manipulate brainwaves transform\n  your thought process, when my pen gets corressed\n  Warning, all MC's better retreat\n  Look at corny-buster, he can't walk down his own street\n  Better run and get the Fugees\n  Cause I EAT, EAT, EAT, MC's\n  Devour they titles, cause I'm an idol slash icon\n  And tell Wyclef, don't even turn his fuckin mic on\n  Soulja nigga, thought I told ya nigga\n  Crossover, slam dunk, game over nigga (one more time son)\n  Soulja nigga, thought I told ya nigga\n  Crossover, slam dunk, game over nigga\n\n  \" Now wait for the studio audience to applaud, faggot, hahahah \"\n"},{"id":31462652,"name":"The Ripper Strikes Back","trackName":"The Ripper Strikes Back","artistName":"LL Cool J","albumName":"It's Dark And Hell Is Hot","duration":330.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"We just gon have some fun with hip hop\nA lil hip hop... relax, hold on to ya seats\nOh yeah this is the total banger too\nWord up, total banger baby\nHip-Hop style baby, y'all remember\n\nBy the middle of March, when the pregnancy starts\nIn your ladies' placenta, that means L just entered\nDuck taped your little bitch ass for frontin\nYou four level crackhead ass ain't hurtin nuttin\nNigga you want the fame, now you're famous overnight\nFamous for getting fucked by a stick of dynamite\nYou're weak nigga, you bout to die up in your sleep\nThe overlord of rap will never meet defeat\nPain and agony, I don't touch them zones\nFucking everlasting lyrical methods is my throne\nBlast ya fifty pound ass and make you float\nYou read it shook nigga, I wrote the book, nigga\nHeld down my crown for a decade and a half\nNow I'm bout to give your grimy ass a blood bath\nTalk about bein broke, nigga I'm rich\nCause I learned, to seperated the money from the bitch\nDon't hate me cause I'm paid, hate me because\nI'm everything you want to be: handsome, young, plus legendary\nTalk about Farrakhan, nigga you got to call Jesse Jackson\nFor some Affirmative Action\n\nrepeat 4X\n\nCan-I-Bus! Yes you can!\n\nDon't ever open your mouth and mention my seeds\nTalk about my book you bought to read\nYou know you watch the sitcom nigga so stop that\nMad rapper, but now you turned mad actor\nForty-nine pounds and tryin to be a mobster\nRun around town with the Bob Marley imposters\nAsk Canibus, he ain't understandin this\nCause ninety-nine percent of his fans, don't exist\nI'm goin underground and blowin your rep down\nNext time, save that shit for the Lyricist's Lounge\nOr a House Party, where you can battle some clown\nOn top of all that, I'll beat your homeless ass down\nHeard that convicted rapist on the record too\nFresh out of jail, ass cheeks still black and blue\nTell me bout the things ear biter taught you\nHow to bust a nut or two? (Yeah that's butta boo)\nYou be decomposin, but you frozen because my title's golden\nSteady rollin in a world that I'm controllin\nVanguard awards are for Kings who get OFF!\nClimbed platinum mountains, the praise of the Lord\nTalkin bout my first and second and third born\nNow I got a fourth, Canibus, but he cut off\nFrom the riches of my empire, I'm like a pimp\nWho thought he had a bitch to retire but found a new Canipus to hire\nYou're hardcore, in a sense like Heather Hunter\nBut definitely not with the lyrics that drop thunder\nFound you in a trash can, hat black, cause you scared to bust\nNigga in Todd we trust\n\nNow break it down for me!\n\nSee I, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, amateur, M, C's\nin hip-hop, word up, no bullshit\nOh I ain't done yet\n\nYou soft as a newborn baby takin a nap\nMake my dick hard with that bitch ass track\nWhere you at? Smokin in some one room flat\nSuckin on Clef's dick hopin to come back\nNever that, nigga my styles is unlimited\nYours is prohibited, of course that's contributed\nTo not knowin ya limits and who you need to test\nWhen you step into the house of the Lord and get blessed\nGet on your knees, bow down to my degrees\nYoung slacker, save that demo for Jack the Rapper\nYou gargoyle, slash olive oil, pussycat\nI wrapped up in aluminum foil, ready to boil\nI'ma tear the skin off ya ass with ten knuckles\nRhymes was weak, they made me chuckle like a name buckle\nYou call em lyrics, nigga you need to stop\nYou goin out --- ahh fuck it, you goin pop\nI feed you a poisonousso don't try it\nNo more rhymin, you on a lyric fast diet\nCall the paramedic and tell them that he pathetic\nHis rhymes ain't energetic you're sweet as a diabetic\nCareer be over next year, yeah I said it\nLook over your shoulder nigga, where you headed\nMUTHAFUCKA, where's a rhyme when you need it?\nFirst rule of lyrical war, never repeat it\nYou said that same bullshit at House of Blues\nLit the pipe, dropped the match, and sparked the wrong fuse\nTattoo?, yeah nigga I'm goin at you\nStop basin', and you can be a role model too\nDiss my moms, who's the real Rap Don?\nWho ruled for fifteen years and drops bombs?\nWho's copped solid gold Grammy's that say Todd\nwhile you droppeds at niggas' proms\nFaggot, you better battle number two\nCause number one, got his title locked down son\nThe King of all rappers that ever graced the stage\nor the mic, best that ever did it I'm wicked\nWrite aand flip it, melt it down to liquid\nAnd drown shorty, fill his lungs until I rip it\nChest busts open, heart bursts and smokin\nYOU SEE THAT NIGGA SON? (Damn L, we was only jokin)\nManeuver manipulate brainwaves transform\nyour thought process, when my pen gets corressed\nWarning, all MC's better retreat\nLook at corny-buster, he can't walk down his own street\nBetter run and get the Fugees\nCause I EAT, EAT, EAT, MC's\nDevour they titles, cause I'm an idol slash icon\nAnd tell Wyclef, don't even turn his fuckin mic on\nSoulja nigga, thought I told ya nigga\nCrossover, slam dunk, game over nigga (one more time son)\nSoulja nigga, thought I told ya nigga\nCrossover, slam dunk, game over nigga\n\n\" Now wait for the studio audience to applaud, faggot, hahahah \"","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: The Ripper Strikes Back\n  artist: LL Cool J\n  album: It's Dark And Hell Is Hot\n  duration_ms: 330000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  We just gon have some fun with hip hop\n  A lil hip hop... relax, hold on to ya seats\n  Oh yeah this is the total banger too\n  Word up, total banger baby\n  Hip-Hop style baby, y'all remember\n\n  By the middle of March, when the pregnancy starts\n  In your ladies' placenta, that means L just entered\n  Duck taped your little bitch ass for frontin\n  You four level crackhead ass ain't hurtin nuttin\n  Nigga you want the fame, now you're famous overnight\n  Famous for getting fucked by a stick of dynamite\n  You're weak nigga, you bout to die up in your sleep\n  The overlord of rap will never meet defeat\n  Pain and agony, I don't touch them zones\n  Fucking everlasting lyrical methods is my throne\n  Blast ya fifty pound ass and make you float\n  You read it shook nigga, I wrote the book, nigga\n  Held down my crown for a decade and a half\n  Now I'm bout to give your grimy ass a blood bath\n  Talk about bein broke, nigga I'm rich\n  Cause I learned, to seperated the money from the bitch\n  Don't hate me cause I'm paid, hate me because\n  I'm everything you want to be: handsome, young, plus legendary\n  Talk about Farrakhan, nigga you got to call Jesse Jackson\n  For some Affirmative Action\n\n  repeat 4X\n\n  Can-I-Bus! Yes you can!\n\n  Don't ever open your mouth and mention my seeds\n  Talk about my book you bought to read\n  You know you watch the sitcom nigga so stop that\n  Mad rapper, but now you turned mad actor\n  Forty-nine pounds and tryin to be a mobster\n  Run around town with the Bob Marley imposters\n  Ask Canibus, he ain't understandin this\n  Cause ninety-nine percent of his fans, don't exist\n  I'm goin underground and blowin your rep down\n  Next time, save that shit for the Lyricist's Lounge\n  Or a House Party, where you can battle some clown\n  On top of all that, I'll beat your homeless ass down\n  Heard that convicted rapist on the record too\n  Fresh out of jail, ass cheeks still black and blue\n  Tell me bout the things ear biter taught you\n  How to bust a nut or two? (Yeah that's butta boo)\n  You be decomposin, but you frozen because my title's golden\n  Steady rollin in a world that I'm controllin\n  Vanguard awards are for Kings who get OFF!\n  Climbed platinum mountains, the praise of the Lord\n  Talkin bout my first and second and third born\n  Now I got a fourth, Canibus, but he cut off\n  From the riches of my empire, I'm like a pimp\n  Who thought he had a bitch to retire but found a new Canipus to hire\n  You're hardcore, in a sense like Heather Hunter\n  But definitely not with the lyrics that drop thunder\n  Found you in a trash can, hat black, cause you scared to bust\n  Nigga in Todd we trust\n\n  Now break it down for me!\n\n  See I, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, amateur, M, C's\n  in hip-hop, word up, no bullshit\n  Oh I ain't done yet\n\n  You soft as a newborn baby takin a nap\n  Make my dick hard with that bitch ass track\n  Where you at? Smokin in some one room flat\n  Suckin on Clef's dick hopin to come back\n  Never that, nigga my styles is unlimited\n  Yours is prohibited, of course that's contributed\n  To not knowin ya limits and who you need to test\n  When you step into the house of the Lord and get blessed\n  Get on your knees, bow down to my degrees\n  Young slacker, save that demo for Jack the Rapper\n  You gargoyle, slash olive oil, pussycat\n  I wrapped up in aluminum foil, ready to boil\n  I'ma tear the skin off ya ass with ten knuckles\n  Rhymes was weak, they made me chuckle like a name buckle\n  You call em lyrics, nigga you need to stop\n  You goin out --- ahh fuck it, you goin pop\n  I feed you a poisonousso don't try it\n  No more rhymin, you on a lyric fast diet\n  Call the paramedic and tell them that he pathetic\n  His rhymes ain't energetic you're sweet as a diabetic\n  Career be over next year, yeah I said it\n  Look over your shoulder nigga, where you headed\n  MUTHAFUCKA, where's a rhyme when you need it?\n  First rule of lyrical war, never repeat it\n  You said that same bullshit at House of Blues\n  Lit the pipe, dropped the match, and sparked the wrong fuse\n  Tattoo?, yeah nigga I'm goin at you\n  Stop basin', and you can be a role model too\n  Diss my moms, who's the real Rap Don?\n  Who ruled for fifteen years and drops bombs?\n  Who's copped solid gold Grammy's that say Todd\n  while you droppeds at niggas' proms\n  Faggot, you better battle number two\n  Cause number one, got his title locked down son\n  The King of all rappers that ever graced the stage\n  or the mic, best that ever did it I'm wicked\n  Write aand flip it, melt it down to liquid\n  And drown shorty, fill his lungs until I rip it\n  Chest busts open, heart bursts and smokin\n  YOU SEE THAT NIGGA SON? (Damn L, we was only jokin)\n  Maneuver manipulate brainwaves transform\n  your thought process, when my pen gets corressed\n  Warning, all MC's better retreat\n  Look at corny-buster, he can't walk down his own street\n  Better run and get the Fugees\n  Cause I EAT, EAT, EAT, MC's\n  Devour they titles, cause I'm an idol slash icon\n  And tell Wyclef, don't even turn his fuckin mic on\n  Soulja nigga, thought I told ya nigga\n  Crossover, slam dunk, game over nigga (one more time son)\n  Soulja nigga, thought I told ya nigga\n  Crossover, slam dunk, game over nigga\n\n  \" Now wait for the studio audience to applaud, faggot, hahahah \"\n"},{"id":39185289,"name":"LL Cool J - The Ripper Strikes Back","trackName":"LL Cool J - The Ripper Strikes Back","artistName":"Def Jam","albumName":"Survival of the Illest Volume 1","duration":330.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"We just gon have some fun with hip hop\nA lil hip hop... relax, hold on to ya seats\nOh yeah this is the total banger too\nWord up, total banger baby\nHip-Hop style baby, y'all remember\n\nBy the middle of March, when the pregnancy starts\nIn your ladies' placenta, that means L just entered\nDuck taped your little bitch ass for frontin\nYou four level crackhead ass ain't hurtin nuttin\nNigga you want the fame, now you're famous overnight\nFamous for getting fucked by a stick of dynamite\nYou're weak nigga, you bout to die up in your sleep\nThe overlord of rap will never meet defeat\nPain and agony, I don't touch them zones\nFucking everlasting lyrical methods is my throne\nBlast ya fifty pound ass and make you float\nYou read it shook nigga, I wrote the book, nigga\nHeld down my crown for a decade and a half\nNow I'm bout to give your grimy ass a blood bath\nTalk about bein broke, nigga I'm rich\nCause I learned, to seperated the money from the bitch\nDon't hate me cause I'm paid, hate me because\nI'm everything you want to be: handsome, young, plus legendary\nTalk about Farrakhan, nigga you got to call Jesse Jackson\nFor some Affirmative Action\n\nrepeat 4X\n\nCan-I-Bus! Yes you can!\n\nDon't ever open your mouth and mention my seeds\nTalk about my book you bought to read\nYou know you watch the sitcom nigga so stop that\nMad rapper, but now you turned mad actor\nForty-nine pounds and tryin to be a mobster\nRun around town with the Bob Marley imposters\nAsk Canibus, he ain't understandin this\nCause ninety-nine percent of his fans, don't exist\nI'm goin underground and blowin your rep down\nNext time, save that shit for the Lyricist's Lounge\nOr a House Party, where you can battle some clown\nOn top of all that, I'll beat your homeless ass down\nHeard that convicted rapist on the record too\nFresh out of jail, ass cheeks still black and blue\nTell me bout the things ear biter taught you\nHow to bust a nut or two? (Yeah that's butta boo)\nYou be decomposin, but you frozen because my title's golden\nSteady rollin in a world that I'm controllin\nVanguard awards are for Kings who get OFF!\nClimbed platinum mountains, the praise of the Lord\nTalkin bout my first and second and third born\nNow I got a fourth, Canibus, but he cut off\nFrom the riches of my empire, I'm like a pimp\nWho thought he had a bitch to retire but found a new Canipus to hire\nYou're hardcore, in a sense like Heather Hunter\nBut definitely not with the lyrics that drop thunder\nFound you in a trash can, hat black, cause you scared to bust\nNigga in Todd we trust\n\nNow break it down for me!\n\nSee I, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, amateur, M, C's\nin hip-hop, word up, no bullshit\nOh I ain't done yet\n\nYou soft as a newborn baby takin a nap\nMake my dick hard with that bitch ass track\nWhere you at? Smokin in some one room flat\nSuckin on Clef's dick hopin to come back\nNever that, nigga my styles is unlimited\nYours is prohibited, of course that's contributed\nTo not knowin ya limits and who you need to test\nWhen you step into the house of the Lord and get blessed\nGet on your knees, bow down to my degrees\nYoung slacker, save that demo for Jack the Rapper\nYou gargoyle, slash olive oil, pussycat\nI wrapped up in aluminum foil, ready to boil\nI'ma tear the skin off ya ass with ten knuckles\nRhymes was weak, they made me chuckle like a name buckle\nYou call em lyrics, nigga you need to stop\nYou goin out --- ahh fuck it, you goin pop\nI feed you a poisonousso don't try it\nNo more rhymin, you on a lyric fast diet\nCall the paramedic and tell them that he pathetic\nHis rhymes ain't energetic you're sweet as a diabetic\nCareer be over next year, yeah I said it\nLook over your shoulder nigga, where you headed\nMUTHAFUCKA, where's a rhyme when you need it?\nFirst rule of lyrical war, never repeat it\nYou said that same bullshit at House of Blues\nLit the pipe, dropped the match, and sparked the wrong fuse\nTattoo?, yeah nigga I'm goin at you\nStop basin', and you can be a role model too\nDiss my moms, who's the real Rap Don?\nWho ruled for fifteen years and drops bombs?\nWho's copped solid gold Grammy's that say Todd\nwhile you droppeds at niggas' proms\nFaggot, you better battle number two\nCause number one, got his title locked down son\nThe King of all rappers that ever graced the stage\nor the mic, best that ever did it I'm wicked\nWrite aand flip it, melt it down to liquid\nAnd drown shorty, fill his lungs until I rip it\nChest busts open, heart bursts and smokin\nYOU SEE THAT NIGGA SON? (Damn L, we was only jokin)\nManeuver manipulate brainwaves transform\nyour thought process, when my pen gets corressed\nWarning, all MC's better retreat\nLook at corny-buster, he can't walk down his own street\nBetter run and get the Fugees\nCause I EAT, EAT, EAT, MC's\nDevour they titles, cause I'm an idol slash icon\nAnd tell Wyclef, don't even turn his fuckin mic on\nSoulja nigga, thought I told ya nigga\nCrossover, slam dunk, game over nigga (one more time son)\nSoulja nigga, thought I told ya nigga\nCrossover, slam dunk, game over nigga\n\n\" Now wait for the studio audience to applaud, faggot, hahahah \"","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: LL Cool J - The Ripper Strikes Back\n  artist: Def Jam\n  album: Survival of the Illest Volume 1\n  duration_ms: 330133\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  We just gon have some fun with hip hop\n  A lil hip hop... relax, hold on to ya seats\n  Oh yeah this is the total banger too\n  Word up, total banger baby\n  Hip-Hop style baby, y'all remember\n\n  By the middle of March, when the pregnancy starts\n  In your ladies' placenta, that means L just entered\n  Duck taped your little bitch ass for frontin\n  You four level crackhead ass ain't hurtin nuttin\n  Nigga you want the fame, now you're famous overnight\n  Famous for getting fucked by a stick of dynamite\n  You're weak nigga, you bout to die up in your sleep\n  The overlord of rap will never meet defeat\n  Pain and agony, I don't touch them zones\n  Fucking everlasting lyrical methods is my throne\n  Blast ya fifty pound ass and make you float\n  You read it shook nigga, I wrote the book, nigga\n  Held down my crown for a decade and a half\n  Now I'm bout to give your grimy ass a blood bath\n  Talk about bein broke, nigga I'm rich\n  Cause I learned, to seperated the money from the bitch\n  Don't hate me cause I'm paid, hate me because\n  I'm everything you want to be: handsome, young, plus legendary\n  Talk about Farrakhan, nigga you got to call Jesse Jackson\n  For some Affirmative Action\n\n  repeat 4X\n\n  Can-I-Bus! Yes you can!\n\n  Don't ever open your mouth and mention my seeds\n  Talk about my book you bought to read\n  You know you watch the sitcom nigga so stop that\n  Mad rapper, but now you turned mad actor\n  Forty-nine pounds and tryin to be a mobster\n  Run around town with the Bob Marley imposters\n  Ask Canibus, he ain't understandin this\n  Cause ninety-nine percent of his fans, don't exist\n  I'm goin underground and blowin your rep down\n  Next time, save that shit for the Lyricist's Lounge\n  Or a House Party, where you can battle some clown\n  On top of all that, I'll beat your homeless ass down\n  Heard that convicted rapist on the record too\n  Fresh out of jail, ass cheeks still black and blue\n  Tell me bout the things ear biter taught you\n  How to bust a nut or two? (Yeah that's butta boo)\n  You be decomposin, but you frozen because my title's golden\n  Steady rollin in a world that I'm controllin\n  Vanguard awards are for Kings who get OFF!\n  Climbed platinum mountains, the praise of the Lord\n  Talkin bout my first and second and third born\n  Now I got a fourth, Canibus, but he cut off\n  From the riches of my empire, I'm like a pimp\n  Who thought he had a bitch to retire but found a new Canipus to hire\n  You're hardcore, in a sense like Heather Hunter\n  But definitely not with the lyrics that drop thunder\n  Found you in a trash can, hat black, cause you scared to bust\n  Nigga in Todd we trust\n\n  Now break it down for me!\n\n  See I, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, amateur, M, C's\n  in hip-hop, word up, no bullshit\n  Oh I ain't done yet\n\n  You soft as a newborn baby takin a nap\n  Make my dick hard with that bitch ass track\n  Where you at? Smokin in some one room flat\n  Suckin on Clef's dick hopin to come back\n  Never that, nigga my styles is unlimited\n  Yours is prohibited, of course that's contributed\n  To not knowin ya limits and who you need to test\n  When you step into the house of the Lord and get blessed\n  Get on your knees, bow down to my degrees\n  Young slacker, save that demo for Jack the Rapper\n  You gargoyle, slash olive oil, pussycat\n  I wrapped up in aluminum foil, ready to boil\n  I'ma tear the skin off ya ass with ten knuckles\n  Rhymes was weak, they made me chuckle like a name buckle\n  You call em lyrics, nigga you need to stop\n  You goin out --- ahh fuck it, you goin pop\n  I feed you a poisonousso don't try it\n  No more rhymin, you on a lyric fast diet\n  Call the paramedic and tell them that he pathetic\n  His rhymes ain't energetic you're sweet as a diabetic\n  Career be over next year, yeah I said it\n  Look over your shoulder nigga, where you headed\n  MUTHAFUCKA, where's a rhyme when you need it?\n  First rule of lyrical war, never repeat it\n  You said that same bullshit at House of Blues\n  Lit the pipe, dropped the match, and sparked the wrong fuse\n  Tattoo?, yeah nigga I'm goin at you\n  Stop basin', and you can be a role model too\n  Diss my moms, who's the real Rap Don?\n  Who ruled for fifteen years and drops bombs?\n  Who's copped solid gold Grammy's that say Todd\n  while you droppeds at niggas' proms\n  Faggot, you better battle number two\n  Cause number one, got his title locked down son\n  The King of all rappers that ever graced the stage\n  or the mic, best that ever did it I'm wicked\n  Write aand flip it, melt it down to liquid\n  And drown shorty, fill his lungs until I rip it\n  Chest busts open, heart bursts and smokin\n  YOU SEE THAT NIGGA SON? (Damn L, we was only jokin)\n  Maneuver manipulate brainwaves transform\n  your thought process, when my pen gets corressed\n  Warning, all MC's better retreat\n  Look at corny-buster, he can't walk down his own street\n  Better run and get the Fugees\n  Cause I EAT, EAT, EAT, MC's\n  Devour they titles, cause I'm an idol slash icon\n  And tell Wyclef, don't even turn his fuckin mic on\n  Soulja nigga, thought I told ya nigga\n  Crossover, slam dunk, game over nigga (one more time son)\n  Soulja nigga, thought I told ya nigga\n  Crossover, slam dunk, game over nigga\n\n  \" Now wait for the studio audience to applaud, faggot, hahahah \"\n"},{"id":15896698,"name":"The Ripper Strikes Back (Can I Buss) (Rowshay)","trackName":"The Ripper Strikes Back (Can I Buss) (Rowshay)","artistName":"LL Cool J","albumName":"250 DJ Loaded - Players Together","duration":330.008075,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"We just gon have some fun with hip hop\nA lil hip hop... relax, hold on to ya seats\nOh yeah this is the total banger too\nWord up, total banger baby\nHip-Hop style baby, y'all remember\n\nBy the middle of March, when the pregnancy starts\nIn your ladies' placenta, that means L just entered\nDuck taped your little bitch ass for frontin\nYou four level crackhead ass ain't hurtin nuttin\nNigga you want the fame, now you're famous overnight\nFamous for getting fucked by a stick of dynamite\nYou're weak nigga, you bout to die up in your sleep\nThe overlord of rap will never meet defeat\nPain and agony, I don't touch them zones\nFucking everlasting lyrical methods is my throne\nBlast ya fifty pound ass and make you float\nYou read it shook nigga, I wrote the book, nigga\nHeld down my crown for a decade and a half\nNow I'm bout to give your grimy ass a blood bath\nTalk about bein broke, nigga I'm rich\nCause I learned, to seperated the money from the bitch\nDon't hate me cause I'm paid, hate me because\nI'm everything you want to be: handsome, young, plus legendary\nTalk about Farrakhan, nigga you got to call Jesse Jackson\nFor some Affirmative Action\n\nrepeat 4X\n\nCan-I-Bus! Yes you can!\n\nDon't ever open your mouth and mention my seeds\nTalk about my book you bought to read\nYou know you watch the sitcom nigga so stop that\nMad rapper, but now you turned mad actor\nForty-nine pounds and tryin to be a mobster\nRun around town with the Bob Marley imposters\nAsk Canibus, he ain't understandin this\nCause ninety-nine percent of his fans, don't exist\nI'm goin underground and blowin your rep down\nNext time, save that shit for the Lyricist's Lounge\nOr a House Party, where you can battle some clown\nOn top of all that, I'll beat your homeless ass down\nHeard that convicted rapist on the record too\nFresh out of jail, ass cheeks still black and blue\nTell me bout the things ear biter taught you\nHow to bust a nut or two? (Yeah that's butta boo)\nYou be decomposin, but you frozen because my title's golden\nSteady rollin in a world that I'm controllin\nVanguard awards are for Kings who get OFF!\nClimbed platinum mountains, the praise of the Lord\nTalkin bout my first and second and third born\nNow I got a fourth, Canibus, but he cut off\nFrom the riches of my empire, I'm like a pimp\nWho thought he had a bitch to retire but found a new Canipus to hire\nYou're hardcore, in a sense like Heather Hunter\nBut definitely not with the lyrics that drop thunder\nFound you in a trash can, hat black, cause you scared to bust\nNigga in Todd we trust\n\nNow break it down for me!\n\nSee I, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, amateur, M, C's\nin hip-hop, word up, no bullshit\nOh I ain't done yet\n\nYou soft as a newborn baby takin a nap\nMake my dick hard with that bitch ass track\nWhere you at? Smokin in some one room flat\nSuckin on Clef's dick hopin to come back\nNever that, nigga my styles is unlimited\nYours is prohibited, of course that's contributed\nTo not knowin ya limits and who you need to test\nWhen you step into the house of the Lord and get blessed\nGet on your knees, bow down to my degrees\nYoung slacker, save that demo for Jack the Rapper\nYou gargoyle, slash olive oil, pussycat\nI wrapped up in aluminum foil, ready to boil\nI'ma tear the skin off ya ass with ten knuckles\nRhymes was weak, they made me chuckle like a name buckle\nYou call em lyrics, nigga you need to stop\nYou goin out --- ahh fuck it, you goin pop\nI feed you a poisonousso don't try it\nNo more rhymin, you on a lyric fast diet\nCall the paramedic and tell them that he pathetic\nHis rhymes ain't energetic you're sweet as a diabetic\nCareer be over next year, yeah I said it\nLook over your shoulder nigga, where you headed\nMUTHAFUCKA, where's a rhyme when you need it?\nFirst rule of lyrical war, never repeat it\nYou said that same bullshit at House of Blues\nLit the pipe, dropped the match, and sparked the wrong fuse\nTattoo?, yeah nigga I'm goin at you\nStop basin', and you can be a role model too\nDiss my moms, who's the real Rap Don?\nWho ruled for fifteen years and drops bombs?\nWho's copped solid gold Grammy's that say Todd\nwhile you droppeds at niggas' proms\nFaggot, you better battle number two\nCause number one, got his title locked down son\nThe King of all rappers that ever graced the stage\nor the mic, best that ever did it I'm wicked\nWrite aand flip it, melt it down to liquid\nAnd drown shorty, fill his lungs until I rip it\nChest busts open, heart bursts and smokin\nYOU SEE THAT NIGGA SON? (Damn L, we was only jokin)\nManeuver manipulate brainwaves transform\nyour thought process, when my pen gets corressed\nWarning, all MC's better retreat\nLook at corny-buster, he can't walk down his own street\nBetter run and get the Fugees\nCause I EAT, EAT, EAT, MC's\nDevour they titles, cause I'm an idol slash icon\nAnd tell Wyclef, don't even turn his fuckin mic on\nSoulja nigga, thought I told ya nigga\nCrossover, slam dunk, game over nigga (one more time son)\nSoulja nigga, thought I told ya nigga\nCrossover, slam dunk, game over nigga\n\n\" Now wait for the studio audience to applaud, faggot, hahahah \"","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: The Ripper Strikes Back (Can I Buss) (Rowshay)\n  artist: LL Cool J\n  album: 250 DJ Loaded - Players Together\n  duration_ms: 330008\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  We just gon have some fun with hip hop\n  A lil hip hop... relax, hold on to ya seats\n  Oh yeah this is the total banger too\n  Word up, total banger baby\n  Hip-Hop style baby, y'all remember\n\n  By the middle of March, when the pregnancy starts\n  In your ladies' placenta, that means L just entered\n  Duck taped your little bitch ass for frontin\n  You four level crackhead ass ain't hurtin nuttin\n  Nigga you want the fame, now you're famous overnight\n  Famous for getting fucked by a stick of dynamite\n  You're weak nigga, you bout to die up in your sleep\n  The overlord of rap will never meet defeat\n  Pain and agony, I don't touch them zones\n  Fucking everlasting lyrical methods is my throne\n  Blast ya fifty pound ass and make you float\n  You read it shook nigga, I wrote the book, nigga\n  Held down my crown for a decade and a half\n  Now I'm bout to give your grimy ass a blood bath\n  Talk about bein broke, nigga I'm rich\n  Cause I learned, to seperated the money from the bitch\n  Don't hate me cause I'm paid, hate me because\n  I'm everything you want to be: handsome, young, plus legendary\n  Talk about Farrakhan, nigga you got to call Jesse Jackson\n  For some Affirmative Action\n\n  repeat 4X\n\n  Can-I-Bus! Yes you can!\n\n  Don't ever open your mouth and mention my seeds\n  Talk about my book you bought to read\n  You know you watch the sitcom nigga so stop that\n  Mad rapper, but now you turned mad actor\n  Forty-nine pounds and tryin to be a mobster\n  Run around town with the Bob Marley imposters\n  Ask Canibus, he ain't understandin this\n  Cause ninety-nine percent of his fans, don't exist\n  I'm goin underground and blowin your rep down\n  Next time, save that shit for the Lyricist's Lounge\n  Or a House Party, where you can battle some clown\n  On top of all that, I'll beat your homeless ass down\n  Heard that convicted rapist on the record too\n  Fresh out of jail, ass cheeks still black and blue\n  Tell me bout the things ear biter taught you\n  How to bust a nut or two? (Yeah that's butta boo)\n  You be decomposin, but you frozen because my title's golden\n  Steady rollin in a world that I'm controllin\n  Vanguard awards are for Kings who get OFF!\n  Climbed platinum mountains, the praise of the Lord\n  Talkin bout my first and second and third born\n  Now I got a fourth, Canibus, but he cut off\n  From the riches of my empire, I'm like a pimp\n  Who thought he had a bitch to retire but found a new Canipus to hire\n  You're hardcore, in a sense like Heather Hunter\n  But definitely not with the lyrics that drop thunder\n  Found you in a trash can, hat black, cause you scared to bust\n  Nigga in Todd we trust\n\n  Now break it down for me!\n\n  See I, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, amateur, M, C's\n  in hip-hop, word up, no bullshit\n  Oh I ain't done yet\n\n  You soft as a newborn baby takin a nap\n  Make my dick hard with that bitch ass track\n  Where you at? Smokin in some one room flat\n  Suckin on Clef's dick hopin to come back\n  Never that, nigga my styles is unlimited\n  Yours is prohibited, of course that's contributed\n  To not knowin ya limits and who you need to test\n  When you step into the house of the Lord and get blessed\n  Get on your knees, bow down to my degrees\n  Young slacker, save that demo for Jack the Rapper\n  You gargoyle, slash olive oil, pussycat\n  I wrapped up in aluminum foil, ready to boil\n  I'ma tear the skin off ya ass with ten knuckles\n  Rhymes was weak, they made me chuckle like a name buckle\n  You call em lyrics, nigga you need to stop\n  You goin out --- ahh fuck it, you goin pop\n  I feed you a poisonousso don't try it\n  No more rhymin, you on a lyric fast diet\n  Call the paramedic and tell them that he pathetic\n  His rhymes ain't energetic you're sweet as a diabetic\n  Career be over next year, yeah I said it\n  Look over your shoulder nigga, where you headed\n  MUTHAFUCKA, where's a rhyme when you need it?\n  First rule of lyrical war, never repeat it\n  You said that same bullshit at House of Blues\n  Lit the pipe, dropped the match, and sparked the wrong fuse\n  Tattoo?, yeah nigga I'm goin at you\n  Stop basin', and you can be a role model too\n  Diss my moms, who's the real Rap Don?\n  Who ruled for fifteen years and drops bombs?\n  Who's copped solid gold Grammy's that say Todd\n  while you droppeds at niggas' proms\n  Faggot, you better battle number two\n  Cause number one, got his title locked down son\n  The King of all rappers that ever graced the stage\n  or the mic, best that ever did it I'm wicked\n  Write aand flip it, melt it down to liquid\n  And drown shorty, fill his lungs until I rip it\n  Chest busts open, heart bursts and smokin\n  YOU SEE THAT NIGGA SON? (Damn L, we was only jokin)\n  Maneuver manipulate brainwaves transform\n  your thought process, when my pen gets corressed\n  Warning, all MC's better retreat\n  Look at corny-buster, he can't walk down his own street\n  Better run and get the Fugees\n  Cause I EAT, EAT, EAT, MC's\n  Devour they titles, cause I'm an idol slash icon\n  And tell Wyclef, don't even turn his fuckin mic on\n  Soulja nigga, thought I told ya nigga\n  Crossover, slam dunk, game over nigga (one more time son)\n  Soulja nigga, thought I told ya nigga\n  Crossover, slam dunk, game over nigga\n\n  \" Now wait for the studio audience to applaud, faggot, hahahah \"\n"}]