[{"id":17920780,"name":"Beasts from the East","trackName":"Beasts from the East","artistName":"The Lost Boyz","albumName":"The Lost Boyz - Love, Peace & Nappiness","duration":334.009625,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"The forecast: showers heavy at times with occasional thunderstorms today, and a high of 89 degrees. Partial clearing tonight with a low of 74.\n\n(Word up. The cop said to me, \"Yo kid! Damn!\")\n\nYo, we come through like Bulls, see niggas takin two pulls and pass\nNigga, watch your back once you talk out your ass\nI pack a .380 in my stash for protection\nFamily deranged, the world is acting crazed\nI never thought I'd make it, it was hectic when I scrambled\nOn point like a knife I'm takin life as a gamble\nLivin in the rotten apple, ayo where every core is rotten\nAll my niggas rest in peace you see you gone but not forgotten\nNow my main wifey, dead as shady chicks\nOfficial Lost Boy since the year of '86\nAnd fuck these crooked niggas I could kill 'em with the passion\nAt times I feel like slashing in Jamaica Queens fashion\nYou think, you can fuck around, but kid you just thinking\nIt's over when I'm sober, imagine when I'm drinking\nWithout blinking man, I'll tear your crew like pages\nI'll rip you from the backyards, puff chants in stages\n\nA+ the lyrically superb one\nSpittin rhymes off the top of the tongue to burn ya ear drum\nRotten shit, make the opposite team call a time out\nKnockin niggas three time my size out\nThe crowd loves me, so when I ain't around they ask for me\nI buckle up and catch wreck like a crash dummy\nFor the fast money, I get up in that ass money\nThe fact you tryin' to test me kinda bugs me\nI leave crews fed up, like handicap niggas tryna get up\nEmcees get wet up with lyrical gun pellets\nI blow up the spot when it's time to rock\nI speak out my voice box'll peak out at a hundred watts\nWho wanna cipha? I get dumb\nWord to my mother, the Father, the Holy Ghost and Rev. Run\nWhen it's all said and done, I end the service\nGet cocked in the type ofs average emcees worship\n\nYo yo yo, yo big dog turn the track up\n(Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get peeled)\nYo fake emcees step to the rear\nReal emcees bring this shit up north\n(Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get.)\nMy style is Milk of Magnesia, clutch defies speeding bus\nThe more the merrier, secure the area\nMy life familiar, is ultimate superior\nWe don't jack cars, we jack for aircraft carriers\nI bounce like trampolines, when I be blowing the fiends to pieces\nHem 'em like sewing machines and Jesus\nWhen the shadows of the barrel pointing out my boy Camaro\nI get punished like pharaoh for splittin'\nYou better off singing Christmas carols for Christmas\nbecause I'm on point like bow and arrow, equipment\nThe president of chicken head conventions\nI give you a deluxe Ku Klux lynchin'\nI got a headache from the, stress success not wearing a vest\n5-11 for being dirty, quartz at 9: 30\nYo, Mr.Cheeks, I made this bitch call police\nShe tried swallowing the nine piece\nbut got a warranty on false teeth\nI return like Makaveli on 18 inch Pirellis\nAssault and battery like my palms is Eveready\nSharp as machetes\nMatter of fact I slap from cognac and keep the beef heavy\n\nThe Canibus brings the sickest drama\nFierce enough to pierce the thickest armor\nI smack bitches for tryin to suck dick through a condom\nPlaying with the mic is something I won't do\nMy only concern when I approach you, is to roast you\nI smoke you and whoever you standing close to\nand make every man in your crew deny that he knows you\nDefeating, niggas like Segal Steven\nPutting emcees in, positions to prevent 'em from breathing\nI'll make you question any and everything you've ever believed in\nby peeping your deepest secrets like psychic readers\nWhat's the matter with y'all, I splatter y'all\nagainst the motherfucking wall with these raw lyrics I catapult\nNone of y'all got the balls big enough to battle\nI go On & On like Erykah Badu\nA hundred times nicer than the best there's\nTwice as African as KRS is, who wanna test this?\nFuck y'all you don't impress me and no one can test me\nA emcee so ill, I got AIDS scared to catch me\nAll that shit you popping'll stop, when I put you in a headlock\nand apply pressure 'til I crush your motherfucking noggin\nI grab mics and push niggas to the left\nso fast they hearts end up on the right sides of your chests\nMy hypothesis, is that nobody can see this\nlyrical genius, I got it sewn like a seamstress\nBut if you want to battle, I'm down\nIf you got nine lives, I'll take eight of them off your hands right now\nStep up and get your neck cut from ear to ear\nIf you survive, then you can cover your scar with a beard\nI'm the illest from Queens to the New Jerusalem Briddicks\nAnyone who ain't feeling my shidick can suck my didick\nYou need to quit it, if you ain't spitting\nmore than 50 bars per minute cause you ain't in lyrical fitness\nKicking boring raps with metaphors that's wack\nAll of y'all motherfuckers need NordicTrack\nto get ya weight up, fucking with Canibus you get ate up\nBeat down and sprayed up, just for bringing my name up\nBeen rocking longer than niggas twice my age\nBack in the days before Bob Marley was rocking a fade\nBefore Honest Abe signed the paper that freed slaves\nBefore Neanderthals was drawing on walls in caves\nI existed, in the Garden of Eden and getting lifted\nSticking dick to Eve before she was Adam's mistress\nBefore Christ created Christmas, I been in lyrical fitness\nThe Canibus is spitting 'til he's spitless\n50 bars of total sickness, you won't forget this\nI'm putting every wack emcee alive on my shit list\nVerbally vicious, telekinetically gifted\nTook you a minute, to exhibit that I'm sick wit it\nNow you tell me who you think is damaging shit\nGoing once, going twice, sold! to that nigga named Canibus\nMe and Mr.Cheeks, A+, and Funk Doctor\nhopping out the Huey helicopter to suey chop ya\n\nGroup Home and Def Squad\n9-7 nigga","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Beasts from the East\n  artist: The Lost Boyz\n  album: The Lost Boyz - Love, Peace & Nappiness\n  duration_ms: 334010\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  The forecast: showers heavy at times with occasional thunderstorms today, and a high of 89 degrees. Partial clearing tonight with a low of 74.\n\n  (Word up. The cop said to me, \"Yo kid! Damn!\")\n\n  Yo, we come through like Bulls, see niggas takin two pulls and pass\n  Nigga, watch your back once you talk out your ass\n  I pack a .380 in my stash for protection\n  Family deranged, the world is acting crazed\n  I never thought I'd make it, it was hectic when I scrambled\n  On point like a knife I'm takin life as a gamble\n  Livin in the rotten apple, ayo where every core is rotten\n  All my niggas rest in peace you see you gone but not forgotten\n  Now my main wifey, dead as shady chicks\n  Official Lost Boy since the year of '86\n  And fuck these crooked niggas I could kill 'em with the passion\n  At times I feel like slashing in Jamaica Queens fashion\n  You think, you can fuck around, but kid you just thinking\n  It's over when I'm sober, imagine when I'm drinking\n  Without blinking man, I'll tear your crew like pages\n  I'll rip you from the backyards, puff chants in stages\n\n  A+ the lyrically superb one\n  Spittin rhymes off the top of the tongue to burn ya ear drum\n  Rotten shit, make the opposite team call a time out\n  Knockin niggas three time my size out\n  The crowd loves me, so when I ain't around they ask for me\n  I buckle up and catch wreck like a crash dummy\n  For the fast money, I get up in that ass money\n  The fact you tryin' to test me kinda bugs me\n  I leave crews fed up, like handicap niggas tryna get up\n  Emcees get wet up with lyrical gun pellets\n  I blow up the spot when it's time to rock\n  I speak out my voice box'll peak out at a hundred watts\n  Who wanna cipha? I get dumb\n  Word to my mother, the Father, the Holy Ghost and Rev. Run\n  When it's all said and done, I end the service\n  Get cocked in the type ofs average emcees worship\n\n  Yo yo yo, yo big dog turn the track up\n  (Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get peeled)\n  Yo fake emcees step to the rear\n  Real emcees bring this shit up north\n  (Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get.)\n  My style is Milk of Magnesia, clutch defies speeding bus\n  The more the merrier, secure the area\n  My life familiar, is ultimate superior\n  We don't jack cars, we jack for aircraft carriers\n  I bounce like trampolines, when I be blowing the fiends to pieces\n  Hem 'em like sewing machines and Jesus\n  When the shadows of the barrel pointing out my boy Camaro\n  I get punished like pharaoh for splittin'\n  You better off singing Christmas carols for Christmas\n  because I'm on point like bow and arrow, equipment\n  The president of chicken head conventions\n  I give you a deluxe Ku Klux lynchin'\n  I got a headache from the, stress success not wearing a vest\n  5-11 for being dirty, quartz at 9: 30\n  Yo, Mr.Cheeks, I made this bitch call police\n  She tried swallowing the nine piece\n  but got a warranty on false teeth\n  I return like Makaveli on 18 inch Pirellis\n  Assault and battery like my palms is Eveready\n  Sharp as machetes\n  Matter of fact I slap from cognac and keep the beef heavy\n\n  The Canibus brings the sickest drama\n  Fierce enough to pierce the thickest armor\n  I smack bitches for tryin to suck dick through a condom\n  Playing with the mic is something I won't do\n  My only concern when I approach you, is to roast you\n  I smoke you and whoever you standing close to\n  and make every man in your crew deny that he knows you\n  Defeating, niggas like Segal Steven\n  Putting emcees in, positions to prevent 'em from breathing\n  I'll make you question any and everything you've ever believed in\n  by peeping your deepest secrets like psychic readers\n  What's the matter with y'all, I splatter y'all\n  against the motherfucking wall with these raw lyrics I catapult\n  None of y'all got the balls big enough to battle\n  I go On & On like Erykah Badu\n  A hundred times nicer than the best there's\n  Twice as African as KRS is, who wanna test this?\n  Fuck y'all you don't impress me and no one can test me\n  A emcee so ill, I got AIDS scared to catch me\n  All that shit you popping'll stop, when I put you in a headlock\n  and apply pressure 'til I crush your motherfucking noggin\n  I grab mics and push niggas to the left\n  so fast they hearts end up on the right sides of your chests\n  My hypothesis, is that nobody can see this\n  lyrical genius, I got it sewn like a seamstress\n  But if you want to battle, I'm down\n  If you got nine lives, I'll take eight of them off your hands right now\n  Step up and get your neck cut from ear to ear\n  If you survive, then you can cover your scar with a beard\n  I'm the illest from Queens to the New Jerusalem Briddicks\n  Anyone who ain't feeling my shidick can suck my didick\n  You need to quit it, if you ain't spitting\n  more than 50 bars per minute cause you ain't in lyrical fitness\n  Kicking boring raps with metaphors that's wack\n  All of y'all motherfuckers need NordicTrack\n  to get ya weight up, fucking with Canibus you get ate up\n  Beat down and sprayed up, just for bringing my name up\n  Been rocking longer than niggas twice my age\n  Back in the days before Bob Marley was rocking a fade\n  Before Honest Abe signed the paper that freed slaves\n  Before Neanderthals was drawing on walls in caves\n  I existed, in the Garden of Eden and getting lifted\n  Sticking dick to Eve before she was Adam's mistress\n  Before Christ created Christmas, I been in lyrical fitness\n  The Canibus is spitting 'til he's spitless\n  50 bars of total sickness, you won't forget this\n  I'm putting every wack emcee alive on my shit list\n  Verbally vicious, telekinetically gifted\n  Took you a minute, to exhibit that I'm sick wit it\n  Now you tell me who you think is damaging shit\n  Going once, going twice, sold! to that nigga named Canibus\n  Me and Mr.Cheeks, A+, and Funk Doctor\n  hopping out the Huey helicopter to suey chop ya\n\n  Group Home and Def Squad\n  9-7 nigga\n"},{"id":6461165,"name":"Beasts From The East","trackName":"Beasts From The East","artistName":"Lost Boyz","albumName":"Love, Peace & Nappiness (Explicit Version)","duration":334.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"The forecast: showers heavy at times with occasional thunderstorms today, and a high of 89 degrees. Partial clearing tonight with a low of 74.\n\n(Word up. The cop said to me, \"Yo kid! Damn!\")\n\nYo, we come through like Bulls, see niggas takin two pulls and pass\nNigga, watch your back once you talk out your ass\nI pack a .380 in my stash for protection\nFamily deranged, the world is acting crazed\nI never thought I'd make it, it was hectic when I scrambled\nOn point like a knife I'm takin life as a gamble\nLivin in the rotten apple, ayo where every core is rotten\nAll my niggas rest in peace you see you gone but not forgotten\nNow my main wifey, dead as shady chicks\nOfficial Lost Boy since the year of '86\nAnd fuck these crooked niggas I could kill 'em with the passion\nAt times I feel like slashing in Jamaica Queens fashion\nYou think, you can fuck around, but kid you just thinking\nIt's over when I'm sober, imagine when I'm drinking\nWithout blinking man, I'll tear your crew like pages\nI'll rip you from the backyards, puff chants in stages\n\nA+ the lyrically superb one\nSpittin rhymes off the top of the tongue to burn ya ear drum\nRotten shit, make the opposite team call a time out\nKnockin niggas three time my size out\nThe crowd loves me, so when I ain't around they ask for me\nI buckle up and catch wreck like a crash dummy\nFor the fast money, I get up in that ass money\nThe fact you tryin' to test me kinda bugs me\nI leave crews fed up, like handicap niggas tryna get up\nEmcees get wet up with lyrical gun pellets\nI blow up the spot when it's time to rock\nI speak out my voice box'll peak out at a hundred watts\nWho wanna cipha? I get dumb\nWord to my mother, the Father, the Holy Ghost and Rev. Run\nWhen it's all said and done, I end the service\nGet cocked in the type ofs average emcees worship\n\nYo yo yo, yo big dog turn the track up\n(Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get peeled)\nYo fake emcees step to the rear\nReal emcees bring this shit up north\n(Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get.)\nMy style is Milk of Magnesia, clutch defies speeding bus\nThe more the merrier, secure the area\nMy life familiar, is ultimate superior\nWe don't jack cars, we jack for aircraft carriers\nI bounce like trampolines, when I be blowing the fiends to pieces\nHem 'em like sewing machines and Jesus\nWhen the shadows of the barrel pointing out my boy Camaro\nI get punished like pharaoh for splittin'\nYou better off singing Christmas carols for Christmas\nBecause I'm on point like bow and arrow, equipment\nThe president of chicken head conventions\nI give you a deluxe Ku Klux lynchin'\nI got a headache from the, stress success not wearing a vest\n5-11 for being dirty, quartz at 9: 30\nYo, Mr.Cheeks, I made this bitch call police\nShe tried swallowing the nine piece\nBut got a warranty on false teeth\nI return like Makaveli on 18 inch Pirellis\nAssault and battery like my palms is Eveready\nSharp as machetes\nMatter of fact I slap from cognac and keep the beef heavy\n\nThe Canibus brings the sickest drama\nFierce enough to pierce the thickest armor\nI smack bitches for tryin to suck dick through a condom\nPlaying with the mic is something I won't do\nMy only concern when I approach you, is to roast you\nI smoke you and whoever you standing close to\nAnd make every man in your crew deny that he knows you\nDefeating, niggas like Segal Steven\nPutting emcees in, positions to prevent 'em from breathing\nI'll make you question any and everything you've ever believed in\nBy peeping your deepest secrets like psychic readers\nWhat's the matter with y'all, I splatter y'all\nAgainst the motherfucking wall with these raw lyrics I catapult\nNone of y'all got the balls big enough to battle\nI go On & On like Erykah Badu\nA hundred times nicer than the best there's\nTwice as African as KRS is, who wanna test this?\nFuck y'all you don't impress me and no one can test me\nA emcee so ill, I got AIDS scared to catch me\nAll that shit you popping'll stop, when I put you in a headlock\nAnd apply pressure 'til I crush your motherfucking noggin\nI grab mics and push niggas to the left\nSo fast they hearts end up on the right sides of your chests\nMy hypothesis, is that nobody can see this\nLyrical genius, I got it sewn like a seamstress\nBut if you want to battle, I'm down\nIf you got nine lives, I'll take eight of them off your hands right now\nStep up and get your neck cut from ear to ear\nIf you survive, then you can cover your scar with a beard\nI'm the illest from Queens to the New Jerusalem Briddicks\nAnyone who ain't feeling my shidick can suck my didick\nYou need to quit it, if you ain't spitting\nMore than 50 bars per minute cause you ain't in lyrical fitness\nKicking boring raps with metaphors that's wack\nAll of y'all motherfuckers need NordicTrack\nTo get ya weight up, fucking with Canibus you get ate up\nBeat down and sprayed up, just for bringing my name up\nBeen rocking longer than niggas twice my age\nBack in the days before Bob Marley was rocking a fade\nBefore Honest Abe signed the paper that freed slaves\nBefore Neanderthals was drawing on walls in caves\nI existed, in the Garden of Eden and getting lifted\nSticking dick to Eve before she was Adam's mistress\nBefore Christ created Christmas, I been in lyrical fitness\nThe Canibus is spitting 'til he's spitless\n50 bars of total sickness, you won't forget this\nI'm putting every wack emcee alive on my shit list\nVerbally vicious, telekinetically gifted\nTook you a minute, to exhibit that I'm sick wit it\nNow you tell me who you think is damaging shit\nGoing once, going twice, sold! to that nigga named Canibus\nMe and Mr.Cheeks, A+, and Funk Doctor\nHopping out the Huey helicopter to suey chop ya\n\nGroup Home and Def Squad\n9-7 nigga","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Beasts From The East\n  artist: Lost Boyz\n  album: Love, Peace & Nappiness (Explicit Version)\n  duration_ms: 334000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  The forecast: showers heavy at times with occasional thunderstorms today, and a high of 89 degrees. Partial clearing tonight with a low of 74.\n\n  (Word up. The cop said to me, \"Yo kid! Damn!\")\n\n  Yo, we come through like Bulls, see niggas takin two pulls and pass\n  Nigga, watch your back once you talk out your ass\n  I pack a .380 in my stash for protection\n  Family deranged, the world is acting crazed\n  I never thought I'd make it, it was hectic when I scrambled\n  On point like a knife I'm takin life as a gamble\n  Livin in the rotten apple, ayo where every core is rotten\n  All my niggas rest in peace you see you gone but not forgotten\n  Now my main wifey, dead as shady chicks\n  Official Lost Boy since the year of '86\n  And fuck these crooked niggas I could kill 'em with the passion\n  At times I feel like slashing in Jamaica Queens fashion\n  You think, you can fuck around, but kid you just thinking\n  It's over when I'm sober, imagine when I'm drinking\n  Without blinking man, I'll tear your crew like pages\n  I'll rip you from the backyards, puff chants in stages\n\n  A+ the lyrically superb one\n  Spittin rhymes off the top of the tongue to burn ya ear drum\n  Rotten shit, make the opposite team call a time out\n  Knockin niggas three time my size out\n  The crowd loves me, so when I ain't around they ask for me\n  I buckle up and catch wreck like a crash dummy\n  For the fast money, I get up in that ass money\n  The fact you tryin' to test me kinda bugs me\n  I leave crews fed up, like handicap niggas tryna get up\n  Emcees get wet up with lyrical gun pellets\n  I blow up the spot when it's time to rock\n  I speak out my voice box'll peak out at a hundred watts\n  Who wanna cipha? I get dumb\n  Word to my mother, the Father, the Holy Ghost and Rev. Run\n  When it's all said and done, I end the service\n  Get cocked in the type ofs average emcees worship\n\n  Yo yo yo, yo big dog turn the track up\n  (Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get peeled)\n  Yo fake emcees step to the rear\n  Real emcees bring this shit up north\n  (Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get.)\n  My style is Milk of Magnesia, clutch defies speeding bus\n  The more the merrier, secure the area\n  My life familiar, is ultimate superior\n  We don't jack cars, we jack for aircraft carriers\n  I bounce like trampolines, when I be blowing the fiends to pieces\n  Hem 'em like sewing machines and Jesus\n  When the shadows of the barrel pointing out my boy Camaro\n  I get punished like pharaoh for splittin'\n  You better off singing Christmas carols for Christmas\n  Because I'm on point like bow and arrow, equipment\n  The president of chicken head conventions\n  I give you a deluxe Ku Klux lynchin'\n  I got a headache from the, stress success not wearing a vest\n  5-11 for being dirty, quartz at 9: 30\n  Yo, Mr.Cheeks, I made this bitch call police\n  She tried swallowing the nine piece\n  But got a warranty on false teeth\n  I return like Makaveli on 18 inch Pirellis\n  Assault and battery like my palms is Eveready\n  Sharp as machetes\n  Matter of fact I slap from cognac and keep the beef heavy\n\n  The Canibus brings the sickest drama\n  Fierce enough to pierce the thickest armor\n  I smack bitches for tryin to suck dick through a condom\n  Playing with the mic is something I won't do\n  My only concern when I approach you, is to roast you\n  I smoke you and whoever you standing close to\n  And make every man in your crew deny that he knows you\n  Defeating, niggas like Segal Steven\n  Putting emcees in, positions to prevent 'em from breathing\n  I'll make you question any and everything you've ever believed in\n  By peeping your deepest secrets like psychic readers\n  What's the matter with y'all, I splatter y'all\n  Against the motherfucking wall with these raw lyrics I catapult\n  None of y'all got the balls big enough to battle\n  I go On & On like Erykah Badu\n  A hundred times nicer than the best there's\n  Twice as African as KRS is, who wanna test this?\n  Fuck y'all you don't impress me and no one can test me\n  A emcee so ill, I got AIDS scared to catch me\n  All that shit you popping'll stop, when I put you in a headlock\n  And apply pressure 'til I crush your motherfucking noggin\n  I grab mics and push niggas to the left\n  So fast they hearts end up on the right sides of your chests\n  My hypothesis, is that nobody can see this\n  Lyrical genius, I got it sewn like a seamstress\n  But if you want to battle, I'm down\n  If you got nine lives, I'll take eight of them off your hands right now\n  Step up and get your neck cut from ear to ear\n  If you survive, then you can cover your scar with a beard\n  I'm the illest from Queens to the New Jerusalem Briddicks\n  Anyone who ain't feeling my shidick can suck my didick\n  You need to quit it, if you ain't spitting\n  More than 50 bars per minute cause you ain't in lyrical fitness\n  Kicking boring raps with metaphors that's wack\n  All of y'all motherfuckers need NordicTrack\n  To get ya weight up, fucking with Canibus you get ate up\n  Beat down and sprayed up, just for bringing my name up\n  Been rocking longer than niggas twice my age\n  Back in the days before Bob Marley was rocking a fade\n  Before Honest Abe signed the paper that freed slaves\n  Before Neanderthals was drawing on walls in caves\n  I existed, in the Garden of Eden and getting lifted\n  Sticking dick to Eve before she was Adam's mistress\n  Before Christ created Christmas, I been in lyrical fitness\n  The Canibus is spitting 'til he's spitless\n  50 bars of total sickness, you won't forget this\n  I'm putting every wack emcee alive on my shit list\n  Verbally vicious, telekinetically gifted\n  Took you a minute, to exhibit that I'm sick wit it\n  Now you tell me who you think is damaging shit\n  Going once, going twice, sold! to that nigga named Canibus\n  Me and Mr.Cheeks, A+, and Funk Doctor\n  Hopping out the Huey helicopter to suey chop ya\n\n  Group Home and Def Squad\n  9-7 nigga\n"},{"id":6461166,"name":"Beasts From the East","trackName":"Beasts From the East","artistName":"Lost Boyz","albumName":"Love, Peace and Nappiness","duration":334.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"The forecast: showers heavy at times with occasional thunderstorms today, and a high of 89 degrees. Partial clearing tonight with a low of 74.\n\n(Word up. The cop said to me, \"Yo kid! Damn!\")\n\nYo, we come through like Bulls, see niggas takin two pulls and pass\nNigga, watch your back once you talk out your ass\nI pack a .380 in my stash for protection\nFamily deranged, the world is acting crazed\nI never thought I'd make it, it was hectic when I scrambled\nOn point like a knife I'm takin life as a gamble\nLivin in the rotten apple, ayo where every core is rotten\nAll my niggas rest in peace you see you gone but not forgotten\nNow my main wifey, dead as shady chicks\nOfficial Lost Boy since the year of '86\nAnd fuck these crooked niggas I could kill 'em with the passion\nAt times I feel like slashing in Jamaica Queens fashion\nYou think, you can fuck around, but kid you just thinking\nIt's over when I'm sober, imagine when I'm drinking\nWithout blinking man, I'll tear your crew like pages\nI'll rip you from the backyards, puff chants in stages\n\nA+ the lyrically superb one\nSpittin rhymes off the top of the tongue to burn ya ear drum\nRotten shit, make the opposite team call a time out\nKnockin niggas three time my size out\nThe crowd loves me, so when I ain't around they ask for me\nI buckle up and catch wreck like a crash dummy\nFor the fast money, I get up in that ass money\nThe fact you tryin' to test me kinda bugs me\nI leave crews fed up, like handicap niggas tryna get up\nEmcees get wet up with lyrical gun pellets\nI blow up the spot when it's time to rock\nI speak out my voice box'll peak out at a hundred watts\nWho wanna cipha? I get dumb\nWord to my mother, the Father, the Holy Ghost and Rev. Run\nWhen it's all said and done, I end the service\nGet cocked in the type ofs average emcees worship\n\nYo yo yo, yo big dog turn the track up\n(Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get peeled)\nYo fake emcees step to the rear\nReal emcees bring this shit up north\n(Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get.)\nMy style is Milk of Magnesia, clutch defies speeding bus\nThe more the merrier, secure the area\nMy life familiar, is ultimate superior\nWe don't jack cars, we jack for aircraft carriers\nI bounce like trampolines, when I be blowing the fiends to pieces\nHem 'em like sewing machines and Jesus\nWhen the shadows of the barrel pointing out my boy Camaro\nI get punished like pharaoh for splittin'\nYou better off singing Christmas carols for Christmas\nBecause I'm on point like bow and arrow, equipment\nThe president of chicken head conventions\nI give you a deluxe Ku Klux lynchin'\nI got a headache from the, stress success not wearing a vest\n5-11 for being dirty, quartz at 9: 30\nYo, Mr.Cheeks, I made this bitch call police\nShe tried swallowing the nine piece\nBut got a warranty on false teeth\nI return like Makaveli on 18 inch Pirellis\nAssault and battery like my palms is Eveready\nSharp as machetes\nMatter of fact I slap from cognac and keep the beef heavy\n\nThe Canibus brings the sickest drama\nFierce enough to pierce the thickest armor\nI smack bitches for tryin to suck dick through a condom\nPlaying with the mic is something I won't do\nMy only concern when I approach you, is to roast you\nI smoke you and whoever you standing close to\nAnd make every man in your crew deny that he knows you\nDefeating, niggas like Segal Steven\nPutting emcees in, positions to prevent 'em from breathing\nI'll make you question any and everything you've ever believed in\nBy peeping your deepest secrets like psychic readers\nWhat's the matter with y'all, I splatter y'all\nAgainst the motherfucking wall with these raw lyrics I catapult\nNone of y'all got the balls big enough to battle\nI go On & On like Erykah Badu\nA hundred times nicer than the best there's\nTwice as African as KRS is, who wanna test this?\nFuck y'all you don't impress me and no one can test me\nA emcee so ill, I got AIDS scared to catch me\nAll that shit you popping'll stop, when I put you in a headlock\nAnd apply pressure 'til I crush your motherfucking noggin\nI grab mics and push niggas to the left\nSo fast they hearts end up on the right sides of your chests\nMy hypothesis, is that nobody can see this\nLyrical genius, I got it sewn like a seamstress\nBut if you want to battle, I'm down\nIf you got nine lives, I'll take eight of them off your hands right now\nStep up and get your neck cut from ear to ear\nIf you survive, then you can cover your scar with a beard\nI'm the illest from Queens to the New Jerusalem Briddicks\nAnyone who ain't feeling my shidick can suck my didick\nYou need to quit it, if you ain't spitting\nMore than 50 bars per minute cause you ain't in lyrical fitness\nKicking boring raps with metaphors that's wack\nAll of y'all motherfuckers need NordicTrack\nTo get ya weight up, fucking with Canibus you get ate up\nBeat down and sprayed up, just for bringing my name up\nBeen rocking longer than niggas twice my age\nBack in the days before Bob Marley was rocking a fade\nBefore Honest Abe signed the paper that freed slaves\nBefore Neanderthals was drawing on walls in caves\nI existed, in the Garden of Eden and getting lifted\nSticking dick to Eve before she was Adam's mistress\nBefore Christ created Christmas, I been in lyrical fitness\nThe Canibus is spitting 'til he's spitless\n50 bars of total sickness, you won't forget this\nI'm putting every wack emcee alive on my shit list\nVerbally vicious, telekinetically gifted\nTook you a minute, to exhibit that I'm sick wit it\nNow you tell me who you think is damaging shit\nGoing once, going twice, sold! to that nigga named Canibus\nMe and Mr.Cheeks, A+, and Funk Doctor\nHopping out the Huey helicopter to suey chop ya\n\nGroup Home and Def Squad\n9-7 nigga","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Beasts From the East\n  artist: Lost Boyz\n  album: Love, Peace and Nappiness\n  duration_ms: 334000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  The forecast: showers heavy at times with occasional thunderstorms today, and a high of 89 degrees. Partial clearing tonight with a low of 74.\n\n  (Word up. The cop said to me, \"Yo kid! Damn!\")\n\n  Yo, we come through like Bulls, see niggas takin two pulls and pass\n  Nigga, watch your back once you talk out your ass\n  I pack a .380 in my stash for protection\n  Family deranged, the world is acting crazed\n  I never thought I'd make it, it was hectic when I scrambled\n  On point like a knife I'm takin life as a gamble\n  Livin in the rotten apple, ayo where every core is rotten\n  All my niggas rest in peace you see you gone but not forgotten\n  Now my main wifey, dead as shady chicks\n  Official Lost Boy since the year of '86\n  And fuck these crooked niggas I could kill 'em with the passion\n  At times I feel like slashing in Jamaica Queens fashion\n  You think, you can fuck around, but kid you just thinking\n  It's over when I'm sober, imagine when I'm drinking\n  Without blinking man, I'll tear your crew like pages\n  I'll rip you from the backyards, puff chants in stages\n\n  A+ the lyrically superb one\n  Spittin rhymes off the top of the tongue to burn ya ear drum\n  Rotten shit, make the opposite team call a time out\n  Knockin niggas three time my size out\n  The crowd loves me, so when I ain't around they ask for me\n  I buckle up and catch wreck like a crash dummy\n  For the fast money, I get up in that ass money\n  The fact you tryin' to test me kinda bugs me\n  I leave crews fed up, like handicap niggas tryna get up\n  Emcees get wet up with lyrical gun pellets\n  I blow up the spot when it's time to rock\n  I speak out my voice box'll peak out at a hundred watts\n  Who wanna cipha? I get dumb\n  Word to my mother, the Father, the Holy Ghost and Rev. Run\n  When it's all said and done, I end the service\n  Get cocked in the type ofs average emcees worship\n\n  Yo yo yo, yo big dog turn the track up\n  (Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get peeled)\n  Yo fake emcees step to the rear\n  Real emcees bring this shit up north\n  (Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get.)\n  My style is Milk of Magnesia, clutch defies speeding bus\n  The more the merrier, secure the area\n  My life familiar, is ultimate superior\n  We don't jack cars, we jack for aircraft carriers\n  I bounce like trampolines, when I be blowing the fiends to pieces\n  Hem 'em like sewing machines and Jesus\n  When the shadows of the barrel pointing out my boy Camaro\n  I get punished like pharaoh for splittin'\n  You better off singing Christmas carols for Christmas\n  Because I'm on point like bow and arrow, equipment\n  The president of chicken head conventions\n  I give you a deluxe Ku Klux lynchin'\n  I got a headache from the, stress success not wearing a vest\n  5-11 for being dirty, quartz at 9: 30\n  Yo, Mr.Cheeks, I made this bitch call police\n  She tried swallowing the nine piece\n  But got a warranty on false teeth\n  I return like Makaveli on 18 inch Pirellis\n  Assault and battery like my palms is Eveready\n  Sharp as machetes\n  Matter of fact I slap from cognac and keep the beef heavy\n\n  The Canibus brings the sickest drama\n  Fierce enough to pierce the thickest armor\n  I smack bitches for tryin to suck dick through a condom\n  Playing with the mic is something I won't do\n  My only concern when I approach you, is to roast you\n  I smoke you and whoever you standing close to\n  And make every man in your crew deny that he knows you\n  Defeating, niggas like Segal Steven\n  Putting emcees in, positions to prevent 'em from breathing\n  I'll make you question any and everything you've ever believed in\n  By peeping your deepest secrets like psychic readers\n  What's the matter with y'all, I splatter y'all\n  Against the motherfucking wall with these raw lyrics I catapult\n  None of y'all got the balls big enough to battle\n  I go On & On like Erykah Badu\n  A hundred times nicer than the best there's\n  Twice as African as KRS is, who wanna test this?\n  Fuck y'all you don't impress me and no one can test me\n  A emcee so ill, I got AIDS scared to catch me\n  All that shit you popping'll stop, when I put you in a headlock\n  And apply pressure 'til I crush your motherfucking noggin\n  I grab mics and push niggas to the left\n  So fast they hearts end up on the right sides of your chests\n  My hypothesis, is that nobody can see this\n  Lyrical genius, I got it sewn like a seamstress\n  But if you want to battle, I'm down\n  If you got nine lives, I'll take eight of them off your hands right now\n  Step up and get your neck cut from ear to ear\n  If you survive, then you can cover your scar with a beard\n  I'm the illest from Queens to the New Jerusalem Briddicks\n  Anyone who ain't feeling my shidick can suck my didick\n  You need to quit it, if you ain't spitting\n  More than 50 bars per minute cause you ain't in lyrical fitness\n  Kicking boring raps with metaphors that's wack\n  All of y'all motherfuckers need NordicTrack\n  To get ya weight up, fucking with Canibus you get ate up\n  Beat down and sprayed up, just for bringing my name up\n  Been rocking longer than niggas twice my age\n  Back in the days before Bob Marley was rocking a fade\n  Before Honest Abe signed the paper that freed slaves\n  Before Neanderthals was drawing on walls in caves\n  I existed, in the Garden of Eden and getting lifted\n  Sticking dick to Eve before she was Adam's mistress\n  Before Christ created Christmas, I been in lyrical fitness\n  The Canibus is spitting 'til he's spitless\n  50 bars of total sickness, you won't forget this\n  I'm putting every wack emcee alive on my shit list\n  Verbally vicious, telekinetically gifted\n  Took you a minute, to exhibit that I'm sick wit it\n  Now you tell me who you think is damaging shit\n  Going once, going twice, sold! to that nigga named Canibus\n  Me and Mr.Cheeks, A+, and Funk Doctor\n  Hopping out the Huey helicopter to suey chop ya\n\n  Group Home and Def Squad\n  9-7 nigga\n"},{"id":10332546,"name":"Beasts From The East","trackName":"Beasts From The East","artistName":"Lost Boyz","albumName":"Love, Peace & Nappiness","duration":333.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"The forecast: showers heavy at times with occasional thunderstorms today, and a high of 89 degrees. Partial clearing tonight with a low of 74.\n\n(Word up. The cop said to me, \"Yo kid! Damn!\")\n\nYo, we come through like Bulls, see niggas takin two pulls and pass\nNigga, watch your back once you talk out your ass\nI pack a .380 in my stash for protection\nFamily deranged, the world is acting crazed\nI never thought I'd make it, it was hectic when I scrambled\nOn point like a knife I'm takin life as a gamble\nLivin in the rotten apple, ayo where every core is rotten\nAll my niggas rest in peace you see you gone but not forgotten\nNow my main wifey, dead as shady chicks\nOfficial Lost Boy since the year of '86\nAnd fuck these crooked niggas I could kill 'em with the passion\nAt times I feel like slashing in Jamaica Queens fashion\nYou think, you can fuck around, but kid you just thinking\nIt's over when I'm sober, imagine when I'm drinking\nWithout blinking man, I'll tear your crew like pages\nI'll rip you from the backyards, puff chants in stages\n\nA+ the lyrically superb one\nSpittin rhymes off the top of the tongue to burn ya ear drum\nRotten shit, make the opposite team call a time out\nKnockin niggas three time my size out\nThe crowd loves me, so when I ain't around they ask for me\nI buckle up and catch wreck like a crash dummy\nFor the fast money, I get up in that ass money\nThe fact you tryin' to test me kinda bugs me\nI leave crews fed up, like handicap niggas tryna get up\nEmcees get wet up with lyrical gun pellets\nI blow up the spot when it's time to rock\nI speak out my voice box'll peak out at a hundred watts\nWho wanna cipha? I get dumb\nWord to my mother, the Father, the Holy Ghost and Rev. Run\nWhen it's all said and done, I end the service\nGet cocked in the type ofs average emcees worship\n\nYo yo yo, yo big dog turn the track up\n(Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get peeled)\nYo fake emcees step to the rear\nReal emcees bring this shit up north\n(Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get.)\nMy style is Milk of Magnesia, clutch defies speeding bus\nThe more the merrier, secure the area\nMy life familiar, is ultimate superior\nWe don't jack cars, we jack for aircraft carriers\nI bounce like trampolines, when I be blowing the fiends to pieces\nHem 'em like sewing machines and Jesus\nWhen the shadows of the barrel pointing out my boy Camaro\nI get punished like pharaoh for splittin'\nYou better off singing Christmas carols for Christmas\nbecause I'm on point like bow and arrow, equipment\nThe president of chicken head conventions\nI give you a deluxe Ku Klux lynchin'\nI got a headache from the, stress success not wearing a vest\n5-11 for being dirty, quartz at 9: 30\nYo, Mr.Cheeks, I made this bitch call police\nShe tried swallowing the nine piece\nbut got a warranty on false teeth\nI return like Makaveli on 18 inch Pirellis\nAssault and battery like my palms is Eveready\nSharp as machetes\nMatter of fact I slap from cognac and keep the beef heavy\n\nThe Canibus brings the sickest drama\nFierce enough to pierce the thickest armor\nI smack bitches for tryin to suck dick through a condom\nPlaying with the mic is something I won't do\nMy only concern when I approach you, is to roast you\nI smoke you and whoever you standing close to\nand make every man in your crew deny that he knows you\nDefeating, niggas like Segal Steven\nPutting emcees in, positions to prevent 'em from breathing\nI'll make you question any and everything you've ever believed in\nby peeping your deepest secrets like psychic readers\nWhat's the matter with y'all, I splatter y'all\nagainst the motherfucking wall with these raw lyrics I catapult\nNone of y'all got the balls big enough to battle\nI go On & On like Erykah Badu\nA hundred times nicer than the best there's\nTwice as African as KRS is, who wanna test this?\nFuck y'all you don't impress me and no one can test me\nA emcee so ill, I got AIDS scared to catch me\nAll that shit you popping'll stop, when I put you in a headlock\nand apply pressure 'til I crush your motherfucking noggin\nI grab mics and push niggas to the left\nso fast they hearts end up on the right sides of your chests\nMy hypothesis, is that nobody can see this\nlyrical genius, I got it sewn like a seamstress\nBut if you want to battle, I'm down\nIf you got nine lives, I'll take eight of them off your hands right now\nStep up and get your neck cut from ear to ear\nIf you survive, then you can cover your scar with a beard\nI'm the illest from Queens to the New Jerusalem Briddicks\nAnyone who ain't feeling my shidick can suck my didick\nYou need to quit it, if you ain't spitting\nmore than 50 bars per minute cause you ain't in lyrical fitness\nKicking boring raps with metaphors that's wack\nAll of y'all motherfuckers need NordicTrack\nto get ya weight up, fucking with Canibus you get ate up\nBeat down and sprayed up, just for bringing my name up\nBeen rocking longer than niggas twice my age\nBack in the days before Bob Marley was rocking a fade\nBefore Honest Abe signed the paper that freed slaves\nBefore Neanderthals was drawing on walls in caves\nI existed, in the Garden of Eden and getting lifted\nSticking dick to Eve before she was Adam's mistress\nBefore Christ created Christmas, I been in lyrical fitness\nThe Canibus is spitting 'til he's spitless\n50 bars of total sickness, you won't forget this\nI'm putting every wack emcee alive on my shit list\nVerbally vicious, telekinetically gifted\nTook you a minute, to exhibit that I'm sick wit it\nNow you tell me who you think is damaging shit\nGoing once, going twice, sold! to that nigga named Canibus\nMe and Mr.Cheeks, A+, and Funk Doctor\nhopping out the Huey helicopter to suey chop ya\n\nGroup Home and Def Squad\n9-7 nigga","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Beasts From The East\n  artist: Lost Boyz\n  album: Love, Peace & Nappiness\n  duration_ms: 333000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  The forecast: showers heavy at times with occasional thunderstorms today, and a high of 89 degrees. Partial clearing tonight with a low of 74.\n\n  (Word up. The cop said to me, \"Yo kid! Damn!\")\n\n  Yo, we come through like Bulls, see niggas takin two pulls and pass\n  Nigga, watch your back once you talk out your ass\n  I pack a .380 in my stash for protection\n  Family deranged, the world is acting crazed\n  I never thought I'd make it, it was hectic when I scrambled\n  On point like a knife I'm takin life as a gamble\n  Livin in the rotten apple, ayo where every core is rotten\n  All my niggas rest in peace you see you gone but not forgotten\n  Now my main wifey, dead as shady chicks\n  Official Lost Boy since the year of '86\n  And fuck these crooked niggas I could kill 'em with the passion\n  At times I feel like slashing in Jamaica Queens fashion\n  You think, you can fuck around, but kid you just thinking\n  It's over when I'm sober, imagine when I'm drinking\n  Without blinking man, I'll tear your crew like pages\n  I'll rip you from the backyards, puff chants in stages\n\n  A+ the lyrically superb one\n  Spittin rhymes off the top of the tongue to burn ya ear drum\n  Rotten shit, make the opposite team call a time out\n  Knockin niggas three time my size out\n  The crowd loves me, so when I ain't around they ask for me\n  I buckle up and catch wreck like a crash dummy\n  For the fast money, I get up in that ass money\n  The fact you tryin' to test me kinda bugs me\n  I leave crews fed up, like handicap niggas tryna get up\n  Emcees get wet up with lyrical gun pellets\n  I blow up the spot when it's time to rock\n  I speak out my voice box'll peak out at a hundred watts\n  Who wanna cipha? I get dumb\n  Word to my mother, the Father, the Holy Ghost and Rev. Run\n  When it's all said and done, I end the service\n  Get cocked in the type ofs average emcees worship\n\n  Yo yo yo, yo big dog turn the track up\n  (Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get peeled)\n  Yo fake emcees step to the rear\n  Real emcees bring this shit up north\n  (Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get.)\n  My style is Milk of Magnesia, clutch defies speeding bus\n  The more the merrier, secure the area\n  My life familiar, is ultimate superior\n  We don't jack cars, we jack for aircraft carriers\n  I bounce like trampolines, when I be blowing the fiends to pieces\n  Hem 'em like sewing machines and Jesus\n  When the shadows of the barrel pointing out my boy Camaro\n  I get punished like pharaoh for splittin'\n  You better off singing Christmas carols for Christmas\n  because I'm on point like bow and arrow, equipment\n  The president of chicken head conventions\n  I give you a deluxe Ku Klux lynchin'\n  I got a headache from the, stress success not wearing a vest\n  5-11 for being dirty, quartz at 9: 30\n  Yo, Mr.Cheeks, I made this bitch call police\n  She tried swallowing the nine piece\n  but got a warranty on false teeth\n  I return like Makaveli on 18 inch Pirellis\n  Assault and battery like my palms is Eveready\n  Sharp as machetes\n  Matter of fact I slap from cognac and keep the beef heavy\n\n  The Canibus brings the sickest drama\n  Fierce enough to pierce the thickest armor\n  I smack bitches for tryin to suck dick through a condom\n  Playing with the mic is something I won't do\n  My only concern when I approach you, is to roast you\n  I smoke you and whoever you standing close to\n  and make every man in your crew deny that he knows you\n  Defeating, niggas like Segal Steven\n  Putting emcees in, positions to prevent 'em from breathing\n  I'll make you question any and everything you've ever believed in\n  by peeping your deepest secrets like psychic readers\n  What's the matter with y'all, I splatter y'all\n  against the motherfucking wall with these raw lyrics I catapult\n  None of y'all got the balls big enough to battle\n  I go On & On like Erykah Badu\n  A hundred times nicer than the best there's\n  Twice as African as KRS is, who wanna test this?\n  Fuck y'all you don't impress me and no one can test me\n  A emcee so ill, I got AIDS scared to catch me\n  All that shit you popping'll stop, when I put you in a headlock\n  and apply pressure 'til I crush your motherfucking noggin\n  I grab mics and push niggas to the left\n  so fast they hearts end up on the right sides of your chests\n  My hypothesis, is that nobody can see this\n  lyrical genius, I got it sewn like a seamstress\n  But if you want to battle, I'm down\n  If you got nine lives, I'll take eight of them off your hands right now\n  Step up and get your neck cut from ear to ear\n  If you survive, then you can cover your scar with a beard\n  I'm the illest from Queens to the New Jerusalem Briddicks\n  Anyone who ain't feeling my shidick can suck my didick\n  You need to quit it, if you ain't spitting\n  more than 50 bars per minute cause you ain't in lyrical fitness\n  Kicking boring raps with metaphors that's wack\n  All of y'all motherfuckers need NordicTrack\n  to get ya weight up, fucking with Canibus you get ate up\n  Beat down and sprayed up, just for bringing my name up\n  Been rocking longer than niggas twice my age\n  Back in the days before Bob Marley was rocking a fade\n  Before Honest Abe signed the paper that freed slaves\n  Before Neanderthals was drawing on walls in caves\n  I existed, in the Garden of Eden and getting lifted\n  Sticking dick to Eve before she was Adam's mistress\n  Before Christ created Christmas, I been in lyrical fitness\n  The Canibus is spitting 'til he's spitless\n  50 bars of total sickness, you won't forget this\n  I'm putting every wack emcee alive on my shit list\n  Verbally vicious, telekinetically gifted\n  Took you a minute, to exhibit that I'm sick wit it\n  Now you tell me who you think is damaging shit\n  Going once, going twice, sold! to that nigga named Canibus\n  Me and Mr.Cheeks, A+, and Funk Doctor\n  hopping out the Huey helicopter to suey chop ya\n\n  Group Home and Def Squad\n  9-7 nigga\n"},{"id":19811439,"name":"Beasts From The East","trackName":"Beasts From The East","artistName":"The Lost Boyz","albumName":"Love, Peace & Nappiness","duration":334.158367,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"The forecast: showers heavy at times with occasional thunderstorms today, and a high of 89 degrees. Partial clearing tonight with a low of 74.\n\n(Word up. The cop said to me, \"Yo kid! Damn!\")\n\nYo, we come through like Bulls, see niggas takin two pulls and pass\nNigga, watch your back once you talk out your ass\nI pack a .380 in my stash for protection\nFamily deranged, the world is acting crazed\nI never thought I'd make it, it was hectic when I scrambled\nOn point like a knife I'm takin life as a gamble\nLivin in the rotten apple, ayo where every core is rotten\nAll my niggas rest in peace you see you gone but not forgotten\nNow my main wifey, dead as shady chicks\nOfficial Lost Boy since the year of '86\nAnd fuck these crooked niggas I could kill 'em with the passion\nAt times I feel like slashing in Jamaica Queens fashion\nYou think, you can fuck around, but kid you just thinking\nIt's over when I'm sober, imagine when I'm drinking\nWithout blinking man, I'll tear your crew like pages\nI'll rip you from the backyards, puff chants in stages\n\nA+ the lyrically superb one\nSpittin rhymes off the top of the tongue to burn ya ear drum\nRotten shit, make the opposite team call a time out\nKnockin niggas three time my size out\nThe crowd loves me, so when I ain't around they ask for me\nI buckle up and catch wreck like a crash dummy\nFor the fast money, I get up in that ass money\nThe fact you tryin' to test me kinda bugs me\nI leave crews fed up, like handicap niggas tryna get up\nEmcees get wet up with lyrical gun pellets\nI blow up the spot when it's time to rock\nI speak out my voice box'll peak out at a hundred watts\nWho wanna cipha? I get dumb\nWord to my mother, the Father, the Holy Ghost and Rev. Run\nWhen it's all said and done, I end the service\nGet cocked in the type ofs average emcees worship\n\nYo yo yo, yo big dog turn the track up\n(Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get peeled)\nYo fake emcees step to the rear\nReal emcees bring this shit up north\n(Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get.)\nMy style is Milk of Magnesia, clutch defies speeding bus\nThe more the merrier, secure the area\nMy life familiar, is ultimate superior\nWe don't jack cars, we jack for aircraft carriers\nI bounce like trampolines, when I be blowing the fiends to pieces\nHem 'em like sewing machines and Jesus\nWhen the shadows of the barrel pointing out my boy Camaro\nI get punished like pharaoh for splittin'\nYou better off singing Christmas carols for Christmas\nbecause I'm on point like bow and arrow, equipment\nThe president of chicken head conventions\nI give you a deluxe Ku Klux lynchin'\nI got a headache from the, stress success not wearing a vest\n5-11 for being dirty, quartz at 9: 30\nYo, Mr.Cheeks, I made this bitch call police\nShe tried swallowing the nine piece\nbut got a warranty on false teeth\nI return like Makaveli on 18 inch Pirellis\nAssault and battery like my palms is Eveready\nSharp as machetes\nMatter of fact I slap from cognac and keep the beef heavy\n\nThe Canibus brings the sickest drama\nFierce enough to pierce the thickest armor\nI smack bitches for tryin to suck dick through a condom\nPlaying with the mic is something I won't do\nMy only concern when I approach you, is to roast you\nI smoke you and whoever you standing close to\nand make every man in your crew deny that he knows you\nDefeating, niggas like Segal Steven\nPutting emcees in, positions to prevent 'em from breathing\nI'll make you question any and everything you've ever believed in\nby peeping your deepest secrets like psychic readers\nWhat's the matter with y'all, I splatter y'all\nagainst the motherfucking wall with these raw lyrics I catapult\nNone of y'all got the balls big enough to battle\nI go On & On like Erykah Badu\nA hundred times nicer than the best there's\nTwice as African as KRS is, who wanna test this?\nFuck y'all you don't impress me and no one can test me\nA emcee so ill, I got AIDS scared to catch me\nAll that shit you popping'll stop, when I put you in a headlock\nand apply pressure 'til I crush your motherfucking noggin\nI grab mics and push niggas to the left\nso fast they hearts end up on the right sides of your chests\nMy hypothesis, is that nobody can see this\nlyrical genius, I got it sewn like a seamstress\nBut if you want to battle, I'm down\nIf you got nine lives, I'll take eight of them off your hands right now\nStep up and get your neck cut from ear to ear\nIf you survive, then you can cover your scar with a beard\nI'm the illest from Queens to the New Jerusalem Briddicks\nAnyone who ain't feeling my shidick can suck my didick\nYou need to quit it, if you ain't spitting\nmore than 50 bars per minute cause you ain't in lyrical fitness\nKicking boring raps with metaphors that's wack\nAll of y'all motherfuckers need NordicTrack\nto get ya weight up, fucking with Canibus you get ate up\nBeat down and sprayed up, just for bringing my name up\nBeen rocking longer than niggas twice my age\nBack in the days before Bob Marley was rocking a fade\nBefore Honest Abe signed the paper that freed slaves\nBefore Neanderthals was drawing on walls in caves\nI existed, in the Garden of Eden and getting lifted\nSticking dick to Eve before she was Adam's mistress\nBefore Christ created Christmas, I been in lyrical fitness\nThe Canibus is spitting 'til he's spitless\n50 bars of total sickness, you won't forget this\nI'm putting every wack emcee alive on my shit list\nVerbally vicious, telekinetically gifted\nTook you a minute, to exhibit that I'm sick wit it\nNow you tell me who you think is damaging shit\nGoing once, going twice, sold! to that nigga named Canibus\nMe and Mr.Cheeks, A+, and Funk Doctor\nhopping out the Huey helicopter to suey chop ya\n\nGroup Home and Def Squad\n9-7 nigga","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Beasts From The East\n  artist: The Lost Boyz\n  album: Love, Peace & Nappiness\n  duration_ms: 334158\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  The forecast: showers heavy at times with occasional thunderstorms today, and a high of 89 degrees. Partial clearing tonight with a low of 74.\n\n  (Word up. The cop said to me, \"Yo kid! Damn!\")\n\n  Yo, we come through like Bulls, see niggas takin two pulls and pass\n  Nigga, watch your back once you talk out your ass\n  I pack a .380 in my stash for protection\n  Family deranged, the world is acting crazed\n  I never thought I'd make it, it was hectic when I scrambled\n  On point like a knife I'm takin life as a gamble\n  Livin in the rotten apple, ayo where every core is rotten\n  All my niggas rest in peace you see you gone but not forgotten\n  Now my main wifey, dead as shady chicks\n  Official Lost Boy since the year of '86\n  And fuck these crooked niggas I could kill 'em with the passion\n  At times I feel like slashing in Jamaica Queens fashion\n  You think, you can fuck around, but kid you just thinking\n  It's over when I'm sober, imagine when I'm drinking\n  Without blinking man, I'll tear your crew like pages\n  I'll rip you from the backyards, puff chants in stages\n\n  A+ the lyrically superb one\n  Spittin rhymes off the top of the tongue to burn ya ear drum\n  Rotten shit, make the opposite team call a time out\n  Knockin niggas three time my size out\n  The crowd loves me, so when I ain't around they ask for me\n  I buckle up and catch wreck like a crash dummy\n  For the fast money, I get up in that ass money\n  The fact you tryin' to test me kinda bugs me\n  I leave crews fed up, like handicap niggas tryna get up\n  Emcees get wet up with lyrical gun pellets\n  I blow up the spot when it's time to rock\n  I speak out my voice box'll peak out at a hundred watts\n  Who wanna cipha? I get dumb\n  Word to my mother, the Father, the Holy Ghost and Rev. Run\n  When it's all said and done, I end the service\n  Get cocked in the type ofs average emcees worship\n\n  Yo yo yo, yo big dog turn the track up\n  (Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get peeled)\n  Yo fake emcees step to the rear\n  Real emcees bring this shit up north\n  (Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get.)\n  My style is Milk of Magnesia, clutch defies speeding bus\n  The more the merrier, secure the area\n  My life familiar, is ultimate superior\n  We don't jack cars, we jack for aircraft carriers\n  I bounce like trampolines, when I be blowing the fiends to pieces\n  Hem 'em like sewing machines and Jesus\n  When the shadows of the barrel pointing out my boy Camaro\n  I get punished like pharaoh for splittin'\n  You better off singing Christmas carols for Christmas\n  because I'm on point like bow and arrow, equipment\n  The president of chicken head conventions\n  I give you a deluxe Ku Klux lynchin'\n  I got a headache from the, stress success not wearing a vest\n  5-11 for being dirty, quartz at 9: 30\n  Yo, Mr.Cheeks, I made this bitch call police\n  She tried swallowing the nine piece\n  but got a warranty on false teeth\n  I return like Makaveli on 18 inch Pirellis\n  Assault and battery like my palms is Eveready\n  Sharp as machetes\n  Matter of fact I slap from cognac and keep the beef heavy\n\n  The Canibus brings the sickest drama\n  Fierce enough to pierce the thickest armor\n  I smack bitches for tryin to suck dick through a condom\n  Playing with the mic is something I won't do\n  My only concern when I approach you, is to roast you\n  I smoke you and whoever you standing close to\n  and make every man in your crew deny that he knows you\n  Defeating, niggas like Segal Steven\n  Putting emcees in, positions to prevent 'em from breathing\n  I'll make you question any and everything you've ever believed in\n  by peeping your deepest secrets like psychic readers\n  What's the matter with y'all, I splatter y'all\n  against the motherfucking wall with these raw lyrics I catapult\n  None of y'all got the balls big enough to battle\n  I go On & On like Erykah Badu\n  A hundred times nicer than the best there's\n  Twice as African as KRS is, who wanna test this?\n  Fuck y'all you don't impress me and no one can test me\n  A emcee so ill, I got AIDS scared to catch me\n  All that shit you popping'll stop, when I put you in a headlock\n  and apply pressure 'til I crush your motherfucking noggin\n  I grab mics and push niggas to the left\n  so fast they hearts end up on the right sides of your chests\n  My hypothesis, is that nobody can see this\n  lyrical genius, I got it sewn like a seamstress\n  But if you want to battle, I'm down\n  If you got nine lives, I'll take eight of them off your hands right now\n  Step up and get your neck cut from ear to ear\n  If you survive, then you can cover your scar with a beard\n  I'm the illest from Queens to the New Jerusalem Briddicks\n  Anyone who ain't feeling my shidick can suck my didick\n  You need to quit it, if you ain't spitting\n  more than 50 bars per minute cause you ain't in lyrical fitness\n  Kicking boring raps with metaphors that's wack\n  All of y'all motherfuckers need NordicTrack\n  to get ya weight up, fucking with Canibus you get ate up\n  Beat down and sprayed up, just for bringing my name up\n  Been rocking longer than niggas twice my age\n  Back in the days before Bob Marley was rocking a fade\n  Before Honest Abe signed the paper that freed slaves\n  Before Neanderthals was drawing on walls in caves\n  I existed, in the Garden of Eden and getting lifted\n  Sticking dick to Eve before she was Adam's mistress\n  Before Christ created Christmas, I been in lyrical fitness\n  The Canibus is spitting 'til he's spitless\n  50 bars of total sickness, you won't forget this\n  I'm putting every wack emcee alive on my shit list\n  Verbally vicious, telekinetically gifted\n  Took you a minute, to exhibit that I'm sick wit it\n  Now you tell me who you think is damaging shit\n  Going once, going twice, sold! to that nigga named Canibus\n  Me and Mr.Cheeks, A+, and Funk Doctor\n  hopping out the Huey helicopter to suey chop ya\n\n  Group Home and Def Squad\n  9-7 nigga\n"},{"id":10122711,"name":"Beasts From The East (Album Version Explicit)","trackName":"Beasts From The East (Album Version Explicit)","artistName":"Lost Boyz","albumName":"Love, Peace & Nappiness","duration":334.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"(Mr.Cheeks)\nYo we come through like balls, see us niggas takin two pulls and pass\nNigga watch your back once you talk out your ass\nI pack a .380 in my stash for protection\nFamily deranged, the world is acting crazed\nI never thought I'd make it, it was hectic when I scrambled\nOn point like a knife I'm living life as a gamble\nLiving in the rotten apple, yo where every corner is rotten\nTo all my niggas rest in peace, see you gone but not forgotten\nNow my main wifey, dead as shady chicks,\nOfficial Lost Boyz since the year of '86\nAnd fuck these crooked niggas I could kill 'em with a passion\nAt times I feel like slashing in Jamaican Queens fashion\nYou think you can fuck around, but kid you just thinking\nIt's over when I'm sober, imagine when I'm drinking\nWithout blinking man, I'll tear your crew like pages\nI rip you from the backyard, and (?) in stages\n(A+)\nA plus the lyrically superb one, spittin rhymes\nFrom the top of the tongue to burn ya ear drums\nRotten shit, make the opposite team call time out\nKnockin niggas three times my size out\nThe crowd loves me, so when I ain't around they ask for me\nI buckle up to kick rap like a crash dummy\nFor the fast money, I get up in that ass money\nThe fact you tryin' to test me kinda bugs me\nI leave crews fed up, like handicap niggas tryin' to get up\nEmcees get wet up with lyrical gun pellets,\nI blow up the spot when it's time to rock\nI speak out - my voicebox peak out at a hundred watts\nWho wanna cipher, I get dumb\nWord to my mother, the Father, the Holy Ghost and Rev Run\nWhen the Source set it down, I'm inna service\nTo cop the kind of verses that average emcees will worship\n(Redman)\nMy style is milk of magnesia, clutch the 5-speed and bust\nThe more the merrier, secure the area, my la familia\nIs ultimate superior we don't jack cars\nWe jack for aircraft carriers\nI bounce like trampolines, when I be blowing the fiends to pieces\nHymn em like sewing machines and Jesus\nWhen the shadows of the barrel pointing out my boy' Camarro\nI get punished like pharaoh for splittin'\nYou're better off singing Christmas carols for Christmas\nBecause I'm on point like bow and arrow equipment\nThe president of chicken head conventions\nI give you a deluxe Ku Klux lynchin'\nI got a headache from the stress, success, not wearing a vest\n511 for being dirty, quarts of 9-30\nYo, Mr.Cheeks, I made this bitch call police\nShe tried swallowing a nine piece\nForgot the warranty on false teeth\nI return like Makaveli on 18 inch Pirelli's\nAssault and battery like my palm says Eveready\nSharp as machetes\nMatter of fact I slap the cardiac (?)\n(Canibus)\nCanibus brings the sickest drama\nFierce enough to pierce the thickest armor\nI smack bitches who try to suck dick through the condom\nPlaying with the mic is something I won't do\nMy only concern when I approach you, is to roast you\nI smoke you and whoever you standing close to\nAnd make every man in your crew deny that he knows you\nDefeating niggas like Segal, Steven\nPutting Emcees in positions to prevent them from breathin'\nI'll make you question any and everything you've ever believed in\nBy peeping your deepest secrets like psychic readers\nWhat's the matter with ya'll, I splatter ya'll\nAgainst the muthafuckin wall with these raw lyrics I catapult\nNone of ya'll got the balls big enough to battle\nI go On & On like Erykah Badu\nA hundred times nicer than the best is\nTwice as African as KRS is, who wanna test this?\nFuck y'all you don't impress me and no one can test me\nAn emcee so ill, I got AIDS scared to catch me\nAll that shit you poppin' will stop, when I put you in a headlock,\nAnd apply pressure until I crush your muthafuckin noggin\nI grab mics and push niggas to the left\nSo fast their hearts end up on the right side of their chests\nMy hypothesis, is that nobody can see this\nLyrical genius, I got it sown like a seamstress\nBut if you want to battle, I'm down\nIf you got nine lives, I'll take eight of them off your hands right now\nStep up and get your neck cut from ear to ear\nIf you survive then you can cover up your scar with a beard\nI'm the illest from Queens to the new Jerusalem briddicks\nAnyone who ain't feeling my shiddit can suck my diddick\nYou need to quit it, if you ain't spittin'\nMore than 50 bars per minute cause you ain't in lyrical fitness\nKickin' boring raps with metaphors that's wack\nAll of ya'll muthafuckas need Nordictrack\nTo get ya weight up, fuckin with Canibus you get ate up\nBeat down and sprayed up, just for bringing my name up\nBeen rockin' longer than niggas twice my age\nBack in the days before Bob Marley was rockin' a fade\nBefore Honest Abe signed the paper that freed slaves\nBefore Neanderthals was drawing on walls in caves\nI existed, in the garden of Eden gettin' lifted\nStickin' dick to Eve before she was Adam's mistress\nBefore Christ created Christmas, I been in lyrical fitness\nThe Canibus is spittin' til' he's spitless\n50 bars of total sickness, you won't forget this\nI'm puttin' every wack emcee alive on my shit list\nVerbally vicious, telekinetically gifted\nTook you a minute to exhibit that I'm sick wit it\nNow you tell me who you think is damaging shit\nGoing once, going twice\nSold! to that nigga name Canibus\nMe and Mr.Cheeks, A-Plus, and Funk Doctor\nHopping out the Huey helicopter to suey chop ya.","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Beasts From The East (Album Version Explicit)\n  artist: Lost Boyz\n  album: Love, Peace & Nappiness\n  duration_ms: 334000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  (Mr.Cheeks)\n  Yo we come through like balls, see us niggas takin two pulls and pass\n  Nigga watch your back once you talk out your ass\n  I pack a .380 in my stash for protection\n  Family deranged, the world is acting crazed\n  I never thought I'd make it, it was hectic when I scrambled\n  On point like a knife I'm living life as a gamble\n  Living in the rotten apple, yo where every corner is rotten\n  To all my niggas rest in peace, see you gone but not forgotten\n  Now my main wifey, dead as shady chicks,\n  Official Lost Boyz since the year of '86\n  And fuck these crooked niggas I could kill 'em with a passion\n  At times I feel like slashing in Jamaican Queens fashion\n  You think you can fuck around, but kid you just thinking\n  It's over when I'm sober, imagine when I'm drinking\n  Without blinking man, I'll tear your crew like pages\n  I rip you from the backyard, and (?) in stages\n  (A+)\n  A plus the lyrically superb one, spittin rhymes\n  From the top of the tongue to burn ya ear drums\n  Rotten shit, make the opposite team call time out\n  Knockin niggas three times my size out\n  The crowd loves me, so when I ain't around they ask for me\n  I buckle up to kick rap like a crash dummy\n  For the fast money, I get up in that ass money\n  The fact you tryin' to test me kinda bugs me\n  I leave crews fed up, like handicap niggas tryin' to get up\n  Emcees get wet up with lyrical gun pellets,\n  I blow up the spot when it's time to rock\n  I speak out - my voicebox peak out at a hundred watts\n  Who wanna cipher, I get dumb\n  Word to my mother, the Father, the Holy Ghost and Rev Run\n  When the Source set it down, I'm inna service\n  To cop the kind of verses that average emcees will worship\n  (Redman)\n  My style is milk of magnesia, clutch the 5-speed and bust\n  The more the merrier, secure the area, my la familia\n  Is ultimate superior we don't jack cars\n  We jack for aircraft carriers\n  I bounce like trampolines, when I be blowing the fiends to pieces\n  Hymn em like sewing machines and Jesus\n  When the shadows of the barrel pointing out my boy' Camarro\n  I get punished like pharaoh for splittin'\n  You're better off singing Christmas carols for Christmas\n  Because I'm on point like bow and arrow equipment\n  The president of chicken head conventions\n  I give you a deluxe Ku Klux lynchin'\n  I got a headache from the stress, success, not wearing a vest\n  511 for being dirty, quarts of 9-30\n  Yo, Mr.Cheeks, I made this bitch call police\n  She tried swallowing a nine piece\n  Forgot the warranty on false teeth\n  I return like Makaveli on 18 inch Pirelli's\n  Assault and battery like my palm says Eveready\n  Sharp as machetes\n  Matter of fact I slap the cardiac (?)\n  (Canibus)\n  Canibus brings the sickest drama\n  Fierce enough to pierce the thickest armor\n  I smack bitches who try to suck dick through the condom\n  Playing with the mic is something I won't do\n  My only concern when I approach you, is to roast you\n  I smoke you and whoever you standing close to\n  And make every man in your crew deny that he knows you\n  Defeating niggas like Segal, Steven\n  Putting Emcees in positions to prevent them from breathin'\n  I'll make you question any and everything you've ever believed in\n  By peeping your deepest secrets like psychic readers\n  What's the matter with ya'll, I splatter ya'll\n  Against the muthafuckin wall with these raw lyrics I catapult\n  None of ya'll got the balls big enough to battle\n  I go On & On like Erykah Badu\n  A hundred times nicer than the best is\n  Twice as African as KRS is, who wanna test this?\n  Fuck y'all you don't impress me and no one can test me\n  An emcee so ill, I got AIDS scared to catch me\n  All that shit you poppin' will stop, when I put you in a headlock,\n  And apply pressure until I crush your muthafuckin noggin\n  I grab mics and push niggas to the left\n  So fast their hearts end up on the right side of their chests\n  My hypothesis, is that nobody can see this\n  Lyrical genius, I got it sown like a seamstress\n  But if you want to battle, I'm down\n  If you got nine lives, I'll take eight of them off your hands right now\n  Step up and get your neck cut from ear to ear\n  If you survive then you can cover up your scar with a beard\n  I'm the illest from Queens to the new Jerusalem briddicks\n  Anyone who ain't feeling my shiddit can suck my diddick\n  You need to quit it, if you ain't spittin'\n  More than 50 bars per minute cause you ain't in lyrical fitness\n  Kickin' boring raps with metaphors that's wack\n  All of ya'll muthafuckas need Nordictrack\n  To get ya weight up, fuckin with Canibus you get ate up\n  Beat down and sprayed up, just for bringing my name up\n  Been rockin' longer than niggas twice my age\n  Back in the days before Bob Marley was rockin' a fade\n  Before Honest Abe signed the paper that freed slaves\n  Before Neanderthals was drawing on walls in caves\n  I existed, in the garden of Eden gettin' lifted\n  Stickin' dick to Eve before she was Adam's mistress\n  Before Christ created Christmas, I been in lyrical fitness\n  The Canibus is spittin' til' he's spitless\n  50 bars of total sickness, you won't forget this\n  I'm puttin' every wack emcee alive on my shit list\n  Verbally vicious, telekinetically gifted\n  Took you a minute to exhibit that I'm sick wit it\n  Now you tell me who you think is damaging shit\n  Going once, going twice\n  Sold! to that nigga name Canibus\n  Me and Mr.Cheeks, A-Plus, and Funk Doctor\n  Hopping out the Huey helicopter to suey chop ya.\n"},{"id":36502460,"name":"Beasts From The East (Album Version (Edited))","trackName":"Beasts From The East (Album Version (Edited))","artistName":"Lost Boyz","albumName":"Love, Peace & Nappiness","duration":334.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"The forecast: showers heavy at times with occasional thunderstorms today, and a high of 89 degrees. Partial clearing tonight with a low of 74.\n\n(Word up. The cop said to me, \"Yo kid! Damn!\")\n\nYo, we come through like Bulls, see niggas takin two pulls and pass\nNigga, watch your back once you talk out your ass\nI pack a .380 in my stash for protection\nFamily deranged, the world is acting crazed\nI never thought I'd make it, it was hectic when I scrambled\nOn point like a knife I'm takin life as a gamble\nLivin in the rotten apple, ayo where every core is rotten\nAll my niggas rest in peace you see you gone but not forgotten\nNow my main wifey, dead as shady chicks\nOfficial Lost Boy since the year of '86\nAnd fuck these crooked niggas I could kill 'em with the passion\nAt times I feel like slashing in Jamaica Queens fashion\nYou think, you can fuck around, but kid you just thinking\nIt's over when I'm sober, imagine when I'm drinking\nWithout blinking man, I'll tear your crew like pages\nI'll rip you from the backyards, puff chants in stages\n\nA+ the lyrically superb one\nSpittin rhymes off the top of the tongue to burn ya ear drum\nRotten shit, make the opposite team call a time out\nKnockin niggas three time my size out\nThe crowd loves me, so when I ain't around they ask for me\nI buckle up and catch wreck like a crash dummy\nFor the fast money, I get up in that ass money\nThe fact you tryin' to test me kinda bugs me\nI leave crews fed up, like handicap niggas tryna get up\nEmcees get wet up with lyrical gun pellets\nI blow up the spot when it's time to rock\nI speak out my voice box'll peak out at a hundred watts\nWho wanna cipha? I get dumb\nWord to my mother, the Father, the Holy Ghost and Rev. Run\nWhen it's all said and done, I end the service\nGet cocked in the type ofs average emcees worship\n\nYo yo yo, yo big dog turn the track up\n(Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get peeled)\nYo fake emcees step to the rear\nReal emcees bring this shit up north\n(Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get.)\nMy style is Milk of Magnesia, clutch defies speeding bus\nThe more the merrier, secure the area\nMy life familiar, is ultimate superior\nWe don't jack cars, we jack for aircraft carriers\nI bounce like trampolines, when I be blowing the fiends to pieces\nHem 'em like sewing machines and Jesus\nWhen the shadows of the barrel pointing out my boy Camaro\nI get punished like pharaoh for splittin'\nYou better off singing Christmas carols for Christmas\nbecause I'm on point like bow and arrow, equipment\nThe president of chicken head conventions\nI give you a deluxe Ku Klux lynchin'\nI got a headache from the, stress success not wearing a vest\n5-11 for being dirty, quartz at 9: 30\nYo, Mr.Cheeks, I made this bitch call police\nShe tried swallowing the nine piece\nbut got a warranty on false teeth\nI return like Makaveli on 18 inch Pirellis\nAssault and battery like my palms is Eveready\nSharp as machetes\nMatter of fact I slap from cognac and keep the beef heavy\n\nThe Canibus brings the sickest drama\nFierce enough to pierce the thickest armor\nI smack bitches for tryin to suck dick through a condom\nPlaying with the mic is something I won't do\nMy only concern when I approach you, is to roast you\nI smoke you and whoever you standing close to\nand make every man in your crew deny that he knows you\nDefeating, niggas like Segal Steven\nPutting emcees in, positions to prevent 'em from breathing\nI'll make you question any and everything you've ever believed in\nby peeping your deepest secrets like psychic readers\nWhat's the matter with y'all, I splatter y'all\nagainst the motherfucking wall with these raw lyrics I catapult\nNone of y'all got the balls big enough to battle\nI go On & On like Erykah Badu\nA hundred times nicer than the best there's\nTwice as African as KRS is, who wanna test this?\nFuck y'all you don't impress me and no one can test me\nA emcee so ill, I got AIDS scared to catch me\nAll that shit you popping'll stop, when I put you in a headlock\nand apply pressure 'til I crush your motherfucking noggin\nI grab mics and push niggas to the left\nso fast they hearts end up on the right sides of your chests\nMy hypothesis, is that nobody can see this\nlyrical genius, I got it sewn like a seamstress\nBut if you want to battle, I'm down\nIf you got nine lives, I'll take eight of them off your hands right now\nStep up and get your neck cut from ear to ear\nIf you survive, then you can cover your scar with a beard\nI'm the illest from Queens to the New Jerusalem Briddicks\nAnyone who ain't feeling my shidick can suck my didick\nYou need to quit it, if you ain't spitting\nmore than 50 bars per minute cause you ain't in lyrical fitness\nKicking boring raps with metaphors that's wack\nAll of y'all motherfuckers need NordicTrack\nto get ya weight up, fucking with Canibus you get ate up\nBeat down and sprayed up, just for bringing my name up\nBeen rocking longer than niggas twice my age\nBack in the days before Bob Marley was rocking a fade\nBefore Honest Abe signed the paper that freed slaves\nBefore Neanderthals was drawing on walls in caves\nI existed, in the Garden of Eden and getting lifted\nSticking dick to Eve before she was Adam's mistress\nBefore Christ created Christmas, I been in lyrical fitness\nThe Canibus is spitting 'til he's spitless\n50 bars of total sickness, you won't forget this\nI'm putting every wack emcee alive on my shit list\nVerbally vicious, telekinetically gifted\nTook you a minute, to exhibit that I'm sick wit it\nNow you tell me who you think is damaging shit\nGoing once, going twice, sold! to that nigga named Canibus\nMe and Mr.Cheeks, A+, and Funk Doctor\nhopping out the Huey helicopter to suey chop ya\n\nGroup Home and Def Squad\n9-7 nigga","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Beasts From The East (Album Version (Edited))\n  artist: Lost Boyz\n  album: Love, Peace & Nappiness\n  duration_ms: 334000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  The forecast: showers heavy at times with occasional thunderstorms today, and a high of 89 degrees. Partial clearing tonight with a low of 74.\n\n  (Word up. The cop said to me, \"Yo kid! Damn!\")\n\n  Yo, we come through like Bulls, see niggas takin two pulls and pass\n  Nigga, watch your back once you talk out your ass\n  I pack a .380 in my stash for protection\n  Family deranged, the world is acting crazed\n  I never thought I'd make it, it was hectic when I scrambled\n  On point like a knife I'm takin life as a gamble\n  Livin in the rotten apple, ayo where every core is rotten\n  All my niggas rest in peace you see you gone but not forgotten\n  Now my main wifey, dead as shady chicks\n  Official Lost Boy since the year of '86\n  And fuck these crooked niggas I could kill 'em with the passion\n  At times I feel like slashing in Jamaica Queens fashion\n  You think, you can fuck around, but kid you just thinking\n  It's over when I'm sober, imagine when I'm drinking\n  Without blinking man, I'll tear your crew like pages\n  I'll rip you from the backyards, puff chants in stages\n\n  A+ the lyrically superb one\n  Spittin rhymes off the top of the tongue to burn ya ear drum\n  Rotten shit, make the opposite team call a time out\n  Knockin niggas three time my size out\n  The crowd loves me, so when I ain't around they ask for me\n  I buckle up and catch wreck like a crash dummy\n  For the fast money, I get up in that ass money\n  The fact you tryin' to test me kinda bugs me\n  I leave crews fed up, like handicap niggas tryna get up\n  Emcees get wet up with lyrical gun pellets\n  I blow up the spot when it's time to rock\n  I speak out my voice box'll peak out at a hundred watts\n  Who wanna cipha? I get dumb\n  Word to my mother, the Father, the Holy Ghost and Rev. Run\n  When it's all said and done, I end the service\n  Get cocked in the type ofs average emcees worship\n\n  Yo yo yo, yo big dog turn the track up\n  (Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get peeled)\n  Yo fake emcees step to the rear\n  Real emcees bring this shit up north\n  (Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get.)\n  My style is Milk of Magnesia, clutch defies speeding bus\n  The more the merrier, secure the area\n  My life familiar, is ultimate superior\n  We don't jack cars, we jack for aircraft carriers\n  I bounce like trampolines, when I be blowing the fiends to pieces\n  Hem 'em like sewing machines and Jesus\n  When the shadows of the barrel pointing out my boy Camaro\n  I get punished like pharaoh for splittin'\n  You better off singing Christmas carols for Christmas\n  because I'm on point like bow and arrow, equipment\n  The president of chicken head conventions\n  I give you a deluxe Ku Klux lynchin'\n  I got a headache from the, stress success not wearing a vest\n  5-11 for being dirty, quartz at 9: 30\n  Yo, Mr.Cheeks, I made this bitch call police\n  She tried swallowing the nine piece\n  but got a warranty on false teeth\n  I return like Makaveli on 18 inch Pirellis\n  Assault and battery like my palms is Eveready\n  Sharp as machetes\n  Matter of fact I slap from cognac and keep the beef heavy\n\n  The Canibus brings the sickest drama\n  Fierce enough to pierce the thickest armor\n  I smack bitches for tryin to suck dick through a condom\n  Playing with the mic is something I won't do\n  My only concern when I approach you, is to roast you\n  I smoke you and whoever you standing close to\n  and make every man in your crew deny that he knows you\n  Defeating, niggas like Segal Steven\n  Putting emcees in, positions to prevent 'em from breathing\n  I'll make you question any and everything you've ever believed in\n  by peeping your deepest secrets like psychic readers\n  What's the matter with y'all, I splatter y'all\n  against the motherfucking wall with these raw lyrics I catapult\n  None of y'all got the balls big enough to battle\n  I go On & On like Erykah Badu\n  A hundred times nicer than the best there's\n  Twice as African as KRS is, who wanna test this?\n  Fuck y'all you don't impress me and no one can test me\n  A emcee so ill, I got AIDS scared to catch me\n  All that shit you popping'll stop, when I put you in a headlock\n  and apply pressure 'til I crush your motherfucking noggin\n  I grab mics and push niggas to the left\n  so fast they hearts end up on the right sides of your chests\n  My hypothesis, is that nobody can see this\n  lyrical genius, I got it sewn like a seamstress\n  But if you want to battle, I'm down\n  If you got nine lives, I'll take eight of them off your hands right now\n  Step up and get your neck cut from ear to ear\n  If you survive, then you can cover your scar with a beard\n  I'm the illest from Queens to the New Jerusalem Briddicks\n  Anyone who ain't feeling my shidick can suck my didick\n  You need to quit it, if you ain't spitting\n  more than 50 bars per minute cause you ain't in lyrical fitness\n  Kicking boring raps with metaphors that's wack\n  All of y'all motherfuckers need NordicTrack\n  to get ya weight up, fucking with Canibus you get ate up\n  Beat down and sprayed up, just for bringing my name up\n  Been rocking longer than niggas twice my age\n  Back in the days before Bob Marley was rocking a fade\n  Before Honest Abe signed the paper that freed slaves\n  Before Neanderthals was drawing on walls in caves\n  I existed, in the Garden of Eden and getting lifted\n  Sticking dick to Eve before she was Adam's mistress\n  Before Christ created Christmas, I been in lyrical fitness\n  The Canibus is spitting 'til he's spitless\n  50 bars of total sickness, you won't forget this\n  I'm putting every wack emcee alive on my shit list\n  Verbally vicious, telekinetically gifted\n  Took you a minute, to exhibit that I'm sick wit it\n  Now you tell me who you think is damaging shit\n  Going once, going twice, sold! to that nigga named Canibus\n  Me and Mr.Cheeks, A+, and Funk Doctor\n  hopping out the Huey helicopter to suey chop ya\n\n  Group Home and Def Squad\n  9-7 nigga\n"},{"id":32599377,"name":"Beasts From The East","trackName":"Beasts From The East","artistName":"The Lost Boyz ft A+ , Canibus & Redman","albumName":"Love, Peace & Nappiness","duration":334.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"The forecast: showers heavy at times with occasional thunderstorms today, and a high of 89 degrees. Partial clearing tonight with a low of 74.\n\n(Word up. The cop said to me, \"Yo kid! Damn!\")\n\nYo, we come through like Bulls, see niggas takin two pulls and pass\nNigga, watch your back once you talk out your ass\nI pack a .380 in my stash for protection\nFamily deranged, the world is acting crazed\nI never thought I'd make it, it was hectic when I scrambled\nOn point like a knife I'm takin life as a gamble\nLivin in the rotten apple, ayo where every core is rotten\nAll my niggas rest in peace you see you gone but not forgotten\nNow my main wifey, dead as shady chicks\nOfficial Lost Boy since the year of '86\nAnd fuck these crooked niggas I could kill 'em with the passion\nAt times I feel like slashing in Jamaica Queens fashion\nYou think, you can fuck around, but kid you just thinking\nIt's over when I'm sober, imagine when I'm drinking\nWithout blinking man, I'll tear your crew like pages\nI'll rip you from the backyards, puff chants in stages\n\nA+ the lyrically superb one\nSpittin rhymes off the top of the tongue to burn ya ear drum\nRotten shit, make the opposite team call a time out\nKnockin niggas three time my size out\nThe crowd loves me, so when I ain't around they ask for me\nI buckle up and catch wreck like a crash dummy\nFor the fast money, I get up in that ass money\nThe fact you tryin' to test me kinda bugs me\nI leave crews fed up, like handicap niggas tryna get up\nEmcees get wet up with lyrical gun pellets\nI blow up the spot when it's time to rock\nI speak out my voice box'll peak out at a hundred watts\nWho wanna cipha? I get dumb\nWord to my mother, the Father, the Holy Ghost and Rev. Run\nWhen it's all said and done, I end the service\nGet cocked in the type ofs average emcees worship\n\nYo yo yo, yo big dog turn the track up\n(Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get peeled)\nYo fake emcees step to the rear\nReal emcees bring this shit up north\n(Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get.)\nMy style is Milk of Magnesia, clutch defies speeding bus\nThe more the merrier, secure the area\nMy life familiar, is ultimate superior\nWe don't jack cars, we jack for aircraft carriers\nI bounce like trampolines, when I be blowing the fiends to pieces\nHem 'em like sewing machines and Jesus\nWhen the shadows of the barrel pointing out my boy Camaro\nI get punished like pharaoh for splittin'\nYou better off singing Christmas carols for Christmas\nbecause I'm on point like bow and arrow, equipment\nThe president of chicken head conventions\nI give you a deluxe Ku Klux lynchin'\nI got a headache from the, stress success not wearing a vest\n5-11 for being dirty, quartz at 9: 30\nYo, Mr.Cheeks, I made this bitch call police\nShe tried swallowing the nine piece\nbut got a warranty on false teeth\nI return like Makaveli on 18 inch Pirellis\nAssault and battery like my palms is Eveready\nSharp as machetes\nMatter of fact I slap from cognac and keep the beef heavy\n\nThe Canibus brings the sickest drama\nFierce enough to pierce the thickest armor\nI smack bitches for tryin to suck dick through a condom\nPlaying with the mic is something I won't do\nMy only concern when I approach you, is to roast you\nI smoke you and whoever you standing close to\nand make every man in your crew deny that he knows you\nDefeating, niggas like Segal Steven\nPutting emcees in, positions to prevent 'em from breathing\nI'll make you question any and everything you've ever believed in\nby peeping your deepest secrets like psychic readers\nWhat's the matter with y'all, I splatter y'all\nagainst the motherfucking wall with these raw lyrics I catapult\nNone of y'all got the balls big enough to battle\nI go On & On like Erykah Badu\nA hundred times nicer than the best there's\nTwice as African as KRS is, who wanna test this?\nFuck y'all you don't impress me and no one can test me\nA emcee so ill, I got AIDS scared to catch me\nAll that shit you popping'll stop, when I put you in a headlock\nand apply pressure 'til I crush your motherfucking noggin\nI grab mics and push niggas to the left\nso fast they hearts end up on the right sides of your chests\nMy hypothesis, is that nobody can see this\nlyrical genius, I got it sewn like a seamstress\nBut if you want to battle, I'm down\nIf you got nine lives, I'll take eight of them off your hands right now\nStep up and get your neck cut from ear to ear\nIf you survive, then you can cover your scar with a beard\nI'm the illest from Queens to the New Jerusalem Briddicks\nAnyone who ain't feeling my shidick can suck my didick\nYou need to quit it, if you ain't spitting\nmore than 50 bars per minute cause you ain't in lyrical fitness\nKicking boring raps with metaphors that's wack\nAll of y'all motherfuckers need NordicTrack\nto get ya weight up, fucking with Canibus you get ate up\nBeat down and sprayed up, just for bringing my name up\nBeen rocking longer than niggas twice my age\nBack in the days before Bob Marley was rocking a fade\nBefore Honest Abe signed the paper that freed slaves\nBefore Neanderthals was drawing on walls in caves\nI existed, in the Garden of Eden and getting lifted\nSticking dick to Eve before she was Adam's mistress\nBefore Christ created Christmas, I been in lyrical fitness\nThe Canibus is spitting 'til he's spitless\n50 bars of total sickness, you won't forget this\nI'm putting every wack emcee alive on my shit list\nVerbally vicious, telekinetically gifted\nTook you a minute, to exhibit that I'm sick wit it\nNow you tell me who you think is damaging shit\nGoing once, going twice, sold! to that nigga named Canibus\nMe and Mr.Cheeks, A+, and Funk Doctor\nhopping out the Huey helicopter to suey chop ya\n\nGroup Home and Def Squad\n9-7 nigga","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Beasts From The East\n  artist: The Lost Boyz ft A+ , Canibus & Redman\n  album: Love, Peace & Nappiness\n  duration_ms: 334000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  The forecast: showers heavy at times with occasional thunderstorms today, and a high of 89 degrees. Partial clearing tonight with a low of 74.\n\n  (Word up. The cop said to me, \"Yo kid! Damn!\")\n\n  Yo, we come through like Bulls, see niggas takin two pulls and pass\n  Nigga, watch your back once you talk out your ass\n  I pack a .380 in my stash for protection\n  Family deranged, the world is acting crazed\n  I never thought I'd make it, it was hectic when I scrambled\n  On point like a knife I'm takin life as a gamble\n  Livin in the rotten apple, ayo where every core is rotten\n  All my niggas rest in peace you see you gone but not forgotten\n  Now my main wifey, dead as shady chicks\n  Official Lost Boy since the year of '86\n  And fuck these crooked niggas I could kill 'em with the passion\n  At times I feel like slashing in Jamaica Queens fashion\n  You think, you can fuck around, but kid you just thinking\n  It's over when I'm sober, imagine when I'm drinking\n  Without blinking man, I'll tear your crew like pages\n  I'll rip you from the backyards, puff chants in stages\n\n  A+ the lyrically superb one\n  Spittin rhymes off the top of the tongue to burn ya ear drum\n  Rotten shit, make the opposite team call a time out\n  Knockin niggas three time my size out\n  The crowd loves me, so when I ain't around they ask for me\n  I buckle up and catch wreck like a crash dummy\n  For the fast money, I get up in that ass money\n  The fact you tryin' to test me kinda bugs me\n  I leave crews fed up, like handicap niggas tryna get up\n  Emcees get wet up with lyrical gun pellets\n  I blow up the spot when it's time to rock\n  I speak out my voice box'll peak out at a hundred watts\n  Who wanna cipha? I get dumb\n  Word to my mother, the Father, the Holy Ghost and Rev. Run\n  When it's all said and done, I end the service\n  Get cocked in the type ofs average emcees worship\n\n  Yo yo yo, yo big dog turn the track up\n  (Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get peeled)\n  Yo fake emcees step to the rear\n  Real emcees bring this shit up north\n  (Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get.)\n  My style is Milk of Magnesia, clutch defies speeding bus\n  The more the merrier, secure the area\n  My life familiar, is ultimate superior\n  We don't jack cars, we jack for aircraft carriers\n  I bounce like trampolines, when I be blowing the fiends to pieces\n  Hem 'em like sewing machines and Jesus\n  When the shadows of the barrel pointing out my boy Camaro\n  I get punished like pharaoh for splittin'\n  You better off singing Christmas carols for Christmas\n  because I'm on point like bow and arrow, equipment\n  The president of chicken head conventions\n  I give you a deluxe Ku Klux lynchin'\n  I got a headache from the, stress success not wearing a vest\n  5-11 for being dirty, quartz at 9: 30\n  Yo, Mr.Cheeks, I made this bitch call police\n  She tried swallowing the nine piece\n  but got a warranty on false teeth\n  I return like Makaveli on 18 inch Pirellis\n  Assault and battery like my palms is Eveready\n  Sharp as machetes\n  Matter of fact I slap from cognac and keep the beef heavy\n\n  The Canibus brings the sickest drama\n  Fierce enough to pierce the thickest armor\n  I smack bitches for tryin to suck dick through a condom\n  Playing with the mic is something I won't do\n  My only concern when I approach you, is to roast you\n  I smoke you and whoever you standing close to\n  and make every man in your crew deny that he knows you\n  Defeating, niggas like Segal Steven\n  Putting emcees in, positions to prevent 'em from breathing\n  I'll make you question any and everything you've ever believed in\n  by peeping your deepest secrets like psychic readers\n  What's the matter with y'all, I splatter y'all\n  against the motherfucking wall with these raw lyrics I catapult\n  None of y'all got the balls big enough to battle\n  I go On & On like Erykah Badu\n  A hundred times nicer than the best there's\n  Twice as African as KRS is, who wanna test this?\n  Fuck y'all you don't impress me and no one can test me\n  A emcee so ill, I got AIDS scared to catch me\n  All that shit you popping'll stop, when I put you in a headlock\n  and apply pressure 'til I crush your motherfucking noggin\n  I grab mics and push niggas to the left\n  so fast they hearts end up on the right sides of your chests\n  My hypothesis, is that nobody can see this\n  lyrical genius, I got it sewn like a seamstress\n  But if you want to battle, I'm down\n  If you got nine lives, I'll take eight of them off your hands right now\n  Step up and get your neck cut from ear to ear\n  If you survive, then you can cover your scar with a beard\n  I'm the illest from Queens to the New Jerusalem Briddicks\n  Anyone who ain't feeling my shidick can suck my didick\n  You need to quit it, if you ain't spitting\n  more than 50 bars per minute cause you ain't in lyrical fitness\n  Kicking boring raps with metaphors that's wack\n  All of y'all motherfuckers need NordicTrack\n  to get ya weight up, fucking with Canibus you get ate up\n  Beat down and sprayed up, just for bringing my name up\n  Been rocking longer than niggas twice my age\n  Back in the days before Bob Marley was rocking a fade\n  Before Honest Abe signed the paper that freed slaves\n  Before Neanderthals was drawing on walls in caves\n  I existed, in the Garden of Eden and getting lifted\n  Sticking dick to Eve before she was Adam's mistress\n  Before Christ created Christmas, I been in lyrical fitness\n  The Canibus is spitting 'til he's spitless\n  50 bars of total sickness, you won't forget this\n  I'm putting every wack emcee alive on my shit list\n  Verbally vicious, telekinetically gifted\n  Took you a minute, to exhibit that I'm sick wit it\n  Now you tell me who you think is damaging shit\n  Going once, going twice, sold! to that nigga named Canibus\n  Me and Mr.Cheeks, A+, and Funk Doctor\n  hopping out the Huey helicopter to suey chop ya\n\n  Group Home and Def Squad\n  9-7 nigga\n"},{"id":14625756,"name":"Beasts From The East (Ft. A+, Redman & Canibus)","trackName":"Beasts From The East (Ft. A+, Redman & Canibus)","artistName":"Lost Boyz","albumName":"Love, Peace & Nappiness","duration":334.027755,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"The forecast: showers heavy at times with occasional thunderstorms today, and a high of 89 degrees. Partial clearing tonight with a low of 74.\n\n(Word up. The cop said to me, \"Yo kid! Damn!\")\n\nYo, we come through like Bulls, see niggas takin two pulls and pass\nNigga, watch your back once you talk out your ass\nI pack a .380 in my stash for protection\nFamily deranged, the world is acting crazed\nI never thought I'd make it, it was hectic when I scrambled\nOn point like a knife I'm takin life as a gamble\nLivin in the rotten apple, ayo where every core is rotten\nAll my niggas rest in peace you see you gone but not forgotten\nNow my main wifey, dead as shady chicks\nOfficial Lost Boy since the year of '86\nAnd fuck these crooked niggas I could kill 'em with the passion\nAt times I feel like slashing in Jamaica Queens fashion\nYou think, you can fuck around, but kid you just thinking\nIt's over when I'm sober, imagine when I'm drinking\nWithout blinking man, I'll tear your crew like pages\nI'll rip you from the backyards, puff chants in stages\n\nA+ the lyrically superb one\nSpittin rhymes off the top of the tongue to burn ya ear drum\nRotten shit, make the opposite team call a time out\nKnockin niggas three time my size out\nThe crowd loves me, so when I ain't around they ask for me\nI buckle up and catch wreck like a crash dummy\nFor the fast money, I get up in that ass money\nThe fact you tryin' to test me kinda bugs me\nI leave crews fed up, like handicap niggas tryna get up\nEmcees get wet up with lyrical gun pellets\nI blow up the spot when it's time to rock\nI speak out my voice box'll peak out at a hundred watts\nWho wanna cipha? I get dumb\nWord to my mother, the Father, the Holy Ghost and Rev. Run\nWhen it's all said and done, I end the service\nGet cocked in the type ofs average emcees worship\n\nYo yo yo, yo big dog turn the track up\n(Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get peeled)\nYo fake emcees step to the rear\nReal emcees bring this shit up north\n(Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get.)\nMy style is Milk of Magnesia, clutch defies speeding bus\nThe more the merrier, secure the area\nMy life familiar, is ultimate superior\nWe don't jack cars, we jack for aircraft carriers\nI bounce like trampolines, when I be blowing the fiends to pieces\nHem 'em like sewing machines and Jesus\nWhen the shadows of the barrel pointing out my boy Camaro\nI get punished like pharaoh for splittin'\nYou better off singing Christmas carols for Christmas\nbecause I'm on point like bow and arrow, equipment\nThe president of chicken head conventions\nI give you a deluxe Ku Klux lynchin'\nI got a headache from the, stress success not wearing a vest\n5-11 for being dirty, quartz at 9: 30\nYo, Mr.Cheeks, I made this bitch call police\nShe tried swallowing the nine piece\nbut got a warranty on false teeth\nI return like Makaveli on 18 inch Pirellis\nAssault and battery like my palms is Eveready\nSharp as machetes\nMatter of fact I slap from cognac and keep the beef heavy\n\nThe Canibus brings the sickest drama\nFierce enough to pierce the thickest armor\nI smack bitches for tryin to suck dick through a condom\nPlaying with the mic is something I won't do\nMy only concern when I approach you, is to roast you\nI smoke you and whoever you standing close to\nand make every man in your crew deny that he knows you\nDefeating, niggas like Segal Steven\nPutting emcees in, positions to prevent 'em from breathing\nI'll make you question any and everything you've ever believed in\nby peeping your deepest secrets like psychic readers\nWhat's the matter with y'all, I splatter y'all\nagainst the motherfucking wall with these raw lyrics I catapult\nNone of y'all got the balls big enough to battle\nI go On & On like Erykah Badu\nA hundred times nicer than the best there's\nTwice as African as KRS is, who wanna test this?\nFuck y'all you don't impress me and no one can test me\nA emcee so ill, I got AIDS scared to catch me\nAll that shit you popping'll stop, when I put you in a headlock\nand apply pressure 'til I crush your motherfucking noggin\nI grab mics and push niggas to the left\nso fast they hearts end up on the right sides of your chests\nMy hypothesis, is that nobody can see this\nlyrical genius, I got it sewn like a seamstress\nBut if you want to battle, I'm down\nIf you got nine lives, I'll take eight of them off your hands right now\nStep up and get your neck cut from ear to ear\nIf you survive, then you can cover your scar with a beard\nI'm the illest from Queens to the New Jerusalem Briddicks\nAnyone who ain't feeling my shidick can suck my didick\nYou need to quit it, if you ain't spitting\nmore than 50 bars per minute cause you ain't in lyrical fitness\nKicking boring raps with metaphors that's wack\nAll of y'all motherfuckers need NordicTrack\nto get ya weight up, fucking with Canibus you get ate up\nBeat down and sprayed up, just for bringing my name up\nBeen rocking longer than niggas twice my age\nBack in the days before Bob Marley was rocking a fade\nBefore Honest Abe signed the paper that freed slaves\nBefore Neanderthals was drawing on walls in caves\nI existed, in the Garden of Eden and getting lifted\nSticking dick to Eve before she was Adam's mistress\nBefore Christ created Christmas, I been in lyrical fitness\nThe Canibus is spitting 'til he's spitless\n50 bars of total sickness, you won't forget this\nI'm putting every wack emcee alive on my shit list\nVerbally vicious, telekinetically gifted\nTook you a minute, to exhibit that I'm sick wit it\nNow you tell me who you think is damaging shit\nGoing once, going twice, sold! to that nigga named Canibus\nMe and Mr.Cheeks, A+, and Funk Doctor\nhopping out the Huey helicopter to suey chop ya\n\nGroup Home and Def Squad\n9-7 nigga","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Beasts From The East (Ft. A+, Redman & Canibus)\n  artist: Lost Boyz\n  album: Love, Peace & Nappiness\n  duration_ms: 334028\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  The forecast: showers heavy at times with occasional thunderstorms today, and a high of 89 degrees. Partial clearing tonight with a low of 74.\n\n  (Word up. The cop said to me, \"Yo kid! Damn!\")\n\n  Yo, we come through like Bulls, see niggas takin two pulls and pass\n  Nigga, watch your back once you talk out your ass\n  I pack a .380 in my stash for protection\n  Family deranged, the world is acting crazed\n  I never thought I'd make it, it was hectic when I scrambled\n  On point like a knife I'm takin life as a gamble\n  Livin in the rotten apple, ayo where every core is rotten\n  All my niggas rest in peace you see you gone but not forgotten\n  Now my main wifey, dead as shady chicks\n  Official Lost Boy since the year of '86\n  And fuck these crooked niggas I could kill 'em with the passion\n  At times I feel like slashing in Jamaica Queens fashion\n  You think, you can fuck around, but kid you just thinking\n  It's over when I'm sober, imagine when I'm drinking\n  Without blinking man, I'll tear your crew like pages\n  I'll rip you from the backyards, puff chants in stages\n\n  A+ the lyrically superb one\n  Spittin rhymes off the top of the tongue to burn ya ear drum\n  Rotten shit, make the opposite team call a time out\n  Knockin niggas three time my size out\n  The crowd loves me, so when I ain't around they ask for me\n  I buckle up and catch wreck like a crash dummy\n  For the fast money, I get up in that ass money\n  The fact you tryin' to test me kinda bugs me\n  I leave crews fed up, like handicap niggas tryna get up\n  Emcees get wet up with lyrical gun pellets\n  I blow up the spot when it's time to rock\n  I speak out my voice box'll peak out at a hundred watts\n  Who wanna cipha? I get dumb\n  Word to my mother, the Father, the Holy Ghost and Rev. Run\n  When it's all said and done, I end the service\n  Get cocked in the type ofs average emcees worship\n\n  Yo yo yo, yo big dog turn the track up\n  (Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get peeled)\n  Yo fake emcees step to the rear\n  Real emcees bring this shit up north\n  (Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get.)\n  My style is Milk of Magnesia, clutch defies speeding bus\n  The more the merrier, secure the area\n  My life familiar, is ultimate superior\n  We don't jack cars, we jack for aircraft carriers\n  I bounce like trampolines, when I be blowing the fiends to pieces\n  Hem 'em like sewing machines and Jesus\n  When the shadows of the barrel pointing out my boy Camaro\n  I get punished like pharaoh for splittin'\n  You better off singing Christmas carols for Christmas\n  because I'm on point like bow and arrow, equipment\n  The president of chicken head conventions\n  I give you a deluxe Ku Klux lynchin'\n  I got a headache from the, stress success not wearing a vest\n  5-11 for being dirty, quartz at 9: 30\n  Yo, Mr.Cheeks, I made this bitch call police\n  She tried swallowing the nine piece\n  but got a warranty on false teeth\n  I return like Makaveli on 18 inch Pirellis\n  Assault and battery like my palms is Eveready\n  Sharp as machetes\n  Matter of fact I slap from cognac and keep the beef heavy\n\n  The Canibus brings the sickest drama\n  Fierce enough to pierce the thickest armor\n  I smack bitches for tryin to suck dick through a condom\n  Playing with the mic is something I won't do\n  My only concern when I approach you, is to roast you\n  I smoke you and whoever you standing close to\n  and make every man in your crew deny that he knows you\n  Defeating, niggas like Segal Steven\n  Putting emcees in, positions to prevent 'em from breathing\n  I'll make you question any and everything you've ever believed in\n  by peeping your deepest secrets like psychic readers\n  What's the matter with y'all, I splatter y'all\n  against the motherfucking wall with these raw lyrics I catapult\n  None of y'all got the balls big enough to battle\n  I go On & On like Erykah Badu\n  A hundred times nicer than the best there's\n  Twice as African as KRS is, who wanna test this?\n  Fuck y'all you don't impress me and no one can test me\n  A emcee so ill, I got AIDS scared to catch me\n  All that shit you popping'll stop, when I put you in a headlock\n  and apply pressure 'til I crush your motherfucking noggin\n  I grab mics and push niggas to the left\n  so fast they hearts end up on the right sides of your chests\n  My hypothesis, is that nobody can see this\n  lyrical genius, I got it sewn like a seamstress\n  But if you want to battle, I'm down\n  If you got nine lives, I'll take eight of them off your hands right now\n  Step up and get your neck cut from ear to ear\n  If you survive, then you can cover your scar with a beard\n  I'm the illest from Queens to the New Jerusalem Briddicks\n  Anyone who ain't feeling my shidick can suck my didick\n  You need to quit it, if you ain't spitting\n  more than 50 bars per minute cause you ain't in lyrical fitness\n  Kicking boring raps with metaphors that's wack\n  All of y'all motherfuckers need NordicTrack\n  to get ya weight up, fucking with Canibus you get ate up\n  Beat down and sprayed up, just for bringing my name up\n  Been rocking longer than niggas twice my age\n  Back in the days before Bob Marley was rocking a fade\n  Before Honest Abe signed the paper that freed slaves\n  Before Neanderthals was drawing on walls in caves\n  I existed, in the Garden of Eden and getting lifted\n  Sticking dick to Eve before she was Adam's mistress\n  Before Christ created Christmas, I been in lyrical fitness\n  The Canibus is spitting 'til he's spitless\n  50 bars of total sickness, you won't forget this\n  I'm putting every wack emcee alive on my shit list\n  Verbally vicious, telekinetically gifted\n  Took you a minute, to exhibit that I'm sick wit it\n  Now you tell me who you think is damaging shit\n  Going once, going twice, sold! to that nigga named Canibus\n  Me and Mr.Cheeks, A+, and Funk Doctor\n  hopping out the Huey helicopter to suey chop ya\n\n  Group Home and Def Squad\n  9-7 nigga\n"},{"id":21408053,"name":"Beasts From The East Feat. A+, Canibus, Redman","trackName":"Beasts From The East Feat. A+, Canibus, Redman","artistName":"Lost Boyz","albumName":"Love, Peace & Nappiness","duration":334.053878,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"The forecast: showers heavy at times with occasional thunderstorms today, and a high of 89 degrees. Partial clearing tonight with a low of 74.\n\n(Word up. The cop said to me, \"Yo kid! Damn!\")\n\nYo, we come through like Bulls, see niggas takin two pulls and pass\nNigga, watch your back once you talk out your ass\nI pack a .380 in my stash for protection\nFamily deranged, the world is acting crazed\nI never thought I'd make it, it was hectic when I scrambled\nOn point like a knife I'm takin life as a gamble\nLivin in the rotten apple, ayo where every core is rotten\nAll my niggas rest in peace you see you gone but not forgotten\nNow my main wifey, dead as shady chicks\nOfficial Lost Boy since the year of '86\nAnd fuck these crooked niggas I could kill 'em with the passion\nAt times I feel like slashing in Jamaica Queens fashion\nYou think, you can fuck around, but kid you just thinking\nIt's over when I'm sober, imagine when I'm drinking\nWithout blinking man, I'll tear your crew like pages\nI'll rip you from the backyards, puff chants in stages\n\nA+ the lyrically superb one\nSpittin rhymes off the top of the tongue to burn ya ear drum\nRotten shit, make the opposite team call a time out\nKnockin niggas three time my size out\nThe crowd loves me, so when I ain't around they ask for me\nI buckle up and catch wreck like a crash dummy\nFor the fast money, I get up in that ass money\nThe fact you tryin' to test me kinda bugs me\nI leave crews fed up, like handicap niggas tryna get up\nEmcees get wet up with lyrical gun pellets\nI blow up the spot when it's time to rock\nI speak out my voice box'll peak out at a hundred watts\nWho wanna cipha? I get dumb\nWord to my mother, the Father, the Holy Ghost and Rev. Run\nWhen it's all said and done, I end the service\nGet cocked in the type ofs average emcees worship\n\nYo yo yo, yo big dog turn the track up\n(Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get peeled)\nYo fake emcees step to the rear\nReal emcees bring this shit up north\n(Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get.)\nMy style is Milk of Magnesia, clutch defies speeding bus\nThe more the merrier, secure the area\nMy life familiar, is ultimate superior\nWe don't jack cars, we jack for aircraft carriers\nI bounce like trampolines, when I be blowing the fiends to pieces\nHem 'em like sewing machines and Jesus\nWhen the shadows of the barrel pointing out my boy Camaro\nI get punished like pharaoh for splittin'\nYou better off singing Christmas carols for Christmas\nbecause I'm on point like bow and arrow, equipment\nThe president of chicken head conventions\nI give you a deluxe Ku Klux lynchin'\nI got a headache from the, stress success not wearing a vest\n5-11 for being dirty, quartz at 9: 30\nYo, Mr.Cheeks, I made this bitch call police\nShe tried swallowing the nine piece\nbut got a warranty on false teeth\nI return like Makaveli on 18 inch Pirellis\nAssault and battery like my palms is Eveready\nSharp as machetes\nMatter of fact I slap from cognac and keep the beef heavy\n\nThe Canibus brings the sickest drama\nFierce enough to pierce the thickest armor\nI smack bitches for tryin to suck dick through a condom\nPlaying with the mic is something I won't do\nMy only concern when I approach you, is to roast you\nI smoke you and whoever you standing close to\nand make every man in your crew deny that he knows you\nDefeating, niggas like Segal Steven\nPutting emcees in, positions to prevent 'em from breathing\nI'll make you question any and everything you've ever believed in\nby peeping your deepest secrets like psychic readers\nWhat's the matter with y'all, I splatter y'all\nagainst the motherfucking wall with these raw lyrics I catapult\nNone of y'all got the balls big enough to battle\nI go On & On like Erykah Badu\nA hundred times nicer than the best there's\nTwice as African as KRS is, who wanna test this?\nFuck y'all you don't impress me and no one can test me\nA emcee so ill, I got AIDS scared to catch me\nAll that shit you popping'll stop, when I put you in a headlock\nand apply pressure 'til I crush your motherfucking noggin\nI grab mics and push niggas to the left\nso fast they hearts end up on the right sides of your chests\nMy hypothesis, is that nobody can see this\nlyrical genius, I got it sewn like a seamstress\nBut if you want to battle, I'm down\nIf you got nine lives, I'll take eight of them off your hands right now\nStep up and get your neck cut from ear to ear\nIf you survive, then you can cover your scar with a beard\nI'm the illest from Queens to the New Jerusalem Briddicks\nAnyone who ain't feeling my shidick can suck my didick\nYou need to quit it, if you ain't spitting\nmore than 50 bars per minute cause you ain't in lyrical fitness\nKicking boring raps with metaphors that's wack\nAll of y'all motherfuckers need NordicTrack\nto get ya weight up, fucking with Canibus you get ate up\nBeat down and sprayed up, just for bringing my name up\nBeen rocking longer than niggas twice my age\nBack in the days before Bob Marley was rocking a fade\nBefore Honest Abe signed the paper that freed slaves\nBefore Neanderthals was drawing on walls in caves\nI existed, in the Garden of Eden and getting lifted\nSticking dick to Eve before she was Adam's mistress\nBefore Christ created Christmas, I been in lyrical fitness\nThe Canibus is spitting 'til he's spitless\n50 bars of total sickness, you won't forget this\nI'm putting every wack emcee alive on my shit list\nVerbally vicious, telekinetically gifted\nTook you a minute, to exhibit that I'm sick wit it\nNow you tell me who you think is damaging shit\nGoing once, going twice, sold! to that nigga named Canibus\nMe and Mr.Cheeks, A+, and Funk Doctor\nhopping out the Huey helicopter to suey chop ya\n\nGroup Home and Def Squad\n9-7 nigga","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Beasts From The East Feat. A+, Canibus, Redman\n  artist: Lost Boyz\n  album: Love, Peace & Nappiness\n  duration_ms: 334054\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  The forecast: showers heavy at times with occasional thunderstorms today, and a high of 89 degrees. Partial clearing tonight with a low of 74.\n\n  (Word up. The cop said to me, \"Yo kid! Damn!\")\n\n  Yo, we come through like Bulls, see niggas takin two pulls and pass\n  Nigga, watch your back once you talk out your ass\n  I pack a .380 in my stash for protection\n  Family deranged, the world is acting crazed\n  I never thought I'd make it, it was hectic when I scrambled\n  On point like a knife I'm takin life as a gamble\n  Livin in the rotten apple, ayo where every core is rotten\n  All my niggas rest in peace you see you gone but not forgotten\n  Now my main wifey, dead as shady chicks\n  Official Lost Boy since the year of '86\n  And fuck these crooked niggas I could kill 'em with the passion\n  At times I feel like slashing in Jamaica Queens fashion\n  You think, you can fuck around, but kid you just thinking\n  It's over when I'm sober, imagine when I'm drinking\n  Without blinking man, I'll tear your crew like pages\n  I'll rip you from the backyards, puff chants in stages\n\n  A+ the lyrically superb one\n  Spittin rhymes off the top of the tongue to burn ya ear drum\n  Rotten shit, make the opposite team call a time out\n  Knockin niggas three time my size out\n  The crowd loves me, so when I ain't around they ask for me\n  I buckle up and catch wreck like a crash dummy\n  For the fast money, I get up in that ass money\n  The fact you tryin' to test me kinda bugs me\n  I leave crews fed up, like handicap niggas tryna get up\n  Emcees get wet up with lyrical gun pellets\n  I blow up the spot when it's time to rock\n  I speak out my voice box'll peak out at a hundred watts\n  Who wanna cipha? I get dumb\n  Word to my mother, the Father, the Holy Ghost and Rev. Run\n  When it's all said and done, I end the service\n  Get cocked in the type ofs average emcees worship\n\n  Yo yo yo, yo big dog turn the track up\n  (Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get peeled)\n  Yo fake emcees step to the rear\n  Real emcees bring this shit up north\n  (Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get.)\n  My style is Milk of Magnesia, clutch defies speeding bus\n  The more the merrier, secure the area\n  My life familiar, is ultimate superior\n  We don't jack cars, we jack for aircraft carriers\n  I bounce like trampolines, when I be blowing the fiends to pieces\n  Hem 'em like sewing machines and Jesus\n  When the shadows of the barrel pointing out my boy Camaro\n  I get punished like pharaoh for splittin'\n  You better off singing Christmas carols for Christmas\n  because I'm on point like bow and arrow, equipment\n  The president of chicken head conventions\n  I give you a deluxe Ku Klux lynchin'\n  I got a headache from the, stress success not wearing a vest\n  5-11 for being dirty, quartz at 9: 30\n  Yo, Mr.Cheeks, I made this bitch call police\n  She tried swallowing the nine piece\n  but got a warranty on false teeth\n  I return like Makaveli on 18 inch Pirellis\n  Assault and battery like my palms is Eveready\n  Sharp as machetes\n  Matter of fact I slap from cognac and keep the beef heavy\n\n  The Canibus brings the sickest drama\n  Fierce enough to pierce the thickest armor\n  I smack bitches for tryin to suck dick through a condom\n  Playing with the mic is something I won't do\n  My only concern when I approach you, is to roast you\n  I smoke you and whoever you standing close to\n  and make every man in your crew deny that he knows you\n  Defeating, niggas like Segal Steven\n  Putting emcees in, positions to prevent 'em from breathing\n  I'll make you question any and everything you've ever believed in\n  by peeping your deepest secrets like psychic readers\n  What's the matter with y'all, I splatter y'all\n  against the motherfucking wall with these raw lyrics I catapult\n  None of y'all got the balls big enough to battle\n  I go On & On like Erykah Badu\n  A hundred times nicer than the best there's\n  Twice as African as KRS is, who wanna test this?\n  Fuck y'all you don't impress me and no one can test me\n  A emcee so ill, I got AIDS scared to catch me\n  All that shit you popping'll stop, when I put you in a headlock\n  and apply pressure 'til I crush your motherfucking noggin\n  I grab mics and push niggas to the left\n  so fast they hearts end up on the right sides of your chests\n  My hypothesis, is that nobody can see this\n  lyrical genius, I got it sewn like a seamstress\n  But if you want to battle, I'm down\n  If you got nine lives, I'll take eight of them off your hands right now\n  Step up and get your neck cut from ear to ear\n  If you survive, then you can cover your scar with a beard\n  I'm the illest from Queens to the New Jerusalem Briddicks\n  Anyone who ain't feeling my shidick can suck my didick\n  You need to quit it, if you ain't spitting\n  more than 50 bars per minute cause you ain't in lyrical fitness\n  Kicking boring raps with metaphors that's wack\n  All of y'all motherfuckers need NordicTrack\n  to get ya weight up, fucking with Canibus you get ate up\n  Beat down and sprayed up, just for bringing my name up\n  Been rocking longer than niggas twice my age\n  Back in the days before Bob Marley was rocking a fade\n  Before Honest Abe signed the paper that freed slaves\n  Before Neanderthals was drawing on walls in caves\n  I existed, in the Garden of Eden and getting lifted\n  Sticking dick to Eve before she was Adam's mistress\n  Before Christ created Christmas, I been in lyrical fitness\n  The Canibus is spitting 'til he's spitless\n  50 bars of total sickness, you won't forget this\n  I'm putting every wack emcee alive on my shit list\n  Verbally vicious, telekinetically gifted\n  Took you a minute, to exhibit that I'm sick wit it\n  Now you tell me who you think is damaging shit\n  Going once, going twice, sold! to that nigga named Canibus\n  Me and Mr.Cheeks, A+, and Funk Doctor\n  hopping out the Huey helicopter to suey chop ya\n\n  Group Home and Def Squad\n  9-7 nigga\n"},{"id":29049634,"name":"04 - Beasts From The East (Ft. A+, Canibus, And Redman)","trackName":"04 - Beasts From The East (Ft. A+, Canibus, And Redman)","artistName":"Lost Boyz","albumName":"Love Peace And Napiness","duration":334.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"The forecast: showers heavy at times with occasional thunderstorms today, and a high of 89 degrees. Partial clearing tonight with a low of 74.\n\n(Word up. The cop said to me, \"Yo kid! Damn!\")\n\nYo, we come through like Bulls, see niggas takin two pulls and pass\nNigga, watch your back once you talk out your ass\nI pack a .380 in my stash for protection\nFamily deranged, the world is acting crazed\nI never thought I'd make it, it was hectic when I scrambled\nOn point like a knife I'm takin life as a gamble\nLivin in the rotten apple, ayo where every core is rotten\nAll my niggas rest in peace you see you gone but not forgotten\nNow my main wifey, dead as shady chicks\nOfficial Lost Boy since the year of '86\nAnd fuck these crooked niggas I could kill 'em with the passion\nAt times I feel like slashing in Jamaica Queens fashion\nYou think, you can fuck around, but kid you just thinking\nIt's over when I'm sober, imagine when I'm drinking\nWithout blinking man, I'll tear your crew like pages\nI'll rip you from the backyards, puff chants in stages\n\nA+ the lyrically superb one\nSpittin rhymes off the top of the tongue to burn ya ear drum\nRotten shit, make the opposite team call a time out\nKnockin niggas three time my size out\nThe crowd loves me, so when I ain't around they ask for me\nI buckle up and catch wreck like a crash dummy\nFor the fast money, I get up in that ass money\nThe fact you tryin' to test me kinda bugs me\nI leave crews fed up, like handicap niggas tryna get up\nEmcees get wet up with lyrical gun pellets\nI blow up the spot when it's time to rock\nI speak out my voice box'll peak out at a hundred watts\nWho wanna cipha? I get dumb\nWord to my mother, the Father, the Holy Ghost and Rev. Run\nWhen it's all said and done, I end the service\nGet cocked in the type ofs average emcees worship\n\nYo yo yo, yo big dog turn the track up\n(Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get peeled)\nYo fake emcees step to the rear\nReal emcees bring this shit up north\n(Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get.)\nMy style is Milk of Magnesia, clutch defies speeding bus\nThe more the merrier, secure the area\nMy life familiar, is ultimate superior\nWe don't jack cars, we jack for aircraft carriers\nI bounce like trampolines, when I be blowing the fiends to pieces\nHem 'em like sewing machines and Jesus\nWhen the shadows of the barrel pointing out my boy Camaro\nI get punished like pharaoh for splittin'\nYou better off singing Christmas carols for Christmas\nbecause I'm on point like bow and arrow, equipment\nThe president of chicken head conventions\nI give you a deluxe Ku Klux lynchin'\nI got a headache from the, stress success not wearing a vest\n5-11 for being dirty, quartz at 9: 30\nYo, Mr.Cheeks, I made this bitch call police\nShe tried swallowing the nine piece\nbut got a warranty on false teeth\nI return like Makaveli on 18 inch Pirellis\nAssault and battery like my palms is Eveready\nSharp as machetes\nMatter of fact I slap from cognac and keep the beef heavy\n\nThe Canibus brings the sickest drama\nFierce enough to pierce the thickest armor\nI smack bitches for tryin to suck dick through a condom\nPlaying with the mic is something I won't do\nMy only concern when I approach you, is to roast you\nI smoke you and whoever you standing close to\nand make every man in your crew deny that he knows you\nDefeating, niggas like Segal Steven\nPutting emcees in, positions to prevent 'em from breathing\nI'll make you question any and everything you've ever believed in\nby peeping your deepest secrets like psychic readers\nWhat's the matter with y'all, I splatter y'all\nagainst the motherfucking wall with these raw lyrics I catapult\nNone of y'all got the balls big enough to battle\nI go On & On like Erykah Badu\nA hundred times nicer than the best there's\nTwice as African as KRS is, who wanna test this?\nFuck y'all you don't impress me and no one can test me\nA emcee so ill, I got AIDS scared to catch me\nAll that shit you popping'll stop, when I put you in a headlock\nand apply pressure 'til I crush your motherfucking noggin\nI grab mics and push niggas to the left\nso fast they hearts end up on the right sides of your chests\nMy hypothesis, is that nobody can see this\nlyrical genius, I got it sewn like a seamstress\nBut if you want to battle, I'm down\nIf you got nine lives, I'll take eight of them off your hands right now\nStep up and get your neck cut from ear to ear\nIf you survive, then you can cover your scar with a beard\nI'm the illest from Queens to the New Jerusalem Briddicks\nAnyone who ain't feeling my shidick can suck my didick\nYou need to quit it, if you ain't spitting\nmore than 50 bars per minute cause you ain't in lyrical fitness\nKicking boring raps with metaphors that's wack\nAll of y'all motherfuckers need NordicTrack\nto get ya weight up, fucking with Canibus you get ate up\nBeat down and sprayed up, just for bringing my name up\nBeen rocking longer than niggas twice my age\nBack in the days before Bob Marley was rocking a fade\nBefore Honest Abe signed the paper that freed slaves\nBefore Neanderthals was drawing on walls in caves\nI existed, in the Garden of Eden and getting lifted\nSticking dick to Eve before she was Adam's mistress\nBefore Christ created Christmas, I been in lyrical fitness\nThe Canibus is spitting 'til he's spitless\n50 bars of total sickness, you won't forget this\nI'm putting every wack emcee alive on my shit list\nVerbally vicious, telekinetically gifted\nTook you a minute, to exhibit that I'm sick wit it\nNow you tell me who you think is damaging shit\nGoing once, going twice, sold! to that nigga named Canibus\nMe and Mr.Cheeks, A+, and Funk Doctor\nhopping out the Huey helicopter to suey chop ya\n\nGroup Home and Def Squad\n9-7 nigga","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: 04 - Beasts From The East (Ft. A+, Canibus, And Redman)\n  artist: Lost Boyz\n  album: Love Peace And Napiness\n  duration_ms: 334000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  The forecast: showers heavy at times with occasional thunderstorms today, and a high of 89 degrees. Partial clearing tonight with a low of 74.\n\n  (Word up. The cop said to me, \"Yo kid! Damn!\")\n\n  Yo, we come through like Bulls, see niggas takin two pulls and pass\n  Nigga, watch your back once you talk out your ass\n  I pack a .380 in my stash for protection\n  Family deranged, the world is acting crazed\n  I never thought I'd make it, it was hectic when I scrambled\n  On point like a knife I'm takin life as a gamble\n  Livin in the rotten apple, ayo where every core is rotten\n  All my niggas rest in peace you see you gone but not forgotten\n  Now my main wifey, dead as shady chicks\n  Official Lost Boy since the year of '86\n  And fuck these crooked niggas I could kill 'em with the passion\n  At times I feel like slashing in Jamaica Queens fashion\n  You think, you can fuck around, but kid you just thinking\n  It's over when I'm sober, imagine when I'm drinking\n  Without blinking man, I'll tear your crew like pages\n  I'll rip you from the backyards, puff chants in stages\n\n  A+ the lyrically superb one\n  Spittin rhymes off the top of the tongue to burn ya ear drum\n  Rotten shit, make the opposite team call a time out\n  Knockin niggas three time my size out\n  The crowd loves me, so when I ain't around they ask for me\n  I buckle up and catch wreck like a crash dummy\n  For the fast money, I get up in that ass money\n  The fact you tryin' to test me kinda bugs me\n  I leave crews fed up, like handicap niggas tryna get up\n  Emcees get wet up with lyrical gun pellets\n  I blow up the spot when it's time to rock\n  I speak out my voice box'll peak out at a hundred watts\n  Who wanna cipha? I get dumb\n  Word to my mother, the Father, the Holy Ghost and Rev. Run\n  When it's all said and done, I end the service\n  Get cocked in the type ofs average emcees worship\n\n  Yo yo yo, yo big dog turn the track up\n  (Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get peeled)\n  Yo fake emcees step to the rear\n  Real emcees bring this shit up north\n  (Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get.)\n  My style is Milk of Magnesia, clutch defies speeding bus\n  The more the merrier, secure the area\n  My life familiar, is ultimate superior\n  We don't jack cars, we jack for aircraft carriers\n  I bounce like trampolines, when I be blowing the fiends to pieces\n  Hem 'em like sewing machines and Jesus\n  When the shadows of the barrel pointing out my boy Camaro\n  I get punished like pharaoh for splittin'\n  You better off singing Christmas carols for Christmas\n  because I'm on point like bow and arrow, equipment\n  The president of chicken head conventions\n  I give you a deluxe Ku Klux lynchin'\n  I got a headache from the, stress success not wearing a vest\n  5-11 for being dirty, quartz at 9: 30\n  Yo, Mr.Cheeks, I made this bitch call police\n  She tried swallowing the nine piece\n  but got a warranty on false teeth\n  I return like Makaveli on 18 inch Pirellis\n  Assault and battery like my palms is Eveready\n  Sharp as machetes\n  Matter of fact I slap from cognac and keep the beef heavy\n\n  The Canibus brings the sickest drama\n  Fierce enough to pierce the thickest armor\n  I smack bitches for tryin to suck dick through a condom\n  Playing with the mic is something I won't do\n  My only concern when I approach you, is to roast you\n  I smoke you and whoever you standing close to\n  and make every man in your crew deny that he knows you\n  Defeating, niggas like Segal Steven\n  Putting emcees in, positions to prevent 'em from breathing\n  I'll make you question any and everything you've ever believed in\n  by peeping your deepest secrets like psychic readers\n  What's the matter with y'all, I splatter y'all\n  against the motherfucking wall with these raw lyrics I catapult\n  None of y'all got the balls big enough to battle\n  I go On & On like Erykah Badu\n  A hundred times nicer than the best there's\n  Twice as African as KRS is, who wanna test this?\n  Fuck y'all you don't impress me and no one can test me\n  A emcee so ill, I got AIDS scared to catch me\n  All that shit you popping'll stop, when I put you in a headlock\n  and apply pressure 'til I crush your motherfucking noggin\n  I grab mics and push niggas to the left\n  so fast they hearts end up on the right sides of your chests\n  My hypothesis, is that nobody can see this\n  lyrical genius, I got it sewn like a seamstress\n  But if you want to battle, I'm down\n  If you got nine lives, I'll take eight of them off your hands right now\n  Step up and get your neck cut from ear to ear\n  If you survive, then you can cover your scar with a beard\n  I'm the illest from Queens to the New Jerusalem Briddicks\n  Anyone who ain't feeling my shidick can suck my didick\n  You need to quit it, if you ain't spitting\n  more than 50 bars per minute cause you ain't in lyrical fitness\n  Kicking boring raps with metaphors that's wack\n  All of y'all motherfuckers need NordicTrack\n  to get ya weight up, fucking with Canibus you get ate up\n  Beat down and sprayed up, just for bringing my name up\n  Been rocking longer than niggas twice my age\n  Back in the days before Bob Marley was rocking a fade\n  Before Honest Abe signed the paper that freed slaves\n  Before Neanderthals was drawing on walls in caves\n  I existed, in the Garden of Eden and getting lifted\n  Sticking dick to Eve before she was Adam's mistress\n  Before Christ created Christmas, I been in lyrical fitness\n  The Canibus is spitting 'til he's spitless\n  50 bars of total sickness, you won't forget this\n  I'm putting every wack emcee alive on my shit list\n  Verbally vicious, telekinetically gifted\n  Took you a minute, to exhibit that I'm sick wit it\n  Now you tell me who you think is damaging shit\n  Going once, going twice, sold! to that nigga named Canibus\n  Me and Mr.Cheeks, A+, and Funk Doctor\n  hopping out the Huey helicopter to suey chop ya\n\n  Group Home and Def Squad\n  9-7 nigga\n"}]