[{"id":2569345,"name":"The Worst","trackName":"The Worst","artistName":"Onyx","albumName":"Shut 'Em Down","duration":641.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Follow my footsteps, used to ante up for a nickel sack\nFrom Vange Hill to Moon, you touch me, I got to get you back\nRoll on the stolen V's with he-ho chase you\nCop a six more time, and 3 years probation\nWe be offender, bender, no retreat, no surrender\nI'm the number one contender\nI got a new game plan, strictly sportin name brand\nLayin in the pound hunted, footin through your town blunted\nOn some shit that get you burnt throats\nAmputated all the turn coats, and get cremated\nNever been B-rated, my 5 plated, is how I get fights\nI have your family driving in the daytime wit they head lights\nI'm daily thinkin of a life gleamin\nThat life we in, how to obtain, and what's the meanin\nThe fact that cash rules, these last days\nWe the last crews, my present wars and my past rules\nTrue soldier, no matter the goal\nWe gettin closer, for bitch ass niggas, it's just about over\nI'm in it for the long haul, this goes out\nTo all my true livin dogs and my SOHO\nDon't talk about it, make it happ'\nDon't fake it chap\nThe hennecy act, got you light gat\nYou wanna block, try to hold nine\nSon you livin on my time, don't try to Overshine\nPlay your p, play your position\nI stay with G, stay on a mission\nPrecisely, good, wit game, I'm nicely\nShifftee son, still shiesty\nYou in your eight fifty, ridin shotgun\nIf you can count your money, you ain't got none\nAnd bitches beat they game tight\nBaby, get the name right, see G. comin, like a train light\nAnd niggas be don pretending\nBut I'm armed and bendin, so they can get the John Lennon\nHundred dollar gator players\nSilk shirts and champagne, don't know a thing about the damn game\nI'm daily thinkin of a life gleamin\nThat life we in, how to obtain, and what's the meanin\nThe fact that cash rules, these last days\nWe the last crews, my present wars and my past rules\nTrue soldier, no matter the goal\nWe gettin closer, for bitch ass niggas, it's just about over\nI'm in it for the long haul, this goes out\nTo all my true livin dogs and my SOHO\nMy artistic creation, or decoration will set the nation\nWith AlphaStation of lyric lacin, for all occasions\nEngagements and events, for big dollars and cents\nMakin niggas past tense, it's consequence\nAll I see around me, makes up the place\nBut if you don't hold down your space, you quickly get erased\nDon't waste, a thought, thinkin\nI ain't gon' be bringin the guns that grants hole\nTo my body, dead and stinkin\nWatch as I back draft, on the last glass, and trap crash\nCatch the hash blast, when I puff the black wrath\nLearn the tricks of the trade, to be self made\nThose who slept, stay where they started and got played\nI'm daily thinkin of a life gleamin\nThat life we in, how to obtain, and what's the meanin\nThe fact that cash rules, these last days\nWe the last crews, my present wars and my past rules\nTrue soldier, no matter the goal\nWe gettin closer, for bitch ass niggas, it's just about over\nI'm in it for the long haul, this goes out\nTo all my true livin dogs and my SOHO","syncedLyrics":"[00:01.72] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[00:04.53] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[00:10.08] Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n[00:13.65] Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n[00:15.44] Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n[00:18.10] Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n[00:20.89] Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n[00:23.62] You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n[00:26.38] Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n[00:29.95] This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n[00:31.72] My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n[00:34.41] Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n[00:37.22] Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n[00:40.89] Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n[00:43.57] My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n[00:45.35] You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n[00:48.04] Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n[00:50.81] That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n[00:53.55] Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n[00:56.20] The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n[00:58.98] Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n[01:01.66] You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n[01:04.48] X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n[01:07.14] 'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\n[01:10.78] Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n[01:12.52] X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n[01:15.35] Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n[01:18.06] Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n[01:20.71] I draws the heat from across the street\n[01:22.55] Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n[01:26.25] Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n[01:28.93] Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n[01:31.68] Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n[01:34.34] On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n[01:37.09] Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n[01:39.72] I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n[01:42.54] Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n[01:46.18] X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n[01:48.85] Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n[01:51.53] Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n[01:54.23] Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n[01:57.08] Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n[01:59.75] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:02.45] (Fucking)\n[02:04.27] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:05.12] (Fucking)\n[02:06.01] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:07.81] (Fucking)\n[02:08.74] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[02:09.66] Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n[02:13.32] And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n[02:15.13] Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n[02:18.73] Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n[02:21.42] Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n[02:24.18] Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n[02:26.02] Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n[02:28.74] Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n[02:31.44] Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n[02:35.08] Pull fast for your stash\n[02:36.86] Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n[02:39.69] Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n[02:43.24] Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n[02:45.99] Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n[02:48.67] My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n[02:50.58] Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n[02:53.28] This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n[02:55.90] We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n[02:59.53] Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n[03:02.27] All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n[03:05.06] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:06.86] (Fucking)\n[03:07.71] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:09.54] (Fucking)\n[03:10.42] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:12.27] (Fucking)\n[03:13.11] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[03:14.95] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:17.68] (Fucking)\n[03:18.53] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:21.39] (Fucking)\n[03:22.25] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:23.16] (Fucking)\n[03:24.01] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[03:26.78] Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n[03:29.47] It's John John\n[03:30.39] Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n[03:32.11] I got your back cousin\n[03:33.10] I got the mack-dozen\n[03:34.02] And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n[03:35.89] 'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\n[03:39.46] Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n[03:42.12] Dead on arrival\n[03:43.93] We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n[03:45.85] Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n[03:48.50] Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n[03:51.21] Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n[03:53.94] Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n[03:57.50] Caught in the zone, home on the range\n[03:59.44] Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n[04:01.22] We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n[04:03.97] Eight ball in the corner pocket\n[04:05.71] We snatch wallets off the white collared\n[04:08.53] The Big Apple forever rotted\n[04:10.32] Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n[04:12.13] So what the bumba claat?\n[04:13.91] Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n[04:15.74] To shark niggaz, once bitten\n[04:17.58] Major swingers heavy hittin'\n[04:19.30] Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n[04:21.28] Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n[04:23.98] The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n[04:26.65] Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n[04:29.34] Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n[04:31.19] I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n[04:34.84] Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n[04:37.51] Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n[04:40.30] And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n[04:42.95] I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n[04:45.72] Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n[04:47.52] And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n[04:50.24] You ain't no thug!\n[04:51.18] I earned every God damn penny that I got\n[04:53.84] Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n[04:55.68] I wish a nigga would what?\n[04:58.44] Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n[04:59.34] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:06.59] (Fucking)\n[05:07.50] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:10.15] (Fucking)\n[05:11.14] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:12.91] (Fucking)\n[05:13.83] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[05:15.66] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[05:18.35] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[05:26.56] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: The Worst\n  artist: Onyx\n  album: Shut 'Em Down\n  duration_ms: 641000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 1720\n  end_ms: 4530\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 4530\n  end_ms: 10080\n- text: Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n  start_ms: 10080\n  end_ms: 13650\n- text: Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n  start_ms: 13650\n  end_ms: 15440\n- text: Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n  start_ms: 15440\n  end_ms: 18100\n- text: Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n  start_ms: 18100\n  end_ms: 20890\n- text: Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n  start_ms: 20890\n  end_ms: 23620\n- text: You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n  start_ms: 23620\n  end_ms: 26380\n- text: Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n  start_ms: 26380\n  end_ms: 29950\n- text: This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n  start_ms: 29950\n  end_ms: 31720\n- text: My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n  start_ms: 31720\n  end_ms: 34410\n- text: Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n  start_ms: 34410\n  end_ms: 37220\n- text: Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n  start_ms: 37220\n  end_ms: 40890\n- text: Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n  start_ms: 40890\n  end_ms: 43570\n- text: My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n  start_ms: 43570\n  end_ms: 45350\n- text: You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n  start_ms: 45350\n  end_ms: 48040\n- text: Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n  start_ms: 48040\n  end_ms: 50810\n- text: That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n  start_ms: 50810\n  end_ms: 53550\n- text: Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n  start_ms: 53550\n  end_ms: 56200\n- text: The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n  start_ms: 56200\n  end_ms: 58980\n- text: Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n  start_ms: 58980\n  end_ms: 61660\n- text: You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n  start_ms: 61660\n  end_ms: 64480\n- text: X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n  start_ms: 64480\n  end_ms: 67140\n- text: '''Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin'' scraps out the garbage'\n  start_ms: 67140\n  end_ms: 70780\n- text: Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n  start_ms: 70780\n  end_ms: 72520\n- text: X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n  start_ms: 72520\n  end_ms: 75350\n- text: Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n  start_ms: 75350\n  end_ms: 78060\n- text: Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n  start_ms: 78060\n  end_ms: 80710\n- text: I draws the heat from across the street\n  start_ms: 80710\n  end_ms: 82550\n- text: Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n  start_ms: 82550\n  end_ms: 86250\n- text: Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n  start_ms: 86250\n  end_ms: 88930\n- text: Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n  start_ms: 88930\n  end_ms: 91680\n- text: Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n  start_ms: 91680\n  end_ms: 94340\n- text: On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n  start_ms: 94340\n  end_ms: 97090\n- text: Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n  start_ms: 97090\n  end_ms: 99720\n- text: I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n  start_ms: 99720\n  end_ms: 102540\n- text: Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n  start_ms: 102540\n  end_ms: 106180\n- text: X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n  start_ms: 106180\n  end_ms: 108850\n- text: Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n  start_ms: 108850\n  end_ms: 111530\n- text: Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n  start_ms: 111530\n  end_ms: 114230\n- text: Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n  start_ms: 114230\n  end_ms: 117080\n- text: Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n  start_ms: 117080\n  end_ms: 119750\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 119750\n  end_ms: 122450\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 122450\n  end_ms: 124270\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 124270\n  end_ms: 125120\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 125120\n  end_ms: 126010\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 126010\n  end_ms: 127810\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 127810\n  end_ms: 128740\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 128740\n  end_ms: 129660\n- text: Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n  start_ms: 129660\n  end_ms: 133320\n- text: And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n  start_ms: 133320\n  end_ms: 135130\n- text: Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n  start_ms: 135130\n  end_ms: 138730\n- text: Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n  start_ms: 138730\n  end_ms: 141420\n- text: Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n  start_ms: 141420\n  end_ms: 144180\n- text: Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n  start_ms: 144180\n  end_ms: 146020\n- text: Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n  start_ms: 146020\n  end_ms: 148740\n- text: Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n  start_ms: 148740\n  end_ms: 151440\n- text: Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n  start_ms: 151440\n  end_ms: 155080\n- text: Pull fast for your stash\n  start_ms: 155080\n  end_ms: 156860\n- text: Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n  start_ms: 156860\n  end_ms: 159690\n- text: Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n  start_ms: 159690\n  end_ms: 163240\n- text: Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n  start_ms: 163240\n  end_ms: 165990\n- text: Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n  start_ms: 165990\n  end_ms: 168670\n- text: My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n  start_ms: 168670\n  end_ms: 170580\n- text: Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n  start_ms: 170580\n  end_ms: 173280\n- text: This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n  start_ms: 173280\n  end_ms: 175900\n- text: We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n  start_ms: 175900\n  end_ms: 179530\n- text: Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n  start_ms: 179530\n  end_ms: 182270\n- text: All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n  start_ms: 182270\n  end_ms: 185060\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 185060\n  end_ms: 186860\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 186860\n  end_ms: 187710\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 187710\n  end_ms: 189540\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 189540\n  end_ms: 190420\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 190420\n  end_ms: 192270\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 192270\n  end_ms: 193110\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 193110\n  end_ms: 194950\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 194950\n  end_ms: 197680\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 197680\n  end_ms: 198530\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 198530\n  end_ms: 201390\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 201390\n  end_ms: 202250\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 202250\n  end_ms: 203160\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 203160\n  end_ms: 204010\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 204010\n  end_ms: 206780\n- text: Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n  start_ms: 206780\n  end_ms: 209470\n- text: It's John John\n  start_ms: 209470\n  end_ms: 210390\n- text: Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n  start_ms: 210390\n  end_ms: 212110\n- text: I got your back cousin\n  start_ms: 212110\n  end_ms: 213100\n- text: I got the mack-dozen\n  start_ms: 213100\n  end_ms: 214020\n- text: And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n  start_ms: 214020\n  end_ms: 215890\n- text: '''Cause it''s a new year, time for some new shit'\n  start_ms: 215890\n  end_ms: 219460\n- text: Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n  start_ms: 219460\n  end_ms: 222120\n- text: Dead on arrival\n  start_ms: 222120\n  end_ms: 223930\n- text: We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n  start_ms: 223930\n  end_ms: 225850\n- text: Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n  start_ms: 225850\n  end_ms: 228500\n- text: Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n  start_ms: 228500\n  end_ms: 231210\n- text: Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n  start_ms: 231210\n  end_ms: 233940\n- text: Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n  start_ms: 233940\n  end_ms: 237500\n- text: Caught in the zone, home on the range\n  start_ms: 237500\n  end_ms: 239440\n- text: Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n  start_ms: 239440\n  end_ms: 241220\n- text: We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n  start_ms: 241220\n  end_ms: 243970\n- text: Eight ball in the corner pocket\n  start_ms: 243970\n  end_ms: 245710\n- text: We snatch wallets off the white collared\n  start_ms: 245710\n  end_ms: 248530\n- text: The Big Apple forever rotted\n  start_ms: 248530\n  end_ms: 250320\n- text: Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n  start_ms: 250320\n  end_ms: 252130\n- text: So what the bumba claat?\n  start_ms: 252130\n  end_ms: 253910\n- text: Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n  start_ms: 253910\n  end_ms: 255740\n- text: To shark niggaz, once bitten\n  start_ms: 255740\n  end_ms: 257580\n- text: Major swingers heavy hittin'\n  start_ms: 257580\n  end_ms: 259300\n- text: Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n  start_ms: 259300\n  end_ms: 261280\n- text: Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n  start_ms: 261280\n  end_ms: 263980\n- text: The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n  start_ms: 263980\n  end_ms: 266650\n- text: Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 266650\n  end_ms: 269340\n- text: Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n  start_ms: 269340\n  end_ms: 271190\n- text: I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n  start_ms: 271190\n  end_ms: 274840\n- text: Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n  start_ms: 274840\n  end_ms: 277510\n- text: Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n  start_ms: 277510\n  end_ms: 280300\n- text: And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n  start_ms: 280300\n  end_ms: 282950\n- text: I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n  start_ms: 282950\n  end_ms: 285720\n- text: Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n  start_ms: 285720\n  end_ms: 287520\n- text: And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n  start_ms: 287520\n  end_ms: 290240\n- text: You ain't no thug!\n  start_ms: 290240\n  end_ms: 291180\n- text: I earned every God damn penny that I got\n  start_ms: 291180\n  end_ms: 293840\n- text: Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n  start_ms: 293840\n  end_ms: 295680\n- text: I wish a nigga would what?\n  start_ms: 295680\n  end_ms: 298440\n- text: Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n  start_ms: 298440\n  end_ms: 299340\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 299340\n  end_ms: 306590\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 306590\n  end_ms: 307500\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 307500\n  end_ms: 310150\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 310150\n  end_ms: 311140\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 311140\n  end_ms: 312910\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 312910\n  end_ms: 313830\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 313830\n  end_ms: 315660\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 315660\n  end_ms: 318350\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 318350\n  end_ms: 326560\nplain: |-\n  Follow my footsteps, used to ante up for a nickel sack\n  From Vange Hill to Moon, you touch me, I got to get you back\n  Roll on the stolen V's with he-ho chase you\n  Cop a six more time, and 3 years probation\n  We be offender, bender, no retreat, no surrender\n  I'm the number one contender\n  I got a new game plan, strictly sportin name brand\n  Layin in the pound hunted, footin through your town blunted\n  On some shit that get you burnt throats\n  Amputated all the turn coats, and get cremated\n  Never been B-rated, my 5 plated, is how I get fights\n  I have your family driving in the daytime wit they head lights\n  I'm daily thinkin of a life gleamin\n  That life we in, how to obtain, and what's the meanin\n  The fact that cash rules, these last days\n  We the last crews, my present wars and my past rules\n  True soldier, no matter the goal\n  We gettin closer, for bitch ass niggas, it's just about over\n  I'm in it for the long haul, this goes out\n  To all my true livin dogs and my SOHO\n  Don't talk about it, make it happ'\n  Don't fake it chap\n  The hennecy act, got you light gat\n  You wanna block, try to hold nine\n  Son you livin on my time, don't try to Overshine\n  Play your p, play your position\n  I stay with G, stay on a mission\n  Precisely, good, wit game, I'm nicely\n  Shifftee son, still shiesty\n  You in your eight fifty, ridin shotgun\n  If you can count your money, you ain't got none\n  And bitches beat they game tight\n  Baby, get the name right, see G. comin, like a train light\n  And niggas be don pretending\n  But I'm armed and bendin, so they can get the John Lennon\n  Hundred dollar gator players\n  Silk shirts and champagne, don't know a thing about the damn game\n  I'm daily thinkin of a life gleamin\n  That life we in, how to obtain, and what's the meanin\n  The fact that cash rules, these last days\n  We the last crews, my present wars and my past rules\n  True soldier, no matter the goal\n  We gettin closer, for bitch ass niggas, it's just about over\n  I'm in it for the long haul, this goes out\n  To all my true livin dogs and my SOHO\n  My artistic creation, or decoration will set the nation\n  With AlphaStation of lyric lacin, for all occasions\n  Engagements and events, for big dollars and cents\n  Makin niggas past tense, it's consequence\n  All I see around me, makes up the place\n  But if you don't hold down your space, you quickly get erased\n  Don't waste, a thought, thinkin\n  I ain't gon' be bringin the guns that grants hole\n  To my body, dead and stinkin\n  Watch as I back draft, on the last glass, and trap crash\n  Catch the hash blast, when I puff the black wrath\n  Learn the tricks of the trade, to be self made\n  Those who slept, stay where they started and got played\n  I'm daily thinkin of a life gleamin\n  That life we in, how to obtain, and what's the meanin\n  The fact that cash rules, these last days\n  We the last crews, my present wars and my past rules\n  True soldier, no matter the goal\n  We gettin closer, for bitch ass niggas, it's just about over\n  I'm in it for the long haul, this goes out\n  To all my true livin dogs and my SOHO\n"},{"id":32032169,"name":"The Worst","trackName":"The Worst","artistName":"Onyx","albumName":"Shut 'Em Down","duration":332.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n\nAiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\nTanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\nYeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\nPlay the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n\nWatch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\nYou know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\nRaw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\nThis yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n\nMy shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\nThrowin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\nThough, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\nThree-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n\nMy technique, rover in the robe, gold link\nYou know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\nRock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\nThat nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n\nYo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\nThe weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\nWhips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\nYou can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n\nX-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\nUnload a cartridge, and bust a cap\nX could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\nBitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\nBlow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n\nI draws the heat from across the street\nFly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\nStreet crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\nDispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n\nLookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\nOn the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\nTrick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\nI'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n\nWu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\nX-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\nBringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\nNuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\nSleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\nScatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nSteal master grab half the cash fast and bash\nAnd splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\nNigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\nGet marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n\nMack clever niggaz dat regga'\nCatch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\nShake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\nStraighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n\nOfficial Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\nPull fast for your stash\nLong as the war last, foot up in your ass\nTryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n\nYo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\nNumber one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\nMy whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\nKilla Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n\nThis terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\nWe cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\nWu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\nAll the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nHoly shit! Who the fuck is dat?\nIt's John John\nSticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\nI got your back cousin\n\nI got the mack-dozen\nAnd when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\nNowadays rappers dyin' over music\n\nDead on arrival\nWe raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\nDuckin' homicidal, you rivals\nYeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n\nChitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\nHot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\nCaught in the zone, home on the range\nAiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n\nWe got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\nEight ball in the corner pocket\nWe snatch wallets off the white collared\nThe Big Apple forever rotted\nNarcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\nSo what the bumba claat?\n\nPop shit, we do the knowledge\nTo shark niggaz, once bitten\nMajor swingers heavy hittin'\nPoly your kitten, throw up your mittens\nStop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\nThe meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n\nYo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\nBelieve dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\nI slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\nTouch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n\nEnough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\nAnd RIP they whole crew to a shred!\nI got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\nShow no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\nAnd shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n\nYou ain't no thug!\nI earned every God damn penny that I got\nSon I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\nI wish a nigga would what?\nTry to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx","syncedLyrics":"[00:02.54] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[00:03.24] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[00:10.71] Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n[00:13.46] Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n[00:16.18] Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n[00:18.76] Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n[00:21.69] Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n[00:24.27] You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n[00:27.05] Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n[00:30.48] This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n[00:32.74] My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n[00:35.52] Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n[00:38.22] Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n[00:41.18] Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n[00:43.77] My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n[00:46.24] You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n[00:48.76] Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n[00:51.35] That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n[00:54.54] Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n[00:57.10] The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n[00:59.96] Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n[01:02.71] You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n[01:05.47] X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n[01:07.53] 'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\n[01:11.08] Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n[01:13.31] X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n[01:15.84] Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n[01:18.42] Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n[01:21.51] I draws the heat from across the street\n[01:23.76] Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n[01:26.86] Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n[01:29.75] Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n[01:32.71] Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n[01:35.27] On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n[01:37.72] Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n[01:40.89] I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n[01:43.63] Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n[01:46.72] X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n[01:50.17] Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n[01:52.19] Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n[01:54.30] Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n[01:57.91] Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n[02:00.22] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:02.42] (Fucking)\n[02:03.30] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:05.29] (Fucking)\n[02:06.16] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:07.96] (Fucking)\n[02:08.64] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[02:11.01] Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n[02:13.87] And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n[02:16.21] Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n[02:19.32] Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n[02:22.04] Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n[02:24.44] Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n[02:27.11] Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n[02:29.85] Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n[02:32.48] Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n[02:35.83] Pull fast for your stash\n[02:37.56] Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n[02:40.05] Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n[02:43.29] Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n[02:46.22] Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n[02:48.56] My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n[02:51.57] Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n[02:54.05] This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n[02:57.06] We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n[02:59.60] Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n[03:02.47] All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n[03:05.23] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:07.60] (Fucking)\n[03:08.37] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:10.65] (Fucking)\n[03:11.32] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:13.30] (Fucking)\n[03:14.25] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[03:16.31] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:18.87] (Fucking)\n[03:19.71] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:21.36] (Fucking)\n[03:21.98] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:23.89] (Fucking)\n[03:24.67] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[03:27.20] Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n[03:29.73] It's John John\n[03:30.71] Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n[03:32.31] I got your back cousin\n[03:33.88] I got the mack-dozen\n[03:35.20] And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n[03:37.85] 'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\n[03:40.95] Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n[03:43.35] Dead on arrival\n[03:44.45] We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n[03:46.98] Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n[03:49.12] Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n[03:51.82] Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n[03:54.63] Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n[03:57.78] Caught in the zone, home on the range\n[04:03.33] Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n[04:04.50] We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n[04:05.62] Eight ball in the corner pocket\n[04:07.63] We snatch wallets off the white collared\n[04:08.88] The Big Apple forever rotted\n[04:10.87] Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n[04:12.75] So what the bumba claat?\n[04:14.99] Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n[04:16.13] To shark niggaz, once bitten\n[04:18.87] Major swingers heavy hittin'\n[04:20.06] Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n[04:21.65] Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n[04:24.23] The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n[04:26.85] Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n[04:29.94] Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n[04:32.80] I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n[04:35.56] Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n[04:37.07] Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n[04:41.11] And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n[04:43.78] I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n[04:46.35] Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n[04:48.41] And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n[04:50.73] You ain't no thug!\n[04:51.91] I earned every God damn penny that I got\n[04:54.47] Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n[04:57.19] I wish a nigga would what?\n[04:59.59] Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n[05:03.69] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:08.02] (Fucking)\n[05:08.93] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:10.48] (Fucking)\n[05:11.05] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:12.94] (Fucking)\n[05:13.50] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[05:16.49] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[05:21.82] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[05:24.68] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: The Worst\n  artist: Onyx\n  album: Shut 'Em Down\n  duration_ms: 332000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 2540\n  end_ms: 3240\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 3240\n  end_ms: 10710\n- text: Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n  start_ms: 10710\n  end_ms: 13460\n- text: Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n  start_ms: 13460\n  end_ms: 16180\n- text: Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n  start_ms: 16180\n  end_ms: 18760\n- text: Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n  start_ms: 18760\n  end_ms: 21690\n- text: Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n  start_ms: 21690\n  end_ms: 24270\n- text: You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n  start_ms: 24270\n  end_ms: 27050\n- text: Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n  start_ms: 27050\n  end_ms: 30480\n- text: This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n  start_ms: 30480\n  end_ms: 32740\n- text: My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n  start_ms: 32740\n  end_ms: 35520\n- text: Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n  start_ms: 35520\n  end_ms: 38220\n- text: Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n  start_ms: 38220\n  end_ms: 41180\n- text: Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n  start_ms: 41180\n  end_ms: 43770\n- text: My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n  start_ms: 43770\n  end_ms: 46240\n- text: You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n  start_ms: 46240\n  end_ms: 48760\n- text: Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n  start_ms: 48760\n  end_ms: 51350\n- text: That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n  start_ms: 51350\n  end_ms: 54540\n- text: Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n  start_ms: 54540\n  end_ms: 57100\n- text: The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n  start_ms: 57100\n  end_ms: 59960\n- text: Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n  start_ms: 59960\n  end_ms: 62710\n- text: You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n  start_ms: 62710\n  end_ms: 65470\n- text: X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n  start_ms: 65470\n  end_ms: 67530\n- text: '''Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin'' scraps out the garbage'\n  start_ms: 67530\n  end_ms: 71080\n- text: Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n  start_ms: 71080\n  end_ms: 73310\n- text: X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n  start_ms: 73310\n  end_ms: 75840\n- text: Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n  start_ms: 75840\n  end_ms: 78420\n- text: Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n  start_ms: 78420\n  end_ms: 81510\n- text: I draws the heat from across the street\n  start_ms: 81510\n  end_ms: 83760\n- text: Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n  start_ms: 83760\n  end_ms: 86860\n- text: Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n  start_ms: 86860\n  end_ms: 89750\n- text: Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n  start_ms: 89750\n  end_ms: 92710\n- text: Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n  start_ms: 92710\n  end_ms: 95270\n- text: On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n  start_ms: 95270\n  end_ms: 97720\n- text: Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n  start_ms: 97720\n  end_ms: 100890\n- text: I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n  start_ms: 100890\n  end_ms: 103630\n- text: Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n  start_ms: 103630\n  end_ms: 106720\n- text: X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n  start_ms: 106720\n  end_ms: 110170\n- text: Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n  start_ms: 110170\n  end_ms: 112190\n- text: Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n  start_ms: 112190\n  end_ms: 114300\n- text: Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n  start_ms: 114300\n  end_ms: 117910\n- text: Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n  start_ms: 117910\n  end_ms: 120220\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 120220\n  end_ms: 122420\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 122420\n  end_ms: 123300\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 123300\n  end_ms: 125290\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 125290\n  end_ms: 126160\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 126160\n  end_ms: 127960\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 127960\n  end_ms: 128640\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 128640\n  end_ms: 131010\n- text: Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n  start_ms: 131010\n  end_ms: 133870\n- text: And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n  start_ms: 133870\n  end_ms: 136210\n- text: Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n  start_ms: 136210\n  end_ms: 139320\n- text: Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n  start_ms: 139320\n  end_ms: 142040\n- text: Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n  start_ms: 142040\n  end_ms: 144440\n- text: Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n  start_ms: 144440\n  end_ms: 147110\n- text: Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n  start_ms: 147110\n  end_ms: 149850\n- text: Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n  start_ms: 149850\n  end_ms: 152480\n- text: Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n  start_ms: 152480\n  end_ms: 155830\n- text: Pull fast for your stash\n  start_ms: 155830\n  end_ms: 157560\n- text: Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n  start_ms: 157560\n  end_ms: 160050\n- text: Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n  start_ms: 160050\n  end_ms: 163290\n- text: Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n  start_ms: 163290\n  end_ms: 166220\n- text: Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n  start_ms: 166220\n  end_ms: 168560\n- text: My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n  start_ms: 168560\n  end_ms: 171570\n- text: Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n  start_ms: 171570\n  end_ms: 174050\n- text: This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n  start_ms: 174050\n  end_ms: 177060\n- text: We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n  start_ms: 177060\n  end_ms: 179600\n- text: Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n  start_ms: 179600\n  end_ms: 182470\n- text: All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n  start_ms: 182470\n  end_ms: 185230\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 185230\n  end_ms: 187600\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 187600\n  end_ms: 188370\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 188370\n  end_ms: 190650\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 190650\n  end_ms: 191320\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 191320\n  end_ms: 193300\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 193300\n  end_ms: 194250\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 194250\n  end_ms: 196310\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 196310\n  end_ms: 198870\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 198870\n  end_ms: 199710\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 199710\n  end_ms: 201360\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 201360\n  end_ms: 201980\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 201980\n  end_ms: 203890\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 203890\n  end_ms: 204670\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 204670\n  end_ms: 207200\n- text: Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n  start_ms: 207200\n  end_ms: 209730\n- text: It's John John\n  start_ms: 209730\n  end_ms: 210710\n- text: Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n  start_ms: 210710\n  end_ms: 212310\n- text: I got your back cousin\n  start_ms: 212310\n  end_ms: 213880\n- text: I got the mack-dozen\n  start_ms: 213880\n  end_ms: 215200\n- text: And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n  start_ms: 215200\n  end_ms: 217850\n- text: '''Cause it''s a new year, time for some new shit'\n  start_ms: 217850\n  end_ms: 220950\n- text: Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n  start_ms: 220950\n  end_ms: 223350\n- text: Dead on arrival\n  start_ms: 223350\n  end_ms: 224450\n- text: We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n  start_ms: 224450\n  end_ms: 226980\n- text: Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n  start_ms: 226980\n  end_ms: 229120\n- text: Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n  start_ms: 229120\n  end_ms: 231820\n- text: Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n  start_ms: 231820\n  end_ms: 234630\n- text: Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n  start_ms: 234630\n  end_ms: 237780\n- text: Caught in the zone, home on the range\n  start_ms: 237780\n  end_ms: 243330\n- text: Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n  start_ms: 243330\n  end_ms: 244500\n- text: We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n  start_ms: 244500\n  end_ms: 245620\n- text: Eight ball in the corner pocket\n  start_ms: 245620\n  end_ms: 247630\n- text: We snatch wallets off the white collared\n  start_ms: 247630\n  end_ms: 248880\n- text: The Big Apple forever rotted\n  start_ms: 248880\n  end_ms: 250870\n- text: Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n  start_ms: 250870\n  end_ms: 252750\n- text: So what the bumba claat?\n  start_ms: 252750\n  end_ms: 254990\n- text: Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n  start_ms: 254990\n  end_ms: 256130\n- text: To shark niggaz, once bitten\n  start_ms: 256130\n  end_ms: 258870\n- text: Major swingers heavy hittin'\n  start_ms: 258870\n  end_ms: 260060\n- text: Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n  start_ms: 260060\n  end_ms: 261650\n- text: Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n  start_ms: 261650\n  end_ms: 264230\n- text: The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n  start_ms: 264230\n  end_ms: 266850\n- text: Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 266850\n  end_ms: 269940\n- text: Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n  start_ms: 269940\n  end_ms: 272800\n- text: I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n  start_ms: 272800\n  end_ms: 275560\n- text: Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n  start_ms: 275560\n  end_ms: 277070\n- text: Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n  start_ms: 277070\n  end_ms: 281110\n- text: And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n  start_ms: 281110\n  end_ms: 283780\n- text: I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n  start_ms: 283780\n  end_ms: 286350\n- text: Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n  start_ms: 286350\n  end_ms: 288410\n- text: And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n  start_ms: 288410\n  end_ms: 290730\n- text: You ain't no thug!\n  start_ms: 290730\n  end_ms: 291910\n- text: I earned every God damn penny that I got\n  start_ms: 291910\n  end_ms: 294470\n- text: Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n  start_ms: 294470\n  end_ms: 297190\n- text: I wish a nigga would what?\n  start_ms: 297190\n  end_ms: 299590\n- text: Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n  start_ms: 299590\n  end_ms: 303690\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 303690\n  end_ms: 308020\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 308020\n  end_ms: 308930\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 308930\n  end_ms: 310480\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 310480\n  end_ms: 311050\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 311050\n  end_ms: 312940\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 312940\n  end_ms: 313500\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 313500\n  end_ms: 316490\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 316490\n  end_ms: 321820\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 321820\n  end_ms: 324680\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 324680\nplain: |-\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n\n  Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n  Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n  Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n  Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n\n  Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n  You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n  Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n  This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n\n  My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n  Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n  Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n  Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n\n  My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n  You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n  Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n  That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n\n  Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n  The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n  Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n  You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n\n  X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n  'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\n  Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n  X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n  Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n  Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n\n  I draws the heat from across the street\n  Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n  Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n  Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n\n  Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n  On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n  Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n  I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n\n  Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n  X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n  Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n  Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n  Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n  Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n  And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n  Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n  Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n\n  Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n  Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n  Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n  Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n\n  Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n  Pull fast for your stash\n  Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n  Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n\n  Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n  Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n  My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n  Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n\n  This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n  We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n  Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n  All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n  It's John John\n  Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n  I got your back cousin\n\n  I got the mack-dozen\n  And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n  'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\n  Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n\n  Dead on arrival\n  We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n  Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n  Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n\n  Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n  Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n  Caught in the zone, home on the range\n  Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n\n  We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n  Eight ball in the corner pocket\n  We snatch wallets off the white collared\n  The Big Apple forever rotted\n  Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n  So what the bumba claat?\n\n  Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n  To shark niggaz, once bitten\n  Major swingers heavy hittin'\n  Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n  Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n  The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n\n  Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n  Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n  I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n  Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n\n  Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n  And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n  I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n  Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n  And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n\n  You ain't no thug!\n  I earned every God damn penny that I got\n  Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n  I wish a nigga would what?\n  Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n"},{"id":21174351,"name":"The Worst","trackName":"The Worst","artistName":"Onyx","albumName":"Ride Soundtrack","duration":334.673625,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n\nAiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\nTanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\nYeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\nPlay the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n\nWatch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\nYou know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\nRaw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\nThis yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n\nMy shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\nThrowin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\nThough, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\nThree-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n\nMy technique, rover in the robe, gold link\nYou know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\nRock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\nThat nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n\nYo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\nThe weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\nWhips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\nYou can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n\nX-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\nUnload a cartridge, and bust a cap\nX could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\nBitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\nBlow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n\nI draws the heat from across the street\nFly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\nStreet crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\nDispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n\nLookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\nOn the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\nTrick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\nI'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n\nWu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\nX-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\nBringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\nNuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\nSleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\nScatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nSteal master grab half the cash fast and bash\nAnd splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\nNigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\nGet marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n\nMack clever niggaz dat regga'\nCatch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\nShake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\nStraighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n\nOfficial Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\nPull fast for your stash\nLong as the war last, foot up in your ass\nTryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n\nYo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\nNumber one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\nMy whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\nKilla Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n\nThis terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\nWe cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\nWu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\nAll the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nHoly shit! Who the fuck is dat?\nIt's John John\nSticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\nI got your back cousin\n\nI got the mack-dozen\nAnd when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\nNowadays rappers dyin' over music\n\nDead on arrival\nWe raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\nDuckin' homicidal, you rivals\nYeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n\nChitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\nHot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\nCaught in the zone, home on the range\nAiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n\nWe got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\nEight ball in the corner pocket\nWe snatch wallets off the white collared\nThe Big Apple forever rotted\nNarcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\nSo what the bumba claat?\n\nPop shit, we do the knowledge\nTo shark niggaz, once bitten\nMajor swingers heavy hittin'\nPoly your kitten, throw up your mittens\nStop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\nThe meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n\nYo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\nBelieve dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\nI slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\nTouch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n\nEnough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\nAnd RIP they whole crew to a shred!\nI got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\nShow no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\nAnd shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n\nYou ain't no thug!\nI earned every God damn penny that I got\nSon I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\nI wish a nigga would what?\nTry to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx","syncedLyrics":"[00:02.54] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[00:03.24] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[00:10.71] Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n[00:13.46] Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n[00:16.18] Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n[00:18.76] Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n[00:21.69] Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n[00:24.27] You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n[00:27.05] Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n[00:30.48] This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n[00:32.74] My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n[00:35.52] Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n[00:38.22] Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n[00:41.18] Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n[00:43.77] My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n[00:46.24] You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n[00:48.76] Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n[00:51.35] That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n[00:54.54] Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n[00:57.10] The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n[00:59.96] Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n[01:02.71] You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n[01:05.47] X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n[01:07.53] 'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\n[01:11.08] Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n[01:13.31] X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n[01:15.84] Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n[01:18.42] Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n[01:21.51] I draws the heat from across the street\n[01:23.76] Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n[01:26.86] Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n[01:29.75] Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n[01:32.71] Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n[01:35.27] On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n[01:37.72] Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n[01:40.89] I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n[01:43.63] Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n[01:46.72] X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n[01:50.17] Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n[01:52.19] Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n[01:54.30] Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n[01:57.91] Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n[02:00.22] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:02.42] (Fucking)\n[02:03.30] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:05.29] (Fucking)\n[02:06.16] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:07.96] (Fucking)\n[02:08.64] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[02:11.01] Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n[02:13.87] And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n[02:16.21] Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n[02:19.32] Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n[02:22.04] Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n[02:24.44] Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n[02:27.11] Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n[02:29.85] Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n[02:32.48] Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n[02:35.83] Pull fast for your stash\n[02:37.56] Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n[02:40.05] Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n[02:43.29] Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n[02:46.22] Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n[02:48.56] My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n[02:51.57] Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n[02:54.05] This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n[02:57.06] We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n[02:59.60] Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n[03:02.47] All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n[03:05.23] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:07.60] (Fucking)\n[03:08.37] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:10.65] (Fucking)\n[03:11.32] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:13.30] (Fucking)\n[03:14.25] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[03:16.31] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:18.87] (Fucking)\n[03:19.71] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:21.36] (Fucking)\n[03:21.98] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:23.89] (Fucking)\n[03:24.67] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[03:27.20] Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n[03:29.73] It's John John\n[03:30.71] Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n[03:32.31] I got your back cousin\n[03:33.88] I got the mack-dozen\n[03:35.20] And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n[03:37.85] 'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\n[03:40.95] Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n[03:43.35] Dead on arrival\n[03:44.45] We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n[03:46.98] Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n[03:49.12] Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n[03:51.82] Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n[03:54.63] Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n[03:57.78] Caught in the zone, home on the range\n[04:03.33] Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n[04:04.50] We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n[04:05.62] Eight ball in the corner pocket\n[04:07.63] We snatch wallets off the white collared\n[04:08.88] The Big Apple forever rotted\n[04:10.87] Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n[04:12.75] So what the bumba claat?\n[04:14.99] Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n[04:16.13] To shark niggaz, once bitten\n[04:18.87] Major swingers heavy hittin'\n[04:20.06] Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n[04:21.65] Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n[04:24.23] The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n[04:26.85] Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n[04:29.94] Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n[04:32.80] I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n[04:35.56] Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n[04:37.07] Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n[04:41.11] And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n[04:43.78] I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n[04:46.35] Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n[04:48.41] And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n[04:50.73] You ain't no thug!\n[04:51.91] I earned every God damn penny that I got\n[04:54.47] Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n[04:57.19] I wish a nigga would what?\n[04:59.59] Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n[05:03.69] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:08.02] (Fucking)\n[05:08.93] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:10.48] (Fucking)\n[05:11.05] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:12.94] (Fucking)\n[05:13.50] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[05:16.49] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[05:21.82] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[05:24.68] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: The Worst\n  artist: Onyx\n  album: Ride Soundtrack\n  duration_ms: 334674\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 2540\n  end_ms: 3240\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 3240\n  end_ms: 10710\n- text: Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n  start_ms: 10710\n  end_ms: 13460\n- text: Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n  start_ms: 13460\n  end_ms: 16180\n- text: Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n  start_ms: 16180\n  end_ms: 18760\n- text: Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n  start_ms: 18760\n  end_ms: 21690\n- text: Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n  start_ms: 21690\n  end_ms: 24270\n- text: You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n  start_ms: 24270\n  end_ms: 27050\n- text: Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n  start_ms: 27050\n  end_ms: 30480\n- text: This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n  start_ms: 30480\n  end_ms: 32740\n- text: My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n  start_ms: 32740\n  end_ms: 35520\n- text: Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n  start_ms: 35520\n  end_ms: 38220\n- text: Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n  start_ms: 38220\n  end_ms: 41180\n- text: Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n  start_ms: 41180\n  end_ms: 43770\n- text: My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n  start_ms: 43770\n  end_ms: 46240\n- text: You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n  start_ms: 46240\n  end_ms: 48760\n- text: Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n  start_ms: 48760\n  end_ms: 51350\n- text: That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n  start_ms: 51350\n  end_ms: 54540\n- text: Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n  start_ms: 54540\n  end_ms: 57100\n- text: The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n  start_ms: 57100\n  end_ms: 59960\n- text: Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n  start_ms: 59960\n  end_ms: 62710\n- text: You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n  start_ms: 62710\n  end_ms: 65470\n- text: X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n  start_ms: 65470\n  end_ms: 67530\n- text: '''Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin'' scraps out the garbage'\n  start_ms: 67530\n  end_ms: 71080\n- text: Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n  start_ms: 71080\n  end_ms: 73310\n- text: X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n  start_ms: 73310\n  end_ms: 75840\n- text: Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n  start_ms: 75840\n  end_ms: 78420\n- text: Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n  start_ms: 78420\n  end_ms: 81510\n- text: I draws the heat from across the street\n  start_ms: 81510\n  end_ms: 83760\n- text: Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n  start_ms: 83760\n  end_ms: 86860\n- text: Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n  start_ms: 86860\n  end_ms: 89750\n- text: Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n  start_ms: 89750\n  end_ms: 92710\n- text: Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n  start_ms: 92710\n  end_ms: 95270\n- text: On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n  start_ms: 95270\n  end_ms: 97720\n- text: Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n  start_ms: 97720\n  end_ms: 100890\n- text: I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n  start_ms: 100890\n  end_ms: 103630\n- text: Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n  start_ms: 103630\n  end_ms: 106720\n- text: X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n  start_ms: 106720\n  end_ms: 110170\n- text: Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n  start_ms: 110170\n  end_ms: 112190\n- text: Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n  start_ms: 112190\n  end_ms: 114300\n- text: Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n  start_ms: 114300\n  end_ms: 117910\n- text: Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n  start_ms: 117910\n  end_ms: 120220\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 120220\n  end_ms: 122420\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 122420\n  end_ms: 123300\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 123300\n  end_ms: 125290\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 125290\n  end_ms: 126160\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 126160\n  end_ms: 127960\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 127960\n  end_ms: 128640\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 128640\n  end_ms: 131010\n- text: Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n  start_ms: 131010\n  end_ms: 133870\n- text: And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n  start_ms: 133870\n  end_ms: 136210\n- text: Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n  start_ms: 136210\n  end_ms: 139320\n- text: Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n  start_ms: 139320\n  end_ms: 142040\n- text: Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n  start_ms: 142040\n  end_ms: 144440\n- text: Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n  start_ms: 144440\n  end_ms: 147110\n- text: Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n  start_ms: 147110\n  end_ms: 149850\n- text: Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n  start_ms: 149850\n  end_ms: 152480\n- text: Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n  start_ms: 152480\n  end_ms: 155830\n- text: Pull fast for your stash\n  start_ms: 155830\n  end_ms: 157560\n- text: Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n  start_ms: 157560\n  end_ms: 160050\n- text: Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n  start_ms: 160050\n  end_ms: 163290\n- text: Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n  start_ms: 163290\n  end_ms: 166220\n- text: Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n  start_ms: 166220\n  end_ms: 168560\n- text: My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n  start_ms: 168560\n  end_ms: 171570\n- text: Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n  start_ms: 171570\n  end_ms: 174050\n- text: This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n  start_ms: 174050\n  end_ms: 177060\n- text: We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n  start_ms: 177060\n  end_ms: 179600\n- text: Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n  start_ms: 179600\n  end_ms: 182470\n- text: All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n  start_ms: 182470\n  end_ms: 185230\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 185230\n  end_ms: 187600\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 187600\n  end_ms: 188370\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 188370\n  end_ms: 190650\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 190650\n  end_ms: 191320\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 191320\n  end_ms: 193300\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 193300\n  end_ms: 194250\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 194250\n  end_ms: 196310\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 196310\n  end_ms: 198870\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 198870\n  end_ms: 199710\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 199710\n  end_ms: 201360\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 201360\n  end_ms: 201980\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 201980\n  end_ms: 203890\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 203890\n  end_ms: 204670\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 204670\n  end_ms: 207200\n- text: Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n  start_ms: 207200\n  end_ms: 209730\n- text: It's John John\n  start_ms: 209730\n  end_ms: 210710\n- text: Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n  start_ms: 210710\n  end_ms: 212310\n- text: I got your back cousin\n  start_ms: 212310\n  end_ms: 213880\n- text: I got the mack-dozen\n  start_ms: 213880\n  end_ms: 215200\n- text: And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n  start_ms: 215200\n  end_ms: 217850\n- text: '''Cause it''s a new year, time for some new shit'\n  start_ms: 217850\n  end_ms: 220950\n- text: Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n  start_ms: 220950\n  end_ms: 223350\n- text: Dead on arrival\n  start_ms: 223350\n  end_ms: 224450\n- text: We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n  start_ms: 224450\n  end_ms: 226980\n- text: Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n  start_ms: 226980\n  end_ms: 229120\n- text: Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n  start_ms: 229120\n  end_ms: 231820\n- text: Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n  start_ms: 231820\n  end_ms: 234630\n- text: Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n  start_ms: 234630\n  end_ms: 237780\n- text: Caught in the zone, home on the range\n  start_ms: 237780\n  end_ms: 243330\n- text: Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n  start_ms: 243330\n  end_ms: 244500\n- text: We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n  start_ms: 244500\n  end_ms: 245620\n- text: Eight ball in the corner pocket\n  start_ms: 245620\n  end_ms: 247630\n- text: We snatch wallets off the white collared\n  start_ms: 247630\n  end_ms: 248880\n- text: The Big Apple forever rotted\n  start_ms: 248880\n  end_ms: 250870\n- text: Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n  start_ms: 250870\n  end_ms: 252750\n- text: So what the bumba claat?\n  start_ms: 252750\n  end_ms: 254990\n- text: Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n  start_ms: 254990\n  end_ms: 256130\n- text: To shark niggaz, once bitten\n  start_ms: 256130\n  end_ms: 258870\n- text: Major swingers heavy hittin'\n  start_ms: 258870\n  end_ms: 260060\n- text: Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n  start_ms: 260060\n  end_ms: 261650\n- text: Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n  start_ms: 261650\n  end_ms: 264230\n- text: The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n  start_ms: 264230\n  end_ms: 266850\n- text: Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 266850\n  end_ms: 269940\n- text: Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n  start_ms: 269940\n  end_ms: 272800\n- text: I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n  start_ms: 272800\n  end_ms: 275560\n- text: Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n  start_ms: 275560\n  end_ms: 277070\n- text: Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n  start_ms: 277070\n  end_ms: 281110\n- text: And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n  start_ms: 281110\n  end_ms: 283780\n- text: I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n  start_ms: 283780\n  end_ms: 286350\n- text: Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n  start_ms: 286350\n  end_ms: 288410\n- text: And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n  start_ms: 288410\n  end_ms: 290730\n- text: You ain't no thug!\n  start_ms: 290730\n  end_ms: 291910\n- text: I earned every God damn penny that I got\n  start_ms: 291910\n  end_ms: 294470\n- text: Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n  start_ms: 294470\n  end_ms: 297190\n- text: I wish a nigga would what?\n  start_ms: 297190\n  end_ms: 299590\n- text: Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n  start_ms: 299590\n  end_ms: 303690\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 303690\n  end_ms: 308020\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 308020\n  end_ms: 308930\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 308930\n  end_ms: 310480\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 310480\n  end_ms: 311050\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 311050\n  end_ms: 312940\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 312940\n  end_ms: 313500\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 313500\n  end_ms: 316490\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 316490\n  end_ms: 321820\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 321820\n  end_ms: 324680\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 324680\nplain: |-\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n\n  Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n  Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n  Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n  Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n\n  Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n  You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n  Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n  This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n\n  My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n  Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n  Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n  Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n\n  My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n  You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n  Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n  That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n\n  Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n  The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n  Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n  You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n\n  X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n  'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\n  Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n  X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n  Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n  Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n\n  I draws the heat from across the street\n  Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n  Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n  Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n\n  Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n  On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n  Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n  I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n\n  Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n  X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n  Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n  Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n  Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n  Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n  And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n  Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n  Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n\n  Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n  Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n  Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n  Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n\n  Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n  Pull fast for your stash\n  Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n  Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n\n  Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n  Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n  My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n  Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n\n  This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n  We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n  Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n  All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n  It's John John\n  Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n  I got your back cousin\n\n  I got the mack-dozen\n  And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n  'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\n  Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n\n  Dead on arrival\n  We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n  Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n  Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n\n  Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n  Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n  Caught in the zone, home on the range\n  Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n\n  We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n  Eight ball in the corner pocket\n  We snatch wallets off the white collared\n  The Big Apple forever rotted\n  Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n  So what the bumba claat?\n\n  Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n  To shark niggaz, once bitten\n  Major swingers heavy hittin'\n  Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n  Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n  The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n\n  Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n  Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n  I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n  Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n\n  Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n  And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n  I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n  Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n  And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n\n  You ain't no thug!\n  I earned every God damn penny that I got\n  Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n  I wish a nigga would what?\n  Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n"},{"id":19925389,"name":"The Worst","trackName":"The Worst","artistName":"Onyx","albumName":"Live in Saint Petersburg","duration":73.8045,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n\nAiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\nTanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\nYeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\nPlay the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n\nWatch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\nYou know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\nRaw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\nThis yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n\nMy shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\nThrowin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\nThough, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\nThree-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n\nMy technique, rover in the robe, gold link\nYou know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\nRock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\nThat nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n\nYo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\nThe weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\nWhips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\nYou can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n\nX-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\nUnload a cartridge, and bust a cap\nX could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\nBitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\nBlow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n\nI draws the heat from across the street\nFly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\nStreet crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\nDispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n\nLookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\nOn the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\nTrick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\nI'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n\nWu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\nX-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\nBringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\nNuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\nSleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\nScatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nSteal master grab half the cash fast and bash\nAnd splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\nNigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\nGet marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n\nMack clever niggaz dat regga'\nCatch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\nShake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\nStraighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n\nOfficial Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\nPull fast for your stash\nLong as the war last, foot up in your ass\nTryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n\nYo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\nNumber one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\nMy whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\nKilla Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n\nThis terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\nWe cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\nWu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\nAll the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nHoly shit! Who the fuck is dat?\nIt's John John\nSticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\nI got your back cousin\n\nI got the mack-dozen\nAnd when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\nNowadays rappers dyin' over music\n\nDead on arrival\nWe raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\nDuckin' homicidal, you rivals\nYeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n\nChitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\nHot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\nCaught in the zone, home on the range\nAiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n\nWe got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\nEight ball in the corner pocket\nWe snatch wallets off the white collared\nThe Big Apple forever rotted\nNarcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\nSo what the bumba claat?\n\nPop shit, we do the knowledge\nTo shark niggaz, once bitten\nMajor swingers heavy hittin'\nPoly your kitten, throw up your mittens\nStop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\nThe meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n\nYo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\nBelieve dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\nI slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\nTouch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n\nEnough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\nAnd RIP they whole crew to a shred!\nI got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\nShow no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\nAnd shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n\nYou ain't no thug!\nI earned every God damn penny that I got\nSon I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\nI wish a nigga would what?\nTry to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx","syncedLyrics":"[00:02.54] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[00:03.24] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[00:10.71] Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n[00:13.46] Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n[00:16.18] Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n[00:18.76] Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n[00:21.69] Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n[00:24.27] You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n[00:27.05] Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n[00:30.48] This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n[00:32.74] My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n[00:35.52] Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n[00:38.22] Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n[00:41.18] Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n[00:43.77] My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n[00:46.24] You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n[00:48.76] Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n[00:51.35] That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n[00:54.54] Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n[00:57.10] The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n[00:59.96] Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n[01:02.71] You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n[01:05.47] X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n[01:07.53] 'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\n[01:11.08] Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n[01:13.31] X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n[01:15.84] Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n[01:18.42] Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n[01:21.51] I draws the heat from across the street\n[01:23.76] Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n[01:26.86] Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n[01:29.75] Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n[01:32.71] Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n[01:35.27] On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n[01:37.72] Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n[01:40.89] I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n[01:43.63] Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n[01:46.72] X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n[01:50.17] Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n[01:52.19] Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n[01:54.30] Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n[01:57.91] Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n[02:00.22] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:02.42] (Fucking)\n[02:03.30] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:05.29] (Fucking)\n[02:06.16] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:07.96] (Fucking)\n[02:08.64] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[02:11.01] Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n[02:13.87] And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n[02:16.21] Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n[02:19.32] Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n[02:22.04] Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n[02:24.44] Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n[02:27.11] Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n[02:29.85] Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n[02:32.48] Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n[02:35.83] Pull fast for your stash\n[02:37.56] Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n[02:40.05] Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n[02:43.29] Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n[02:46.22] Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n[02:48.56] My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n[02:51.57] Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n[02:54.05] This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n[02:57.06] We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n[02:59.60] Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n[03:02.47] All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n[03:05.23] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:07.60] (Fucking)\n[03:08.37] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:10.65] (Fucking)\n[03:11.32] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:13.30] (Fucking)\n[03:14.25] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[03:16.31] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:18.87] (Fucking)\n[03:19.71] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:21.36] (Fucking)\n[03:21.98] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:23.89] (Fucking)\n[03:24.67] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[03:27.20] Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n[03:29.73] It's John John\n[03:30.71] Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n[03:32.31] I got your back cousin\n[03:33.88] I got the mack-dozen\n[03:35.20] And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n[03:37.85] 'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\n[03:40.95] Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n[03:43.35] Dead on arrival\n[03:44.45] We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n[03:46.98] Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n[03:49.12] Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n[03:51.82] Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n[03:54.63] Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n[03:57.78] Caught in the zone, home on the range\n[04:03.33] Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n[04:04.50] We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n[04:05.62] Eight ball in the corner pocket\n[04:07.63] We snatch wallets off the white collared\n[04:08.88] The Big Apple forever rotted\n[04:10.87] Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n[04:12.75] So what the bumba claat?\n[04:14.99] Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n[04:16.13] To shark niggaz, once bitten\n[04:18.87] Major swingers heavy hittin'\n[04:20.06] Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n[04:21.65] Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n[04:24.23] The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n[04:26.85] Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n[04:29.94] Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n[04:32.80] I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n[04:35.56] Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n[04:37.07] Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n[04:41.11] And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n[04:43.78] I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n[04:46.35] Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n[04:48.41] And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n[04:50.73] You ain't no thug!\n[04:51.91] I earned every God damn penny that I got\n[04:54.47] Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n[04:57.19] I wish a nigga would what?\n[04:59.59] Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n[05:03.69] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:08.02] (Fucking)\n[05:08.93] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:10.48] (Fucking)\n[05:11.05] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:12.94] (Fucking)\n[05:13.50] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[05:16.49] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[05:21.82] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[05:24.68] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: The Worst\n  artist: Onyx\n  album: Live in Saint Petersburg\n  duration_ms: 73805\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 2540\n  end_ms: 3240\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 3240\n  end_ms: 10710\n- text: Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n  start_ms: 10710\n  end_ms: 13460\n- text: Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n  start_ms: 13460\n  end_ms: 16180\n- text: Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n  start_ms: 16180\n  end_ms: 18760\n- text: Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n  start_ms: 18760\n  end_ms: 21690\n- text: Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n  start_ms: 21690\n  end_ms: 24270\n- text: You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n  start_ms: 24270\n  end_ms: 27050\n- text: Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n  start_ms: 27050\n  end_ms: 30480\n- text: This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n  start_ms: 30480\n  end_ms: 32740\n- text: My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n  start_ms: 32740\n  end_ms: 35520\n- text: Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n  start_ms: 35520\n  end_ms: 38220\n- text: Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n  start_ms: 38220\n  end_ms: 41180\n- text: Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n  start_ms: 41180\n  end_ms: 43770\n- text: My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n  start_ms: 43770\n  end_ms: 46240\n- text: You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n  start_ms: 46240\n  end_ms: 48760\n- text: Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n  start_ms: 48760\n  end_ms: 51350\n- text: That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n  start_ms: 51350\n  end_ms: 54540\n- text: Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n  start_ms: 54540\n  end_ms: 57100\n- text: The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n  start_ms: 57100\n  end_ms: 59960\n- text: Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n  start_ms: 59960\n  end_ms: 62710\n- text: You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n  start_ms: 62710\n  end_ms: 65470\n- text: X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n  start_ms: 65470\n  end_ms: 67530\n- text: '''Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin'' scraps out the garbage'\n  start_ms: 67530\n  end_ms: 71080\n- text: Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n  start_ms: 71080\n  end_ms: 73310\n- text: X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n  start_ms: 73310\n  end_ms: 75840\n- text: Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n  start_ms: 75840\n  end_ms: 78420\n- text: Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n  start_ms: 78420\n  end_ms: 81510\n- text: I draws the heat from across the street\n  start_ms: 81510\n  end_ms: 83760\n- text: Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n  start_ms: 83760\n  end_ms: 86860\n- text: Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n  start_ms: 86860\n  end_ms: 89750\n- text: Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n  start_ms: 89750\n  end_ms: 92710\n- text: Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n  start_ms: 92710\n  end_ms: 95270\n- text: On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n  start_ms: 95270\n  end_ms: 97720\n- text: Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n  start_ms: 97720\n  end_ms: 100890\n- text: I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n  start_ms: 100890\n  end_ms: 103630\n- text: Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n  start_ms: 103630\n  end_ms: 106720\n- text: X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n  start_ms: 106720\n  end_ms: 110170\n- text: Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n  start_ms: 110170\n  end_ms: 112190\n- text: Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n  start_ms: 112190\n  end_ms: 114300\n- text: Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n  start_ms: 114300\n  end_ms: 117910\n- text: Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n  start_ms: 117910\n  end_ms: 120220\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 120220\n  end_ms: 122420\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 122420\n  end_ms: 123300\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 123300\n  end_ms: 125290\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 125290\n  end_ms: 126160\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 126160\n  end_ms: 127960\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 127960\n  end_ms: 128640\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 128640\n  end_ms: 131010\n- text: Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n  start_ms: 131010\n  end_ms: 133870\n- text: And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n  start_ms: 133870\n  end_ms: 136210\n- text: Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n  start_ms: 136210\n  end_ms: 139320\n- text: Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n  start_ms: 139320\n  end_ms: 142040\n- text: Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n  start_ms: 142040\n  end_ms: 144440\n- text: Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n  start_ms: 144440\n  end_ms: 147110\n- text: Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n  start_ms: 147110\n  end_ms: 149850\n- text: Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n  start_ms: 149850\n  end_ms: 152480\n- text: Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n  start_ms: 152480\n  end_ms: 155830\n- text: Pull fast for your stash\n  start_ms: 155830\n  end_ms: 157560\n- text: Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n  start_ms: 157560\n  end_ms: 160050\n- text: Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n  start_ms: 160050\n  end_ms: 163290\n- text: Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n  start_ms: 163290\n  end_ms: 166220\n- text: Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n  start_ms: 166220\n  end_ms: 168560\n- text: My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n  start_ms: 168560\n  end_ms: 171570\n- text: Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n  start_ms: 171570\n  end_ms: 174050\n- text: This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n  start_ms: 174050\n  end_ms: 177060\n- text: We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n  start_ms: 177060\n  end_ms: 179600\n- text: Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n  start_ms: 179600\n  end_ms: 182470\n- text: All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n  start_ms: 182470\n  end_ms: 185230\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 185230\n  end_ms: 187600\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 187600\n  end_ms: 188370\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 188370\n  end_ms: 190650\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 190650\n  end_ms: 191320\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 191320\n  end_ms: 193300\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 193300\n  end_ms: 194250\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 194250\n  end_ms: 196310\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 196310\n  end_ms: 198870\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 198870\n  end_ms: 199710\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 199710\n  end_ms: 201360\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 201360\n  end_ms: 201980\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 201980\n  end_ms: 203890\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 203890\n  end_ms: 204670\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 204670\n  end_ms: 207200\n- text: Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n  start_ms: 207200\n  end_ms: 209730\n- text: It's John John\n  start_ms: 209730\n  end_ms: 210710\n- text: Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n  start_ms: 210710\n  end_ms: 212310\n- text: I got your back cousin\n  start_ms: 212310\n  end_ms: 213880\n- text: I got the mack-dozen\n  start_ms: 213880\n  end_ms: 215200\n- text: And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n  start_ms: 215200\n  end_ms: 217850\n- text: '''Cause it''s a new year, time for some new shit'\n  start_ms: 217850\n  end_ms: 220950\n- text: Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n  start_ms: 220950\n  end_ms: 223350\n- text: Dead on arrival\n  start_ms: 223350\n  end_ms: 224450\n- text: We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n  start_ms: 224450\n  end_ms: 226980\n- text: Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n  start_ms: 226980\n  end_ms: 229120\n- text: Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n  start_ms: 229120\n  end_ms: 231820\n- text: Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n  start_ms: 231820\n  end_ms: 234630\n- text: Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n  start_ms: 234630\n  end_ms: 237780\n- text: Caught in the zone, home on the range\n  start_ms: 237780\n  end_ms: 243330\n- text: Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n  start_ms: 243330\n  end_ms: 244500\n- text: We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n  start_ms: 244500\n  end_ms: 245620\n- text: Eight ball in the corner pocket\n  start_ms: 245620\n  end_ms: 247630\n- text: We snatch wallets off the white collared\n  start_ms: 247630\n  end_ms: 248880\n- text: The Big Apple forever rotted\n  start_ms: 248880\n  end_ms: 250870\n- text: Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n  start_ms: 250870\n  end_ms: 252750\n- text: So what the bumba claat?\n  start_ms: 252750\n  end_ms: 254990\n- text: Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n  start_ms: 254990\n  end_ms: 256130\n- text: To shark niggaz, once bitten\n  start_ms: 256130\n  end_ms: 258870\n- text: Major swingers heavy hittin'\n  start_ms: 258870\n  end_ms: 260060\n- text: Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n  start_ms: 260060\n  end_ms: 261650\n- text: Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n  start_ms: 261650\n  end_ms: 264230\n- text: The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n  start_ms: 264230\n  end_ms: 266850\n- text: Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 266850\n  end_ms: 269940\n- text: Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n  start_ms: 269940\n  end_ms: 272800\n- text: I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n  start_ms: 272800\n  end_ms: 275560\n- text: Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n  start_ms: 275560\n  end_ms: 277070\n- text: Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n  start_ms: 277070\n  end_ms: 281110\n- text: And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n  start_ms: 281110\n  end_ms: 283780\n- text: I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n  start_ms: 283780\n  end_ms: 286350\n- text: Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n  start_ms: 286350\n  end_ms: 288410\n- text: And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n  start_ms: 288410\n  end_ms: 290730\n- text: You ain't no thug!\n  start_ms: 290730\n  end_ms: 291910\n- text: I earned every God damn penny that I got\n  start_ms: 291910\n  end_ms: 294470\n- text: Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n  start_ms: 294470\n  end_ms: 297190\n- text: I wish a nigga would what?\n  start_ms: 297190\n  end_ms: 299590\n- text: Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n  start_ms: 299590\n  end_ms: 303690\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 303690\n  end_ms: 308020\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 308020\n  end_ms: 308930\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 308930\n  end_ms: 310480\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 310480\n  end_ms: 311050\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 311050\n  end_ms: 312940\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 312940\n  end_ms: 313500\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 313500\n  end_ms: 316490\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 316490\n  end_ms: 321820\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 321820\n  end_ms: 324680\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 324680\nplain: |-\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n\n  Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n  Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n  Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n  Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n\n  Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n  You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n  Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n  This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n\n  My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n  Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n  Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n  Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n\n  My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n  You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n  Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n  That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n\n  Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n  The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n  Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n  You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n\n  X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n  'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\n  Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n  X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n  Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n  Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n\n  I draws the heat from across the street\n  Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n  Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n  Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n\n  Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n  On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n  Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n  I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n\n  Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n  X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n  Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n  Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n  Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n  Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n  And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n  Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n  Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n\n  Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n  Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n  Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n  Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n\n  Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n  Pull fast for your stash\n  Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n  Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n\n  Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n  Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n  My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n  Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n\n  This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n  We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n  Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n  All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n  It's John John\n  Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n  I got your back cousin\n\n  I got the mack-dozen\n  And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n  'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\n  Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n\n  Dead on arrival\n  We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n  Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n  Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n\n  Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n  Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n  Caught in the zone, home on the range\n  Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n\n  We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n  Eight ball in the corner pocket\n  We snatch wallets off the white collared\n  The Big Apple forever rotted\n  Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n  So what the bumba claat?\n\n  Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n  To shark niggaz, once bitten\n  Major swingers heavy hittin'\n  Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n  Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n  The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n\n  Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n  Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n  I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n  Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n\n  Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n  And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n  I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n  Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n  And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n\n  You ain't no thug!\n  I earned every God damn penny that I got\n  Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n  I wish a nigga would what?\n  Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n"},{"id":23763910,"name":"The Worst","trackName":"The Worst","artistName":"Onyx","albumName":"Live in Saint Petersburg","duration":62.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Follow my footsteps, used to ante up for a nickel sack\nFrom Vange Hill to Moon, you touch me, I got to get you back\nRoll on the stolen V's with he-ho chase you\nCop a six more time, and 3 years probation\nWe be offender, bender, no retreat, no surrender\nI'm the number one contender\nI got a new game plan, strictly sportin name brand\nLayin in the pound hunted, footin through your town blunted\nOn some shit that get you burnt throats\nAmputated all the turn coats, and get cremated\nNever been B-rated, my 5 plated, is how I get fights\nI have your family driving in the daytime wit they head lights\nI'm daily thinkin of a life gleamin\nThat life we in, how to obtain, and what's the meanin\nThe fact that cash rules, these last days\nWe the last crews, my present wars and my past rules\nTrue soldier, no matter the goal\nWe gettin closer, for bitch ass niggas, it's just about over\nI'm in it for the long haul, this goes out\nTo all my true livin dogs and my SOHO\nDon't talk about it, make it happ'\nDon't fake it chap\nThe hennecy act, got you light gat\nYou wanna block, try to hold nine\nSon you livin on my time, don't try to Overshine\nPlay your p, play your position\nI stay with G, stay on a mission\nPrecisely, good, wit game, I'm nicely\nShifftee son, still shiesty\nYou in your eight fifty, ridin shotgun\nIf you can count your money, you ain't got none\nAnd bitches beat they game tight\nBaby, get the name right, see G. comin, like a train light\nAnd niggas be don pretending\nBut I'm armed and bendin, so they can get the John Lennon\nHundred dollar gator players\nSilk shirts and champagne, don't know a thing about the damn game\nI'm daily thinkin of a life gleamin\nThat life we in, how to obtain, and what's the meanin\nThe fact that cash rules, these last days\nWe the last crews, my present wars and my past rules\nTrue soldier, no matter the goal\nWe gettin closer, for bitch ass niggas, it's just about over\nI'm in it for the long haul, this goes out\nTo all my true livin dogs and my SOHO\nMy artistic creation, or decoration will set the nation\nWith AlphaStation of lyric lacin, for all occasions\nEngagements and events, for big dollars and cents\nMakin niggas past tense, it's consequence\nAll I see around me, makes up the place\nBut if you don't hold down your space, you quickly get erased\nDon't waste, a thought, thinkin\nI ain't gon' be bringin the guns that grants hole\nTo my body, dead and stinkin\nWatch as I back draft, on the last glass, and trap crash\nCatch the hash blast, when I puff the black wrath\nLearn the tricks of the trade, to be self made\nThose who slept, stay where they started and got played\nI'm daily thinkin of a life gleamin\nThat life we in, how to obtain, and what's the meanin\nThe fact that cash rules, these last days\nWe the last crews, my present wars and my past rules\nTrue soldier, no matter the goal\nWe gettin closer, for bitch ass niggas, it's just about over\nI'm in it for the long haul, this goes out\nTo all my true livin dogs and my SOHO","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: The Worst\n  artist: Onyx\n  album: Live in Saint Petersburg\n  duration_ms: 62000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Follow my footsteps, used to ante up for a nickel sack\n  From Vange Hill to Moon, you touch me, I got to get you back\n  Roll on the stolen V's with he-ho chase you\n  Cop a six more time, and 3 years probation\n  We be offender, bender, no retreat, no surrender\n  I'm the number one contender\n  I got a new game plan, strictly sportin name brand\n  Layin in the pound hunted, footin through your town blunted\n  On some shit that get you burnt throats\n  Amputated all the turn coats, and get cremated\n  Never been B-rated, my 5 plated, is how I get fights\n  I have your family driving in the daytime wit they head lights\n  I'm daily thinkin of a life gleamin\n  That life we in, how to obtain, and what's the meanin\n  The fact that cash rules, these last days\n  We the last crews, my present wars and my past rules\n  True soldier, no matter the goal\n  We gettin closer, for bitch ass niggas, it's just about over\n  I'm in it for the long haul, this goes out\n  To all my true livin dogs and my SOHO\n  Don't talk about it, make it happ'\n  Don't fake it chap\n  The hennecy act, got you light gat\n  You wanna block, try to hold nine\n  Son you livin on my time, don't try to Overshine\n  Play your p, play your position\n  I stay with G, stay on a mission\n  Precisely, good, wit game, I'm nicely\n  Shifftee son, still shiesty\n  You in your eight fifty, ridin shotgun\n  If you can count your money, you ain't got none\n  And bitches beat they game tight\n  Baby, get the name right, see G. comin, like a train light\n  And niggas be don pretending\n  But I'm armed and bendin, so they can get the John Lennon\n  Hundred dollar gator players\n  Silk shirts and champagne, don't know a thing about the damn game\n  I'm daily thinkin of a life gleamin\n  That life we in, how to obtain, and what's the meanin\n  The fact that cash rules, these last days\n  We the last crews, my present wars and my past rules\n  True soldier, no matter the goal\n  We gettin closer, for bitch ass niggas, it's just about over\n  I'm in it for the long haul, this goes out\n  To all my true livin dogs and my SOHO\n  My artistic creation, or decoration will set the nation\n  With AlphaStation of lyric lacin, for all occasions\n  Engagements and events, for big dollars and cents\n  Makin niggas past tense, it's consequence\n  All I see around me, makes up the place\n  But if you don't hold down your space, you quickly get erased\n  Don't waste, a thought, thinkin\n  I ain't gon' be bringin the guns that grants hole\n  To my body, dead and stinkin\n  Watch as I back draft, on the last glass, and trap crash\n  Catch the hash blast, when I puff the black wrath\n  Learn the tricks of the trade, to be self made\n  Those who slept, stay where they started and got played\n  I'm daily thinkin of a life gleamin\n  That life we in, how to obtain, and what's the meanin\n  The fact that cash rules, these last days\n  We the last crews, my present wars and my past rules\n  True soldier, no matter the goal\n  We gettin closer, for bitch ass niggas, it's just about over\n  I'm in it for the long haul, this goes out\n  To all my true livin dogs and my SOHO\n"},{"id":22962098,"name":"The Worst","trackName":"The Worst","artistName":"Onyx","albumName":"Shut 'Em Down","duration":334.673625,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n\nAiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\nTanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\nYeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\nPlay the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n\nWatch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\nYou know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\nRaw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\nThis yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n\nMy shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\nThrowin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\nThough, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\nThree-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n\nMy technique, rover in the robe, gold link\nYou know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\nRock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\nThat nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n\nYo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\nThe weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\nWhips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\nYou can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n\nX-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\nUnload a cartridge, and bust a cap\nX could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\nBitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\nBlow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n\nI draws the heat from across the street\nFly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\nStreet crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\nDispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n\nLookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\nOn the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\nTrick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\nI'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n\nWu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\nX-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\nBringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\nNuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\nSleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\nScatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nSteal master grab half the cash fast and bash\nAnd splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\nNigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\nGet marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n\nMack clever niggaz dat regga'\nCatch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\nShake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\nStraighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n\nOfficial Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\nPull fast for your stash\nLong as the war last, foot up in your ass\nTryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n\nYo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\nNumber one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\nMy whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\nKilla Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n\nThis terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\nWe cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\nWu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\nAll the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nHoly shit! Who the fuck is dat?\nIt's John John\nSticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\nI got your back cousin\n\nI got the mack-dozen\nAnd when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\nNowadays rappers dyin' over music\n\nDead on arrival\nWe raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\nDuckin' homicidal, you rivals\nYeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n\nChitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\nHot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\nCaught in the zone, home on the range\nAiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n\nWe got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\nEight ball in the corner pocket\nWe snatch wallets off the white collared\nThe Big Apple forever rotted\nNarcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\nSo what the bumba claat?\n\nPop shit, we do the knowledge\nTo shark niggaz, once bitten\nMajor swingers heavy hittin'\nPoly your kitten, throw up your mittens\nStop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\nThe meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n\nYo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\nBelieve dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\nI slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\nTouch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n\nEnough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\nAnd RIP they whole crew to a shred!\nI got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\nShow no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\nAnd shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n\nYou ain't no thug!\nI earned every God damn penny that I got\nSon I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\nI wish a nigga would what?\nTry to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx","syncedLyrics":"[00:02.54] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[00:03.24] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[00:10.71] Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n[00:13.46] Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n[00:16.18] Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n[00:18.76] Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n[00:21.69] Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n[00:24.27] You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n[00:27.05] Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n[00:30.48] This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n[00:32.74] My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n[00:35.52] Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n[00:38.22] Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n[00:41.18] Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n[00:43.77] My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n[00:46.24] You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n[00:48.76] Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n[00:51.35] That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n[00:54.54] Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n[00:57.10] The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n[00:59.96] Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n[01:02.71] You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n[01:05.47] X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n[01:07.53] 'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\n[01:11.08] Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n[01:13.31] X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n[01:15.84] Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n[01:18.42] Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n[01:21.51] I draws the heat from across the street\n[01:23.76] Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n[01:26.86] Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n[01:29.75] Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n[01:32.71] Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n[01:35.27] On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n[01:37.72] Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n[01:40.89] I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n[01:43.63] Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n[01:46.72] X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n[01:50.17] Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n[01:52.19] Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n[01:54.30] Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n[01:57.91] Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n[02:00.22] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:02.42] (Fucking)\n[02:03.30] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:05.29] (Fucking)\n[02:06.16] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:07.96] (Fucking)\n[02:08.64] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[02:11.01] Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n[02:13.87] And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n[02:16.21] Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n[02:19.32] Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n[02:22.04] Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n[02:24.44] Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n[02:27.11] Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n[02:29.85] Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n[02:32.48] Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n[02:35.83] Pull fast for your stash\n[02:37.56] Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n[02:40.05] Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n[02:43.29] Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n[02:46.22] Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n[02:48.56] My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n[02:51.57] Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n[02:54.05] This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n[02:57.06] We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n[02:59.60] Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n[03:02.47] All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n[03:05.23] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:07.60] (Fucking)\n[03:08.37] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:10.65] (Fucking)\n[03:11.32] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:13.30] (Fucking)\n[03:14.25] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[03:16.31] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:18.87] (Fucking)\n[03:19.71] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:21.36] (Fucking)\n[03:21.98] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:23.89] (Fucking)\n[03:24.67] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[03:27.20] Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n[03:29.73] It's John John\n[03:30.71] Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n[03:32.31] I got your back cousin\n[03:33.88] I got the mack-dozen\n[03:35.20] And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n[03:37.85] 'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\n[03:40.95] Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n[03:43.35] Dead on arrival\n[03:44.45] We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n[03:46.98] Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n[03:49.12] Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n[03:51.82] Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n[03:54.63] Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n[03:57.78] Caught in the zone, home on the range\n[04:03.33] Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n[04:04.50] We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n[04:05.62] Eight ball in the corner pocket\n[04:07.63] We snatch wallets off the white collared\n[04:08.88] The Big Apple forever rotted\n[04:10.87] Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n[04:12.75] So what the bumba claat?\n[04:14.99] Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n[04:16.13] To shark niggaz, once bitten\n[04:18.87] Major swingers heavy hittin'\n[04:20.06] Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n[04:21.65] Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n[04:24.23] The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n[04:26.85] Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n[04:29.94] Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n[04:32.80] I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n[04:35.56] Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n[04:37.07] Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n[04:41.11] And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n[04:43.78] I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n[04:46.35] Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n[04:48.41] And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n[04:50.73] You ain't no thug!\n[04:51.91] I earned every God damn penny that I got\n[04:54.47] Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n[04:57.19] I wish a nigga would what?\n[04:59.59] Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n[05:03.69] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:08.02] (Fucking)\n[05:08.93] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:10.48] (Fucking)\n[05:11.05] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:12.94] (Fucking)\n[05:13.50] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[05:16.49] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[05:21.82] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[05:24.68] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: The Worst\n  artist: Onyx\n  album: Shut 'Em Down\n  duration_ms: 334674\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 2540\n  end_ms: 3240\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 3240\n  end_ms: 10710\n- text: Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n  start_ms: 10710\n  end_ms: 13460\n- text: Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n  start_ms: 13460\n  end_ms: 16180\n- text: Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n  start_ms: 16180\n  end_ms: 18760\n- text: Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n  start_ms: 18760\n  end_ms: 21690\n- text: Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n  start_ms: 21690\n  end_ms: 24270\n- text: You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n  start_ms: 24270\n  end_ms: 27050\n- text: Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n  start_ms: 27050\n  end_ms: 30480\n- text: This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n  start_ms: 30480\n  end_ms: 32740\n- text: My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n  start_ms: 32740\n  end_ms: 35520\n- text: Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n  start_ms: 35520\n  end_ms: 38220\n- text: Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n  start_ms: 38220\n  end_ms: 41180\n- text: Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n  start_ms: 41180\n  end_ms: 43770\n- text: My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n  start_ms: 43770\n  end_ms: 46240\n- text: You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n  start_ms: 46240\n  end_ms: 48760\n- text: Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n  start_ms: 48760\n  end_ms: 51350\n- text: That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n  start_ms: 51350\n  end_ms: 54540\n- text: Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n  start_ms: 54540\n  end_ms: 57100\n- text: The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n  start_ms: 57100\n  end_ms: 59960\n- text: Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n  start_ms: 59960\n  end_ms: 62710\n- text: You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n  start_ms: 62710\n  end_ms: 65470\n- text: X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n  start_ms: 65470\n  end_ms: 67530\n- text: '''Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin'' scraps out the garbage'\n  start_ms: 67530\n  end_ms: 71080\n- text: Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n  start_ms: 71080\n  end_ms: 73310\n- text: X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n  start_ms: 73310\n  end_ms: 75840\n- text: Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n  start_ms: 75840\n  end_ms: 78420\n- text: Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n  start_ms: 78420\n  end_ms: 81510\n- text: I draws the heat from across the street\n  start_ms: 81510\n  end_ms: 83760\n- text: Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n  start_ms: 83760\n  end_ms: 86860\n- text: Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n  start_ms: 86860\n  end_ms: 89750\n- text: Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n  start_ms: 89750\n  end_ms: 92710\n- text: Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n  start_ms: 92710\n  end_ms: 95270\n- text: On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n  start_ms: 95270\n  end_ms: 97720\n- text: Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n  start_ms: 97720\n  end_ms: 100890\n- text: I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n  start_ms: 100890\n  end_ms: 103630\n- text: Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n  start_ms: 103630\n  end_ms: 106720\n- text: X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n  start_ms: 106720\n  end_ms: 110170\n- text: Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n  start_ms: 110170\n  end_ms: 112190\n- text: Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n  start_ms: 112190\n  end_ms: 114300\n- text: Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n  start_ms: 114300\n  end_ms: 117910\n- text: Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n  start_ms: 117910\n  end_ms: 120220\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 120220\n  end_ms: 122420\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 122420\n  end_ms: 123300\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 123300\n  end_ms: 125290\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 125290\n  end_ms: 126160\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 126160\n  end_ms: 127960\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 127960\n  end_ms: 128640\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 128640\n  end_ms: 131010\n- text: Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n  start_ms: 131010\n  end_ms: 133870\n- text: And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n  start_ms: 133870\n  end_ms: 136210\n- text: Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n  start_ms: 136210\n  end_ms: 139320\n- text: Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n  start_ms: 139320\n  end_ms: 142040\n- text: Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n  start_ms: 142040\n  end_ms: 144440\n- text: Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n  start_ms: 144440\n  end_ms: 147110\n- text: Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n  start_ms: 147110\n  end_ms: 149850\n- text: Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n  start_ms: 149850\n  end_ms: 152480\n- text: Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n  start_ms: 152480\n  end_ms: 155830\n- text: Pull fast for your stash\n  start_ms: 155830\n  end_ms: 157560\n- text: Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n  start_ms: 157560\n  end_ms: 160050\n- text: Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n  start_ms: 160050\n  end_ms: 163290\n- text: Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n  start_ms: 163290\n  end_ms: 166220\n- text: Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n  start_ms: 166220\n  end_ms: 168560\n- text: My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n  start_ms: 168560\n  end_ms: 171570\n- text: Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n  start_ms: 171570\n  end_ms: 174050\n- text: This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n  start_ms: 174050\n  end_ms: 177060\n- text: We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n  start_ms: 177060\n  end_ms: 179600\n- text: Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n  start_ms: 179600\n  end_ms: 182470\n- text: All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n  start_ms: 182470\n  end_ms: 185230\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 185230\n  end_ms: 187600\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 187600\n  end_ms: 188370\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 188370\n  end_ms: 190650\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 190650\n  end_ms: 191320\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 191320\n  end_ms: 193300\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 193300\n  end_ms: 194250\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 194250\n  end_ms: 196310\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 196310\n  end_ms: 198870\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 198870\n  end_ms: 199710\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 199710\n  end_ms: 201360\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 201360\n  end_ms: 201980\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 201980\n  end_ms: 203890\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 203890\n  end_ms: 204670\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 204670\n  end_ms: 207200\n- text: Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n  start_ms: 207200\n  end_ms: 209730\n- text: It's John John\n  start_ms: 209730\n  end_ms: 210710\n- text: Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n  start_ms: 210710\n  end_ms: 212310\n- text: I got your back cousin\n  start_ms: 212310\n  end_ms: 213880\n- text: I got the mack-dozen\n  start_ms: 213880\n  end_ms: 215200\n- text: And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n  start_ms: 215200\n  end_ms: 217850\n- text: '''Cause it''s a new year, time for some new shit'\n  start_ms: 217850\n  end_ms: 220950\n- text: Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n  start_ms: 220950\n  end_ms: 223350\n- text: Dead on arrival\n  start_ms: 223350\n  end_ms: 224450\n- text: We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n  start_ms: 224450\n  end_ms: 226980\n- text: Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n  start_ms: 226980\n  end_ms: 229120\n- text: Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n  start_ms: 229120\n  end_ms: 231820\n- text: Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n  start_ms: 231820\n  end_ms: 234630\n- text: Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n  start_ms: 234630\n  end_ms: 237780\n- text: Caught in the zone, home on the range\n  start_ms: 237780\n  end_ms: 243330\n- text: Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n  start_ms: 243330\n  end_ms: 244500\n- text: We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n  start_ms: 244500\n  end_ms: 245620\n- text: Eight ball in the corner pocket\n  start_ms: 245620\n  end_ms: 247630\n- text: We snatch wallets off the white collared\n  start_ms: 247630\n  end_ms: 248880\n- text: The Big Apple forever rotted\n  start_ms: 248880\n  end_ms: 250870\n- text: Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n  start_ms: 250870\n  end_ms: 252750\n- text: So what the bumba claat?\n  start_ms: 252750\n  end_ms: 254990\n- text: Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n  start_ms: 254990\n  end_ms: 256130\n- text: To shark niggaz, once bitten\n  start_ms: 256130\n  end_ms: 258870\n- text: Major swingers heavy hittin'\n  start_ms: 258870\n  end_ms: 260060\n- text: Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n  start_ms: 260060\n  end_ms: 261650\n- text: Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n  start_ms: 261650\n  end_ms: 264230\n- text: The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n  start_ms: 264230\n  end_ms: 266850\n- text: Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 266850\n  end_ms: 269940\n- text: Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n  start_ms: 269940\n  end_ms: 272800\n- text: I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n  start_ms: 272800\n  end_ms: 275560\n- text: Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n  start_ms: 275560\n  end_ms: 277070\n- text: Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n  start_ms: 277070\n  end_ms: 281110\n- text: And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n  start_ms: 281110\n  end_ms: 283780\n- text: I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n  start_ms: 283780\n  end_ms: 286350\n- text: Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n  start_ms: 286350\n  end_ms: 288410\n- text: And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n  start_ms: 288410\n  end_ms: 290730\n- text: You ain't no thug!\n  start_ms: 290730\n  end_ms: 291910\n- text: I earned every God damn penny that I got\n  start_ms: 291910\n  end_ms: 294470\n- text: Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n  start_ms: 294470\n  end_ms: 297190\n- text: I wish a nigga would what?\n  start_ms: 297190\n  end_ms: 299590\n- text: Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n  start_ms: 299590\n  end_ms: 303690\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 303690\n  end_ms: 308020\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 308020\n  end_ms: 308930\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 308930\n  end_ms: 310480\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 310480\n  end_ms: 311050\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 311050\n  end_ms: 312940\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 312940\n  end_ms: 313500\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 313500\n  end_ms: 316490\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 316490\n  end_ms: 321820\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 321820\n  end_ms: 324680\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 324680\nplain: |-\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n\n  Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n  Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n  Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n  Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n\n  Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n  You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n  Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n  This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n\n  My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n  Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n  Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n  Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n\n  My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n  You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n  Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n  That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n\n  Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n  The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n  Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n  You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n\n  X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n  'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\n  Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n  X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n  Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n  Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n\n  I draws the heat from across the street\n  Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n  Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n  Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n\n  Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n  On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n  Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n  I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n\n  Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n  X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n  Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n  Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n  Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n  Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n  And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n  Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n  Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n\n  Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n  Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n  Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n  Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n\n  Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n  Pull fast for your stash\n  Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n  Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n\n  Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n  Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n  My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n  Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n\n  This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n  We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n  Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n  All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n  It's John John\n  Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n  I got your back cousin\n\n  I got the mack-dozen\n  And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n  'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\n  Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n\n  Dead on arrival\n  We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n  Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n  Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n\n  Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n  Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n  Caught in the zone, home on the range\n  Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n\n  We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n  Eight ball in the corner pocket\n  We snatch wallets off the white collared\n  The Big Apple forever rotted\n  Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n  So what the bumba claat?\n\n  Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n  To shark niggaz, once bitten\n  Major swingers heavy hittin'\n  Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n  Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n  The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n\n  Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n  Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n  I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n  Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n\n  Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n  And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n  I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n  Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n  And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n\n  You ain't no thug!\n  I earned every God damn penny that I got\n  Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n  I wish a nigga would what?\n  Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n"},{"id":24348837,"name":"The Worst (Live)","trackName":"The Worst (Live)","artistName":"Onyx","albumName":"Live in Saint Petersburg","duration":62.040816,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"I love St. Petersburg because it reminds me of Brooklyn\nBrooklyn, St. Pete\nIt reminds me of New York\nWe came in the game with real rappers, man\nI'm talkin' about niggas like the Wu-Tang Clan and shit\nWe came in the game with niggas like Method\nMan and Raekwon and niggas like that type shit\nGhostface and them niggas\nYou know?\nOnyx\nShout to the lords of the underground\nOnyx\nThe lords of the underground\nWu-Tang, the Wu-Tang and the Onyx\nYo, yo, it was the Wu-Tang niggas\nThe Wu-Tang niggas and the Onyx\nNew York, we had it like\nIt was the Wu-Tang niggas\nThe Wu-Tang niggas and the Onyx, niggas\n'93, '94, Then Biggie came out\nIt was crazy, man\nWe been through this hip hop shit and we keep\nComin' back 'cause you motherfuckers are the best","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: The Worst (Live)\n  artist: Onyx\n  album: Live in Saint Petersburg\n  duration_ms: 62041\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  I love St. Petersburg because it reminds me of Brooklyn\n  Brooklyn, St. Pete\n  It reminds me of New York\n  We came in the game with real rappers, man\n  I'm talkin' about niggas like the Wu-Tang Clan and shit\n  We came in the game with niggas like Method\n  Man and Raekwon and niggas like that type shit\n  Ghostface and them niggas\n  You know?\n  Onyx\n  Shout to the lords of the underground\n  Onyx\n  The lords of the underground\n  Wu-Tang, the Wu-Tang and the Onyx\n  Yo, yo, it was the Wu-Tang niggas\n  The Wu-Tang niggas and the Onyx\n  New York, we had it like\n  It was the Wu-Tang niggas\n  The Wu-Tang niggas and the Onyx, niggas\n  '93, '94, Then Biggie came out\n  It was crazy, man\n  We been through this hip hop shit and we keep\n  Comin' back 'cause you motherfuckers are the best\n"},{"id":31820586,"name":"The Worst (feat. Wu-Tang Clan)","trackName":"The Worst (feat. Wu-Tang Clan)","artistName":"Onyx","albumName":"Ride: Music from the Dimension Motion Picture","duration":338.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n\nAiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\nTanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\nYeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\nPlay the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n\nWatch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\nYou know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\nRaw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\nThis yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n\nMy shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\nThrowin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\nThough, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\nThree-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n\nMy technique, rover in the robe, gold link\nYou know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\nRock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\nThat nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n\nYo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\nThe weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\nWhips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\nYou can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n\nX-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\nUnload a cartridge, and bust a cap\nX could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\nBitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\nBlow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n\nI draws the heat from across the street\nFly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\nStreet crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\nDispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n\nLookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\nOn the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\nTrick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\nI'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n\nWu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\nX-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\nBringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\nNuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\nSleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\nScatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nSteal master grab half the cash fast and bash\nAnd splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\nNigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\nGet marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n\nMack clever niggaz dat regga'\nCatch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\nShake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\nStraighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n\nOfficial Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\nPull fast for your stash\nLong as the war last, foot up in your ass\nTryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n\nYo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\nNumber one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\nMy whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\nKilla Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n\nThis terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\nWe cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\nWu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\nAll the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nHoly shit! Who the fuck is dat?\nIt's John John\nSticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\nI got your back cousin\n\nI got the mack-dozen\nAnd when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\nNowadays rappers dyin' over music\n\nDead on arrival\nWe raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\nDuckin' homicidal, you rivals\nYeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n\nChitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\nHot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\nCaught in the zone, home on the range\nAiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n\nWe got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\nEight ball in the corner pocket\nWe snatch wallets off the white collared\nThe Big Apple forever rotted\nNarcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\nSo what the bumba claat?\n\nPop shit, we do the knowledge\nTo shark niggaz, once bitten\nMajor swingers heavy hittin'\nPoly your kitten, throw up your mittens\nStop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\nThe meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n\nYo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\nBelieve dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\nI slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\nTouch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n\nEnough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\nAnd RIP they whole crew to a shred!\nI got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\nShow no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\nAnd shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n\nYou ain't no thug!\nI earned every God damn penny that I got\nSon I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\nI wish a nigga would what?\nTry to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: The Worst (feat. Wu-Tang Clan)\n  artist: Onyx\n  album: 'Ride: Music from the Dimension Motion Picture'\n  duration_ms: 338000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n\n  Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n  Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n  Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n  Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n\n  Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n  You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n  Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n  This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n\n  My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n  Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n  Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n  Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n\n  My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n  You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n  Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n  That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n\n  Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n  The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n  Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n  You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n\n  X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n  'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\n  Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n  X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n  Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n  Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n\n  I draws the heat from across the street\n  Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n  Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n  Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n\n  Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n  On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n  Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n  I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n\n  Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n  X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n  Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n  Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n  Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n  Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n  And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n  Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n  Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n\n  Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n  Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n  Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n  Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n\n  Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n  Pull fast for your stash\n  Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n  Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n\n  Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n  Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n  My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n  Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n\n  This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n  We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n  Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n  All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n  It's John John\n  Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n  I got your back cousin\n\n  I got the mack-dozen\n  And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n  'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\n  Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n\n  Dead on arrival\n  We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n  Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n  Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n\n  Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n  Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n  Caught in the zone, home on the range\n  Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n\n  We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n  Eight ball in the corner pocket\n  We snatch wallets off the white collared\n  The Big Apple forever rotted\n  Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n  So what the bumba claat?\n\n  Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n  To shark niggaz, once bitten\n  Major swingers heavy hittin'\n  Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n  Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n  The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n\n  Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n  Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n  I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n  Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n\n  Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n  And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n  I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n  Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n  And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n\n  You ain't no thug!\n  I earned every God damn penny that I got\n  Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n  I wish a nigga would what?\n  Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n"},{"id":25706179,"name":"The Worst","trackName":"The Worst","artistName":"Onyx & Wu-Tang Clan","albumName":"Ride: Music From the Dimension Motion Picture","duration":337.606531,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n\nAiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\nTanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\nYeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\nPlay the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n\nWatch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\nYou know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\nRaw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\nThis yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n\nMy shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\nThrowin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\nThough, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\nThree-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n\nMy technique, rover in the robe, gold link\nYou know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\nRock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\nThat nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n\nYo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\nThe weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\nWhips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\nYou can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n\nX-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\nUnload a cartridge, and bust a cap\nX could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\nBitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\nBlow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n\nI draws the heat from across the street\nFly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\nStreet crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\nDispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n\nLookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\nOn the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\nTrick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\nI'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n\nWu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\nX-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\nBringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\nNuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\nSleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\nScatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nSteal master grab half the cash fast and bash\nAnd splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\nNigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\nGet marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n\nMack clever niggaz dat regga'\nCatch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\nShake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\nStraighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n\nOfficial Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\nPull fast for your stash\nLong as the war last, foot up in your ass\nTryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n\nYo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\nNumber one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\nMy whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\nKilla Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n\nThis terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\nWe cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\nWu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\nAll the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nHoly shit! Who the fuck is dat?\nIt's John John\nSticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\nI got your back cousin\n\nI got the mack-dozen\nAnd when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\nNowadays rappers dyin' over music\n\nDead on arrival\nWe raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\nDuckin' homicidal, you rivals\nYeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n\nChitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\nHot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\nCaught in the zone, home on the range\nAiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n\nWe got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\nEight ball in the corner pocket\nWe snatch wallets off the white collared\nThe Big Apple forever rotted\nNarcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\nSo what the bumba claat?\n\nPop shit, we do the knowledge\nTo shark niggaz, once bitten\nMajor swingers heavy hittin'\nPoly your kitten, throw up your mittens\nStop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\nThe meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n\nYo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\nBelieve dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\nI slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\nTouch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n\nEnough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\nAnd RIP they whole crew to a shred!\nI got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\nShow no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\nAnd shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n\nYou ain't no thug!\nI earned every God damn penny that I got\nSon I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\nI wish a nigga would what?\nTry to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: The Worst\n  artist: Onyx & Wu-Tang Clan\n  album: 'Ride: Music From the Dimension Motion Picture'\n  duration_ms: 337607\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n\n  Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n  Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n  Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n  Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n\n  Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n  You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n  Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n  This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n\n  My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n  Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n  Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n  Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n\n  My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n  You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n  Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n  That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n\n  Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n  The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n  Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n  You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n\n  X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n  'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\n  Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n  X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n  Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n  Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n\n  I draws the heat from across the street\n  Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n  Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n  Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n\n  Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n  On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n  Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n  I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n\n  Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n  X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n  Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n  Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n  Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n  Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n  And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n  Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n  Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n\n  Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n  Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n  Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n  Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n\n  Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n  Pull fast for your stash\n  Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n  Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n\n  Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n  Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n  My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n  Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n\n  This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n  We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n  Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n  All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n  It's John John\n  Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n  I got your back cousin\n\n  I got the mack-dozen\n  And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n  'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\n  Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n\n  Dead on arrival\n  We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n  Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n  Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n\n  Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n  Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n  Caught in the zone, home on the range\n  Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n\n  We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n  Eight ball in the corner pocket\n  We snatch wallets off the white collared\n  The Big Apple forever rotted\n  Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n  So what the bumba claat?\n\n  Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n  To shark niggaz, once bitten\n  Major swingers heavy hittin'\n  Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n  Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n  The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n\n  Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n  Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n  I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n  Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n\n  Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n  And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n  I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n  Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n  And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n\n  You ain't no thug!\n  I earned every God damn penny that I got\n  Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n  I wish a nigga would what?\n  Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n"},{"id":31149357,"name":"The Worst (ft. Method Man, Rae","trackName":"The Worst (ft. Method Man, Rae","artistName":"Onyx","albumName":"Shut 'Em Down","duration":641.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n\nAiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\nTanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\nYeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\nPlay the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n\nWatch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\nYou know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\nRaw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\nThis yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n\nMy shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\nThrowin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\nThough, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\nThree-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n\nMy technique, rover in the robe, gold link\nYou know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\nRock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\nThat nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n\nYo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\nThe weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\nWhips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\nYou can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n\nX-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\nUnload a cartridge, and bust a cap\nX could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\nBitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\nBlow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n\nI draws the heat from across the street\nFly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\nStreet crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\nDispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n\nLookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\nOn the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\nTrick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\nI'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n\nWu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\nX-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\nBringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\nNuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\nSleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\nScatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nSteal master grab half the cash fast and bash\nAnd splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\nNigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\nGet marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n\nMack clever niggaz dat regga'\nCatch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\nShake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\nStraighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n\nOfficial Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\nPull fast for your stash\nLong as the war last, foot up in your ass\nTryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n\nYo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\nNumber one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\nMy whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\nKilla Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n\nThis terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\nWe cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\nWu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\nAll the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nHoly shit! Who the fuck is dat?\nIt's John John\nSticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\nI got your back cousin\n\nI got the mack-dozen\nAnd when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\nNowadays rappers dyin' over music\n\nDead on arrival\nWe raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\nDuckin' homicidal, you rivals\nYeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n\nChitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\nHot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\nCaught in the zone, home on the range\nAiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n\nWe got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\nEight ball in the corner pocket\nWe snatch wallets off the white collared\nThe Big Apple forever rotted\nNarcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\nSo what the bumba claat?\n\nPop shit, we do the knowledge\nTo shark niggaz, once bitten\nMajor swingers heavy hittin'\nPoly your kitten, throw up your mittens\nStop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\nThe meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n\nYo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\nBelieve dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\nI slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\nTouch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n\nEnough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\nAnd RIP they whole crew to a shred!\nI got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\nShow no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\nAnd shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n\nYou ain't no thug!\nI earned every God damn penny that I got\nSon I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\nI wish a nigga would what?\nTry to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx","syncedLyrics":"[00:01.70] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[00:04.58] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[00:10.06] Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n[00:13.68] Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n[00:15.44] Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n[00:18.18] Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n[00:20.82] Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n[00:23.65] You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n[00:26.36] Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n[00:29.91] This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n[00:31.75] My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n[00:34.45] Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n[00:37.23] Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n[00:40.88] Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n[00:43.54] My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n[00:45.39] You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n[00:48.02] Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n[00:50.84] That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n[00:53.58] Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n[00:56.25] The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n[00:58.93] Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n[01:01.63] You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n[01:04.48] X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n[01:07.15] 'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\n[01:10.75] Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n[01:12.57] X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n[01:15.32] Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n[01:18.01] Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n[01:20.71] I draws the heat from across the street\n[01:22.54] Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n[01:26.26] Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n[01:28.92] Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n[01:31.62] Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n[01:34.33] On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n[01:37.01] Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n[01:39.77] I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n[01:42.52] Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n[01:46.13] X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n[01:48.83] Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n[01:51.58] Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n[01:54.25] Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n[01:57.09] Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n[01:59.74] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:02.49] (Fucking)\n[02:04.27] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:05.18] (Fucking)\n[02:06.08] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:07.80] (Fucking)\n[02:08.73] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[02:09.67] Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n[02:13.36] And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n[02:15.17] Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n[02:18.71] Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n[02:21.45] Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n[02:24.13] Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n[02:26.07] Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n[02:28.72] Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n[02:31.46] Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n[02:35.08] Pull fast for your stash\n[02:36.84] Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n[02:39.69] Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n[02:43.25] Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n[02:45.96] Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n[02:48.61] My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n[02:50.58] Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n[02:53.27] This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n[02:55.99] We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n[02:59.51] Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n[03:02.20] All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n[03:05.02] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:06.89] (Fucking)\n[03:07.76] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:09.52] (Fucking)\n[03:10.43] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:12.25] (Fucking)\n[03:13.10] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[03:14.91] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:17.64] (Fucking)\n[03:18.50] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:21.34] (Fucking)\n[03:22.22] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:23.17] (Fucking)\n[03:24.01] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[03:26.73] Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n[03:29.42] It's John John\n[03:30.33] Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n[03:32.11] I got your back cousin\n[03:33.14] I got the mack-dozen\n[03:34.08] And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n[03:35.80] 'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\n[03:39.48] Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n[03:42.18] Dead on arrival\n[03:43.95] We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n[03:45.84] Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n[03:48.59] Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n[03:51.24] Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n[03:53.91] Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n[03:57.59] Caught in the zone, home on the range\n[03:59.45] Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n[04:01.22] We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n[04:03.92] Eight ball in the corner pocket\n[04:05.74] We snatch wallets off the white collared\n[04:08.58] The Big Apple forever rotted\n[04:10.34] Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n[04:12.18] So what the bumba claat?\n[04:13.94] Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n[04:15.74] To shark niggaz, once bitten\n[04:17.59] Major swingers heavy hittin'\n[04:19.39] Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n[04:21.25] Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n[04:23.94] The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n[04:26.61] Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n[04:29.33] Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n[04:31.16] I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n[04:34.85] Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n[04:37.55] Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n[04:40.21] And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n[04:42.96] I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n[04:45.70] Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n[04:47.59] And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n[04:50.26] You ain't no thug!\n[04:51.18] I earned every God damn penny that I got\n[04:53.87] Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n[04:55.62] I wish a nigga would what?\n[04:58.42] Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n[04:59.37] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:06.56] (Fucking)\n[05:07.45] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:10.16] (Fucking)\n[05:11.11] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:12.96] (Fucking)\n[05:13.88] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[05:15.66] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[05:18.35] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[05:26.54] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: The Worst (ft. Method Man, Rae\n  artist: Onyx\n  album: Shut 'Em Down\n  duration_ms: 641000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 1700\n  end_ms: 4580\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 4580\n  end_ms: 10060\n- text: Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n  start_ms: 10060\n  end_ms: 13680\n- text: Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n  start_ms: 13680\n  end_ms: 15440\n- text: Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n  start_ms: 15440\n  end_ms: 18180\n- text: Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n  start_ms: 18180\n  end_ms: 20820\n- text: Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n  start_ms: 20820\n  end_ms: 23650\n- text: You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n  start_ms: 23650\n  end_ms: 26360\n- text: Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n  start_ms: 26360\n  end_ms: 29910\n- text: This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n  start_ms: 29910\n  end_ms: 31750\n- text: My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n  start_ms: 31750\n  end_ms: 34450\n- text: Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n  start_ms: 34450\n  end_ms: 37230\n- text: Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n  start_ms: 37230\n  end_ms: 40880\n- text: Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n  start_ms: 40880\n  end_ms: 43540\n- text: My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n  start_ms: 43540\n  end_ms: 45390\n- text: You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n  start_ms: 45390\n  end_ms: 48020\n- text: Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n  start_ms: 48020\n  end_ms: 50840\n- text: That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n  start_ms: 50840\n  end_ms: 53580\n- text: Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n  start_ms: 53580\n  end_ms: 56250\n- text: The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n  start_ms: 56250\n  end_ms: 58930\n- text: Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n  start_ms: 58930\n  end_ms: 61630\n- text: You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n  start_ms: 61630\n  end_ms: 64480\n- text: X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n  start_ms: 64480\n  end_ms: 67150\n- text: '''Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin'' scraps out the garbage'\n  start_ms: 67150\n  end_ms: 70750\n- text: Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n  start_ms: 70750\n  end_ms: 72570\n- text: X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n  start_ms: 72570\n  end_ms: 75320\n- text: Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n  start_ms: 75320\n  end_ms: 78010\n- text: Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n  start_ms: 78010\n  end_ms: 80710\n- text: I draws the heat from across the street\n  start_ms: 80710\n  end_ms: 82540\n- text: Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n  start_ms: 82540\n  end_ms: 86260\n- text: Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n  start_ms: 86260\n  end_ms: 88920\n- text: Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n  start_ms: 88920\n  end_ms: 91620\n- text: Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n  start_ms: 91620\n  end_ms: 94330\n- text: On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n  start_ms: 94330\n  end_ms: 97010\n- text: Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n  start_ms: 97010\n  end_ms: 99770\n- text: I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n  start_ms: 99770\n  end_ms: 102520\n- text: Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n  start_ms: 102520\n  end_ms: 106130\n- text: X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n  start_ms: 106130\n  end_ms: 108830\n- text: Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n  start_ms: 108830\n  end_ms: 111580\n- text: Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n  start_ms: 111580\n  end_ms: 114250\n- text: Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n  start_ms: 114250\n  end_ms: 117090\n- text: Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n  start_ms: 117090\n  end_ms: 119740\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 119740\n  end_ms: 122490\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 122490\n  end_ms: 124270\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 124270\n  end_ms: 125180\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 125180\n  end_ms: 126080\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 126080\n  end_ms: 127800\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 127800\n  end_ms: 128730\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 128730\n  end_ms: 129670\n- text: Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n  start_ms: 129670\n  end_ms: 133360\n- text: And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n  start_ms: 133360\n  end_ms: 135170\n- text: Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n  start_ms: 135170\n  end_ms: 138710\n- text: Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n  start_ms: 138710\n  end_ms: 141450\n- text: Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n  start_ms: 141450\n  end_ms: 144130\n- text: Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n  start_ms: 144130\n  end_ms: 146070\n- text: Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n  start_ms: 146070\n  end_ms: 148720\n- text: Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n  start_ms: 148720\n  end_ms: 151460\n- text: Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n  start_ms: 151460\n  end_ms: 155080\n- text: Pull fast for your stash\n  start_ms: 155080\n  end_ms: 156840\n- text: Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n  start_ms: 156840\n  end_ms: 159690\n- text: Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n  start_ms: 159690\n  end_ms: 163250\n- text: Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n  start_ms: 163250\n  end_ms: 165960\n- text: Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n  start_ms: 165960\n  end_ms: 168610\n- text: My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n  start_ms: 168610\n  end_ms: 170580\n- text: Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n  start_ms: 170580\n  end_ms: 173270\n- text: This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n  start_ms: 173270\n  end_ms: 175990\n- text: We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n  start_ms: 175990\n  end_ms: 179510\n- text: Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n  start_ms: 179510\n  end_ms: 182200\n- text: All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n  start_ms: 182200\n  end_ms: 185020\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 185020\n  end_ms: 186890\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 186890\n  end_ms: 187760\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 187760\n  end_ms: 189520\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 189520\n  end_ms: 190430\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 190430\n  end_ms: 192250\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 192250\n  end_ms: 193100\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 193100\n  end_ms: 194910\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 194910\n  end_ms: 197640\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 197640\n  end_ms: 198500\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 198500\n  end_ms: 201340\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 201340\n  end_ms: 202220\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 202220\n  end_ms: 203170\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 203170\n  end_ms: 204010\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 204010\n  end_ms: 206730\n- text: Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n  start_ms: 206730\n  end_ms: 209420\n- text: It's John John\n  start_ms: 209420\n  end_ms: 210330\n- text: Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n  start_ms: 210330\n  end_ms: 212110\n- text: I got your back cousin\n  start_ms: 212110\n  end_ms: 213140\n- text: I got the mack-dozen\n  start_ms: 213140\n  end_ms: 214080\n- text: And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n  start_ms: 214080\n  end_ms: 215800\n- text: '''Cause it''s a new year, time for some new shit'\n  start_ms: 215800\n  end_ms: 219480\n- text: Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n  start_ms: 219480\n  end_ms: 222180\n- text: Dead on arrival\n  start_ms: 222180\n  end_ms: 223950\n- text: We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n  start_ms: 223950\n  end_ms: 225840\n- text: Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n  start_ms: 225840\n  end_ms: 228590\n- text: Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n  start_ms: 228590\n  end_ms: 231240\n- text: Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n  start_ms: 231240\n  end_ms: 233910\n- text: Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n  start_ms: 233910\n  end_ms: 237590\n- text: Caught in the zone, home on the range\n  start_ms: 237590\n  end_ms: 239450\n- text: Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n  start_ms: 239450\n  end_ms: 241220\n- text: We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n  start_ms: 241220\n  end_ms: 243920\n- text: Eight ball in the corner pocket\n  start_ms: 243920\n  end_ms: 245740\n- text: We snatch wallets off the white collared\n  start_ms: 245740\n  end_ms: 248580\n- text: The Big Apple forever rotted\n  start_ms: 248580\n  end_ms: 250340\n- text: Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n  start_ms: 250340\n  end_ms: 252180\n- text: So what the bumba claat?\n  start_ms: 252180\n  end_ms: 253940\n- text: Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n  start_ms: 253940\n  end_ms: 255740\n- text: To shark niggaz, once bitten\n  start_ms: 255740\n  end_ms: 257590\n- text: Major swingers heavy hittin'\n  start_ms: 257590\n  end_ms: 259390\n- text: Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n  start_ms: 259390\n  end_ms: 261250\n- text: Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n  start_ms: 261250\n  end_ms: 263940\n- text: The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n  start_ms: 263940\n  end_ms: 266610\n- text: Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 266610\n  end_ms: 269330\n- text: Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n  start_ms: 269330\n  end_ms: 271160\n- text: I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n  start_ms: 271160\n  end_ms: 274850\n- text: Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n  start_ms: 274850\n  end_ms: 277550\n- text: Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n  start_ms: 277550\n  end_ms: 280210\n- text: And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n  start_ms: 280210\n  end_ms: 282960\n- text: I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n  start_ms: 282960\n  end_ms: 285700\n- text: Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n  start_ms: 285700\n  end_ms: 287590\n- text: And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n  start_ms: 287590\n  end_ms: 290260\n- text: You ain't no thug!\n  start_ms: 290260\n  end_ms: 291180\n- text: I earned every God damn penny that I got\n  start_ms: 291180\n  end_ms: 293870\n- text: Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n  start_ms: 293870\n  end_ms: 295620\n- text: I wish a nigga would what?\n  start_ms: 295620\n  end_ms: 298420\n- text: Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n  start_ms: 298420\n  end_ms: 299370\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 299370\n  end_ms: 306560\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 306560\n  end_ms: 307450\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 307450\n  end_ms: 310160\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 310160\n  end_ms: 311110\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 311110\n  end_ms: 312960\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 312960\n  end_ms: 313880\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 313880\n  end_ms: 315660\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 315660\n  end_ms: 318350\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 318350\n  end_ms: 326540\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 326540\nplain: |-\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n\n  Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n  Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n  Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n  Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n\n  Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n  You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n  Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n  This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n\n  My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n  Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n  Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n  Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n\n  My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n  You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n  Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n  That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n\n  Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n  The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n  Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n  You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n\n  X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n  'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\n  Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n  X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n  Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n  Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n\n  I draws the heat from across the street\n  Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n  Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n  Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n\n  Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n  On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n  Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n  I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n\n  Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n  X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n  Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n  Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n  Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n  Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n  And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n  Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n  Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n\n  Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n  Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n  Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n  Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n\n  Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n  Pull fast for your stash\n  Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n  Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n\n  Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n  Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n  My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n  Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n\n  This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n  We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n  Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n  All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n  It's John John\n  Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n  I got your back cousin\n\n  I got the mack-dozen\n  And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n  'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\n  Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n\n  Dead on arrival\n  We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n  Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n  Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n\n  Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n  Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n  Caught in the zone, home on the range\n  Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n\n  We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n  Eight ball in the corner pocket\n  We snatch wallets off the white collared\n  The Big Apple forever rotted\n  Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n  So what the bumba claat?\n\n  Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n  To shark niggaz, once bitten\n  Major swingers heavy hittin'\n  Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n  Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n  The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n\n  Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n  Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n  I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n  Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n\n  Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n  And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n  I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n  Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n  And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n\n  You ain't no thug!\n  I earned every God damn penny that I got\n  Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n  I wish a nigga would what?\n  Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n"},{"id":39406014,"name":"The Worst (feat. Wu-Tang Clan)","trackName":"The Worst (feat. Wu-Tang Clan)","artistName":"Onyx","albumName":"L'Intégrale","duration":334.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n\nAiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\nTanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\nYeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\nPlay the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n\nWatch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\nYou know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\nRaw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\nThis yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n\nMy shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\nThrowin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\nThough, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\nThree-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n\nMy technique, rover in the robe, gold link\nYou know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\nRock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\nThat nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n\nYo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\nThe weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\nWhips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\nYou can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n\nX-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\nUnload a cartridge, and bust a cap\nX could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\nBitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\nBlow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n\nI draws the heat from across the street\nFly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\nStreet crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\nDispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n\nLookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\nOn the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\nTrick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\nI'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n\nWu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\nX-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\nBringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\nNuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\nSleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\nScatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nSteal master grab half the cash fast and bash\nAnd splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\nNigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\nGet marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n\nMack clever niggaz dat regga'\nCatch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\nShake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\nStraighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n\nOfficial Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\nPull fast for your stash\nLong as the war last, foot up in your ass\nTryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n\nYo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\nNumber one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\nMy whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\nKilla Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n\nThis terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\nWe cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\nWu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\nAll the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nHoly shit! Who the fuck is dat?\nIt's John John\nSticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\nI got your back cousin\n\nI got the mack-dozen\nAnd when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\nNowadays rappers dyin' over music\n\nDead on arrival\nWe raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\nDuckin' homicidal, you rivals\nYeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n\nChitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\nHot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\nCaught in the zone, home on the range\nAiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n\nWe got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\nEight ball in the corner pocket\nWe snatch wallets off the white collared\nThe Big Apple forever rotted\nNarcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\nSo what the bumba claat?\n\nPop shit, we do the knowledge\nTo shark niggaz, once bitten\nMajor swingers heavy hittin'\nPoly your kitten, throw up your mittens\nStop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\nThe meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n\nYo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\nBelieve dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\nI slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\nTouch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n\nEnough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\nAnd RIP they whole crew to a shred!\nI got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\nShow no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\nAnd shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n\nYou ain't no thug!\nI earned every God damn penny that I got\nSon I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\nI wish a nigga would what?\nTry to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: The Worst (feat. Wu-Tang Clan)\n  artist: Onyx\n  album: L'Intégrale\n  duration_ms: 333714\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n\n  Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n  Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n  Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n  Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n\n  Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n  You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n  Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n  This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n\n  My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n  Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n  Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n  Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n\n  My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n  You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n  Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n  That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n\n  Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n  The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n  Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n  You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n\n  X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n  'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\n  Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n  X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n  Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n  Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n\n  I draws the heat from across the street\n  Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n  Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n  Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n\n  Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n  On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n  Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n  I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n\n  Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n  X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n  Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n  Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n  Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n  Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n  And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n  Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n  Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n\n  Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n  Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n  Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n  Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n\n  Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n  Pull fast for your stash\n  Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n  Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n\n  Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n  Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n  My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n  Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n\n  This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n  We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n  Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n  All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n  It's John John\n  Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n  I got your back cousin\n\n  I got the mack-dozen\n  And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n  'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\n  Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n\n  Dead on arrival\n  We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n  Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n  Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n\n  Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n  Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n  Caught in the zone, home on the range\n  Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n\n  We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n  Eight ball in the corner pocket\n  We snatch wallets off the white collared\n  The Big Apple forever rotted\n  Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n  So what the bumba claat?\n\n  Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n  To shark niggaz, once bitten\n  Major swingers heavy hittin'\n  Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n  Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n  The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n\n  Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n  Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n  I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n  Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n\n  Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n  And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n  I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n  Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n  And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n\n  You ain't no thug!\n  I earned every God damn penny that I got\n  Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n  I wish a nigga would what?\n  Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n"},{"id":25479141,"name":"The Worst Ft. Onyx","trackName":"The Worst Ft. Onyx","artistName":"Wu-Tang Clan","albumName":"Artofficial Intelligence Prese","duration":337.2772079,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n\nAiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\nTanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\nYeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\nPlay the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n\nWatch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\nYou know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\nRaw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\nThis yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n\nMy shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\nThrowin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\nThough, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\nThree-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n\nMy technique, rover in the robe, gold link\nYou know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\nRock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\nThat nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n\nYo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\nThe weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\nWhips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\nYou can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n\nX-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\nUnload a cartridge, and bust a cap\nX could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\nBitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\nBlow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n\nI draws the heat from across the street\nFly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\nStreet crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\nDispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n\nLookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\nOn the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\nTrick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\nI'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n\nWu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\nX-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\nBringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\nNuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\nSleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\nScatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nSteal master grab half the cash fast and bash\nAnd splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\nNigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\nGet marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n\nMack clever niggaz dat regga'\nCatch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\nShake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\nStraighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n\nOfficial Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\nPull fast for your stash\nLong as the war last, foot up in your ass\nTryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n\nYo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\nNumber one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\nMy whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\nKilla Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n\nThis terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\nWe cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\nWu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\nAll the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nHoly shit! Who the fuck is dat?\nIt's John John\nSticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\nI got your back cousin\n\nI got the mack-dozen\nAnd when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\nNowadays rappers dyin' over music\n\nDead on arrival\nWe raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\nDuckin' homicidal, you rivals\nYeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n\nChitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\nHot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\nCaught in the zone, home on the range\nAiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n\nWe got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\nEight ball in the corner pocket\nWe snatch wallets off the white collared\nThe Big Apple forever rotted\nNarcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\nSo what the bumba claat?\n\nPop shit, we do the knowledge\nTo shark niggaz, once bitten\nMajor swingers heavy hittin'\nPoly your kitten, throw up your mittens\nStop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\nThe meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n\nYo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\nBelieve dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\nI slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\nTouch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n\nEnough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\nAnd RIP they whole crew to a shred!\nI got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\nShow no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\nAnd shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n\nYou ain't no thug!\nI earned every God damn penny that I got\nSon I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\nI wish a nigga would what?\nTry to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: The Worst Ft. Onyx\n  artist: Wu-Tang Clan\n  album: Artofficial Intelligence Prese\n  duration_ms: 337277\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n\n  Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n  Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n  Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n  Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n\n  Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n  You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n  Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n  This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n\n  My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n  Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n  Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n  Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n\n  My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n  You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n  Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n  That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n\n  Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n  The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n  Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n  You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n\n  X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n  'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\n  Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n  X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n  Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n  Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n\n  I draws the heat from across the street\n  Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n  Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n  Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n\n  Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n  On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n  Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n  I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n\n  Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n  X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n  Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n  Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n  Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n  Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n  And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n  Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n  Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n\n  Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n  Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n  Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n  Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n\n  Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n  Pull fast for your stash\n  Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n  Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n\n  Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n  Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n  My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n  Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n\n  This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n  We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n  Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n  All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n  It's John John\n  Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n  I got your back cousin\n\n  I got the mack-dozen\n  And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n  'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\n  Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n\n  Dead on arrival\n  We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n  Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n  Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n\n  Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n  Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n  Caught in the zone, home on the range\n  Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n\n  We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n  Eight ball in the corner pocket\n  We snatch wallets off the white collared\n  The Big Apple forever rotted\n  Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n  So what the bumba claat?\n\n  Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n  To shark niggaz, once bitten\n  Major swingers heavy hittin'\n  Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n  Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n  The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n\n  Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n  Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n  I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n  Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n\n  Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n  And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n  I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n  Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n  And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n\n  You ain't no thug!\n  I earned every God damn penny that I got\n  Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n  I wish a nigga would what?\n  Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n"},{"id":22163066,"name":"The Worst","trackName":"The Worst","artistName":"Wu-Tang Clan feat. Onyx","albumName":"Ride Soundtrack","duration":334.673625,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n\nAiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\nTanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\nYeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\nPlay the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n\nWatch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\nYou know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\nRaw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\nThis yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n\nMy shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\nThrowin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\nThough, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\nThree-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n\nMy technique, rover in the robe, gold link\nYou know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\nRock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\nThat nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n\nYo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\nThe weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\nWhips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\nYou can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n\nX-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\nUnload a cartridge, and bust a cap\nX could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\nBitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\nBlow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n\nI draws the heat from across the street\nFly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\nStreet crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\nDispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n\nLookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\nOn the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\nTrick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\nI'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n\nWu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\nX-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\nBringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\nNuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\nSleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\nScatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nSteal master grab half the cash fast and bash\nAnd splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\nNigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\nGet marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n\nMack clever niggaz dat regga'\nCatch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\nShake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\nStraighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n\nOfficial Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\nPull fast for your stash\nLong as the war last, foot up in your ass\nTryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n\nYo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\nNumber one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\nMy whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\nKilla Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n\nThis terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\nWe cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\nWu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\nAll the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nHoly shit! Who the fuck is dat?\nIt's John John\nSticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\nI got your back cousin\n\nI got the mack-dozen\nAnd when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\nNowadays rappers dyin' over music\n\nDead on arrival\nWe raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\nDuckin' homicidal, you rivals\nYeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n\nChitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\nHot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\nCaught in the zone, home on the range\nAiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n\nWe got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\nEight ball in the corner pocket\nWe snatch wallets off the white collared\nThe Big Apple forever rotted\nNarcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\nSo what the bumba claat?\n\nPop shit, we do the knowledge\nTo shark niggaz, once bitten\nMajor swingers heavy hittin'\nPoly your kitten, throw up your mittens\nStop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\nThe meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n\nYo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\nBelieve dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\nI slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\nTouch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n\nEnough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\nAnd RIP they whole crew to a shred!\nI got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\nShow no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\nAnd shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n\nYou ain't no thug!\nI earned every God damn penny that I got\nSon I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\nI wish a nigga would what?\nTry to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx","syncedLyrics":"[00:00.04] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[00:05.57] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[00:10.85] Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n[00:14.29] Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n[00:17.08] Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n[00:19.53] Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n[00:22.36] Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n[00:25.20] You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n[00:27.97] Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n[00:30.88] This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n[00:33.41] My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n[00:36.67] Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n[00:39.30] Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n[00:42.65] Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n[00:45.24] My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n[00:47.45] You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n[00:50.37] Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n[00:53.07] That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n[00:55.64] Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n[00:58.57] The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n[01:01.47] Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n[01:04.28] You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n[01:06.94] X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n[01:08.93] 'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\n[01:12.79] Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n[01:14.76] X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n[01:17.52] Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n[01:20.07] Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n[01:22.92] I draws the heat from across the street\n[01:25.26] Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n[01:28.40] Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n[01:31.37] Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n[01:34.33] Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n[01:36.86] On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n[01:39.86] Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n[01:42.51] I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n[01:45.09] Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n[01:48.13] X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n[01:51.32] Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n[01:53.37] Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n[01:55.62] Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n[01:59.23] Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n[02:01.44] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:03.73] (Fucking)\n[02:04.09] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:06.49] (Fucking)\n[02:06.89] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:09.06] (Fucking)\n[02:09.37] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[02:11.73] Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n[02:14.64] And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n[02:17.84] Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n[02:20.82] Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n[02:23.48] Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n[02:25.78] Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n[02:28.00] Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n[02:31.04] Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n[02:33.70] Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n[02:37.37] Pull fast for your stash\n[02:39.16] Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n[02:42.07] Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n[02:45.37] Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n[02:48.23] Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n[02:50.60] My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n[02:53.53] Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n[02:56.00] This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n[02:58.92] We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n[03:02.03] Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n[03:04.84] All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n[03:07.54] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:09.91] (Fucking)\n[03:10.16] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:12.68] (Fucking)\n[03:12.86] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:15.29] (Fucking)\n[03:15.67] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[03:18.35] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:20.98] (Fucking)\n[03:21.04] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:23.62] (Fucking)\n[03:24.02] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:26.28] (Fucking)\n[03:26.57] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[03:28.54] Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n[03:31.46] It's John John\n[03:32.35] Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n[03:34.04] I got your back cousin\n[03:35.80] I got the mack-dozen\n[03:36.76] And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n[03:39.41] 'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\n[03:42.27] Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n[03:44.93] Dead on arrival\n[03:46.28] We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n[03:48.81] Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n[03:50.84] Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n[03:53.72] Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n[03:56.51] Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n[03:59.76] Caught in the zone, home on the range\n[04:01.76] Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n[04:03.95] We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n[04:07.01] Eight ball in the corner pocket\n[04:08.97] We snatch wallets off the white collared\n[04:10.92] The Big Apple forever rotted\n[04:12.69] Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n[04:15.13] So what the bumba claat?\n[04:16.42] Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n[04:17.97] To shark niggaz, once bitten\n[04:19.99] Major swingers heavy hittin'\n[04:21.30] Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n[04:23.41] Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n[04:26.12] The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n[04:29.02] Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n[04:31.80] Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n[04:34.59] I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n[04:37.46] Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n[04:40.26] Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n[04:43.14] And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n[04:45.72] I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n[04:48.77] Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n[04:50.81] And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n[04:53.22] You ain't no thug!\n[04:54.54] I earned every God damn penny that I got\n[04:56.74] Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n[04:58.81] I wish a nigga would what?\n[05:00.16] Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n[05:07.69] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:10.04] (Fucking)\n[05:10.36] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:12.75] (Fucking)\n[05:13.19] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:15.32] (Fucking)\n[05:15.66] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[05:18.67] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[05:23.95] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[05:29.96] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: The Worst\n  artist: Wu-Tang Clan feat. Onyx\n  album: Ride Soundtrack\n  duration_ms: 334674\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 40\n  end_ms: 5570\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 5570\n  end_ms: 10850\n- text: Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n  start_ms: 10850\n  end_ms: 14290\n- text: Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n  start_ms: 14290\n  end_ms: 17080\n- text: Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n  start_ms: 17080\n  end_ms: 19530\n- text: Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n  start_ms: 19530\n  end_ms: 22360\n- text: Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n  start_ms: 22360\n  end_ms: 25200\n- text: You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n  start_ms: 25200\n  end_ms: 27970\n- text: Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n  start_ms: 27970\n  end_ms: 30880\n- text: This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n  start_ms: 30880\n  end_ms: 33410\n- text: My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n  start_ms: 33410\n  end_ms: 36670\n- text: Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n  start_ms: 36670\n  end_ms: 39300\n- text: Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n  start_ms: 39300\n  end_ms: 42650\n- text: Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n  start_ms: 42650\n  end_ms: 45240\n- text: My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n  start_ms: 45240\n  end_ms: 47450\n- text: You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n  start_ms: 47450\n  end_ms: 50370\n- text: Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n  start_ms: 50370\n  end_ms: 53070\n- text: That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n  start_ms: 53070\n  end_ms: 55640\n- text: Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n  start_ms: 55640\n  end_ms: 58570\n- text: The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n  start_ms: 58570\n  end_ms: 61470\n- text: Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n  start_ms: 61470\n  end_ms: 64280\n- text: You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n  start_ms: 64280\n  end_ms: 66940\n- text: X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n  start_ms: 66940\n  end_ms: 68930\n- text: '''Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin'' scraps out the garbage'\n  start_ms: 68930\n  end_ms: 72790\n- text: Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n  start_ms: 72790\n  end_ms: 74760\n- text: X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n  start_ms: 74760\n  end_ms: 77520\n- text: Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n  start_ms: 77520\n  end_ms: 80070\n- text: Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n  start_ms: 80070\n  end_ms: 82920\n- text: I draws the heat from across the street\n  start_ms: 82920\n  end_ms: 85260\n- text: Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n  start_ms: 85260\n  end_ms: 88400\n- text: Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n  start_ms: 88400\n  end_ms: 91370\n- text: Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n  start_ms: 91370\n  end_ms: 94330\n- text: Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n  start_ms: 94330\n  end_ms: 96860\n- text: On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n  start_ms: 96860\n  end_ms: 99860\n- text: Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n  start_ms: 99860\n  end_ms: 102510\n- text: I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n  start_ms: 102510\n  end_ms: 105090\n- text: Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n  start_ms: 105090\n  end_ms: 108130\n- text: X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n  start_ms: 108130\n  end_ms: 111320\n- text: Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n  start_ms: 111320\n  end_ms: 113370\n- text: Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n  start_ms: 113370\n  end_ms: 115620\n- text: Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n  start_ms: 115620\n  end_ms: 119230\n- text: Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n  start_ms: 119230\n  end_ms: 121440\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 121440\n  end_ms: 123730\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 123730\n  end_ms: 124090\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 124090\n  end_ms: 126490\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 126490\n  end_ms: 126890\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 126890\n  end_ms: 129060\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 129060\n  end_ms: 129370\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 129370\n  end_ms: 131730\n- text: Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n  start_ms: 131730\n  end_ms: 134640\n- text: And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n  start_ms: 134640\n  end_ms: 137840\n- text: Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n  start_ms: 137840\n  end_ms: 140820\n- text: Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n  start_ms: 140820\n  end_ms: 143480\n- text: Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n  start_ms: 143480\n  end_ms: 145780\n- text: Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n  start_ms: 145780\n  end_ms: 148000\n- text: Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n  start_ms: 148000\n  end_ms: 151040\n- text: Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n  start_ms: 151040\n  end_ms: 153700\n- text: Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n  start_ms: 153700\n  end_ms: 157370\n- text: Pull fast for your stash\n  start_ms: 157370\n  end_ms: 159160\n- text: Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n  start_ms: 159160\n  end_ms: 162070\n- text: Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n  start_ms: 162070\n  end_ms: 165370\n- text: Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n  start_ms: 165370\n  end_ms: 168230\n- text: Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n  start_ms: 168230\n  end_ms: 170600\n- text: My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n  start_ms: 170600\n  end_ms: 173530\n- text: Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n  start_ms: 173530\n  end_ms: 176000\n- text: This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n  start_ms: 176000\n  end_ms: 178920\n- text: We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n  start_ms: 178920\n  end_ms: 182030\n- text: Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n  start_ms: 182030\n  end_ms: 184840\n- text: All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n  start_ms: 184840\n  end_ms: 187540\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 187540\n  end_ms: 189910\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 189910\n  end_ms: 190160\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 190160\n  end_ms: 192680\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 192680\n  end_ms: 192860\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 192860\n  end_ms: 195290\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 195290\n  end_ms: 195670\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 195670\n  end_ms: 198350\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 198350\n  end_ms: 200980\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 200980\n  end_ms: 201040\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 201040\n  end_ms: 203620\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 203620\n  end_ms: 204020\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 204020\n  end_ms: 206280\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 206280\n  end_ms: 206570\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 206570\n  end_ms: 208540\n- text: Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n  start_ms: 208540\n  end_ms: 211460\n- text: It's John John\n  start_ms: 211460\n  end_ms: 212350\n- text: Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n  start_ms: 212350\n  end_ms: 214040\n- text: I got your back cousin\n  start_ms: 214040\n  end_ms: 215800\n- text: I got the mack-dozen\n  start_ms: 215800\n  end_ms: 216760\n- text: And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n  start_ms: 216760\n  end_ms: 219410\n- text: '''Cause it''s a new year, time for some new shit'\n  start_ms: 219410\n  end_ms: 222270\n- text: Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n  start_ms: 222270\n  end_ms: 224930\n- text: Dead on arrival\n  start_ms: 224930\n  end_ms: 226280\n- text: We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n  start_ms: 226280\n  end_ms: 228810\n- text: Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n  start_ms: 228810\n  end_ms: 230840\n- text: Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n  start_ms: 230840\n  end_ms: 233720\n- text: Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n  start_ms: 233720\n  end_ms: 236510\n- text: Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n  start_ms: 236510\n  end_ms: 239760\n- text: Caught in the zone, home on the range\n  start_ms: 239760\n  end_ms: 241760\n- text: Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n  start_ms: 241760\n  end_ms: 243950\n- text: We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n  start_ms: 243950\n  end_ms: 247010\n- text: Eight ball in the corner pocket\n  start_ms: 247010\n  end_ms: 248970\n- text: We snatch wallets off the white collared\n  start_ms: 248970\n  end_ms: 250920\n- text: The Big Apple forever rotted\n  start_ms: 250920\n  end_ms: 252690\n- text: Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n  start_ms: 252690\n  end_ms: 255130\n- text: So what the bumba claat?\n  start_ms: 255130\n  end_ms: 256420\n- text: Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n  start_ms: 256420\n  end_ms: 257970\n- text: To shark niggaz, once bitten\n  start_ms: 257970\n  end_ms: 259990\n- text: Major swingers heavy hittin'\n  start_ms: 259990\n  end_ms: 261300\n- text: Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n  start_ms: 261300\n  end_ms: 263410\n- text: Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n  start_ms: 263410\n  end_ms: 266120\n- text: The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n  start_ms: 266120\n  end_ms: 269020\n- text: Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 269020\n  end_ms: 271800\n- text: Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n  start_ms: 271800\n  end_ms: 274590\n- text: I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n  start_ms: 274590\n  end_ms: 277460\n- text: Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n  start_ms: 277460\n  end_ms: 280260\n- text: Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n  start_ms: 280260\n  end_ms: 283140\n- text: And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n  start_ms: 283140\n  end_ms: 285720\n- text: I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n  start_ms: 285720\n  end_ms: 288770\n- text: Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n  start_ms: 288770\n  end_ms: 290810\n- text: And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n  start_ms: 290810\n  end_ms: 293220\n- text: You ain't no thug!\n  start_ms: 293220\n  end_ms: 294540\n- text: I earned every God damn penny that I got\n  start_ms: 294540\n  end_ms: 296740\n- text: Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n  start_ms: 296740\n  end_ms: 298810\n- text: I wish a nigga would what?\n  start_ms: 298810\n  end_ms: 300160\n- text: Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n  start_ms: 300160\n  end_ms: 307690\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 307690\n  end_ms: 310040\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 310040\n  end_ms: 310360\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 310360\n  end_ms: 312750\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 312750\n  end_ms: 313190\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 313190\n  end_ms: 315320\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 315320\n  end_ms: 315660\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 315660\n  end_ms: 318670\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 318670\n  end_ms: 323950\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 323950\n  end_ms: 329960\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 329960\nplain: |-\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n\n  Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n  Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n  Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n  Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n\n  Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n  You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n  Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n  This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n\n  My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n  Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n  Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n  Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n\n  My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n  You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n  Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n  That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n\n  Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n  The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n  Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n  You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n\n  X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n  'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\n  Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n  X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n  Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n  Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n\n  I draws the heat from across the street\n  Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n  Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n  Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n\n  Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n  On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n  Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n  I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n\n  Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n  X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n  Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n  Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n  Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n  Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n  And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n  Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n  Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n\n  Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n  Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n  Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n  Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n\n  Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n  Pull fast for your stash\n  Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n  Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n\n  Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n  Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n  My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n  Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n\n  This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n  We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n  Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n  All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n  It's John John\n  Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n  I got your back cousin\n\n  I got the mack-dozen\n  And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n  'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\n  Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n\n  Dead on arrival\n  We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n  Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n  Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n\n  Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n  Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n  Caught in the zone, home on the range\n  Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n\n  We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n  Eight ball in the corner pocket\n  We snatch wallets off the white collared\n  The Big Apple forever rotted\n  Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n  So what the bumba claat?\n\n  Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n  To shark niggaz, once bitten\n  Major swingers heavy hittin'\n  Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n  Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n  The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n\n  Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n  Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n  I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n  Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n\n  Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n  And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n  I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n  Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n  And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n\n  You ain't no thug!\n  I earned every God damn penny that I got\n  Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n  I wish a nigga would what?\n  Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n"},{"id":27780176,"name":"The Worst","trackName":"The Worst","artistName":"Onyx with Wu-Tang Clan","albumName":"Shut 'Em Down","duration":640.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n\nAiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\nTanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\nYeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\nPlay the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n\nWatch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\nYou know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\nRaw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\nThis yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n\nMy shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\nThrowin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\nThough, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\nThree-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n\nMy technique, rover in the robe, gold link\nYou know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\nRock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\nThat nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n\nYo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\nThe weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\nWhips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\nYou can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n\nX-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\nUnload a cartridge, and bust a cap\nX could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\nBitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\nBlow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n\nI draws the heat from across the street\nFly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\nStreet crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\nDispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n\nLookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\nOn the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\nTrick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\nI'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n\nWu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\nX-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\nBringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\nNuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\nSleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\nScatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nSteal master grab half the cash fast and bash\nAnd splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\nNigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\nGet marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n\nMack clever niggaz dat regga'\nCatch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\nShake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\nStraighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n\nOfficial Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\nPull fast for your stash\nLong as the war last, foot up in your ass\nTryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n\nYo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\nNumber one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\nMy whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\nKilla Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n\nThis terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\nWe cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\nWu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\nAll the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nHoly shit! Who the fuck is dat?\nIt's John John\nSticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\nI got your back cousin\n\nI got the mack-dozen\nAnd when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\nNowadays rappers dyin' over music\n\nDead on arrival\nWe raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\nDuckin' homicidal, you rivals\nYeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n\nChitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\nHot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\nCaught in the zone, home on the range\nAiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n\nWe got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\nEight ball in the corner pocket\nWe snatch wallets off the white collared\nThe Big Apple forever rotted\nNarcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\nSo what the bumba claat?\n\nPop shit, we do the knowledge\nTo shark niggaz, once bitten\nMajor swingers heavy hittin'\nPoly your kitten, throw up your mittens\nStop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\nThe meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n\nYo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\nBelieve dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\nI slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\nTouch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n\nEnough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\nAnd RIP they whole crew to a shred!\nI got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\nShow no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\nAnd shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n\nYou ain't no thug!\nI earned every God damn penny that I got\nSon I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\nI wish a nigga would what?\nTry to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx","syncedLyrics":"[00:01.62] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[00:02.62] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[00:08.13] Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n[00:13.31] Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n[00:16.07] Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n[00:18.72] Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n[00:21.33] Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n[00:24.03] You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n[00:26.78] Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n[00:29.25] This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n[00:32.59] My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n[00:35.44] Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n[00:37.79] Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n[00:40.37] Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n[00:43.58] My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n[00:45.78] You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n[00:47.90] Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n[00:51.13] That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n[00:54.17] Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n[00:56.76] The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n[00:59.46] Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n[01:02.31] You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n[01:05.35] X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n[01:07.72] 'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\n[01:10.88] Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n[01:13.11] X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n[01:15.25] Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n[01:18.18] Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n[01:20.23] I draws the heat from across the street\n[01:23.59] Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n[01:26.25] Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n[01:28.46] Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n[01:32.01] Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n[01:34.58] On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n[01:37.97] Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n[01:40.39] I'm groin'' for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n[01:42.81] Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n[01:46.20] X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n[01:49.82] Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n[01:52.39] Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n[01:54.26] Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n[01:57.72] Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n[02:00.03] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:02.35] (Fucking)\n[02:03.00] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:05.21] (Fucking)\n[02:05.94] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:07.60] (Fucking)\n[02:08.15] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[02:10.63] Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n[02:12.97] And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n[02:15.81] Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n[02:19.33] Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n[02:21.22] Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n[02:24.33] Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n[02:27.01] Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n[02:29.84] Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n[02:32.58] Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n[02:35.21] Pull fast for your stash\n[02:37.68] Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n[02:39.78] Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n[02:42.85] Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n[02:46.94] Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n[02:49.09] My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n[02:51.44] Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n[02:54.01] This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n[02:56.69] We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n[02:59.05] Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n[03:02.42] All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n[03:04.92] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:06.94] (Fucking)\n[03:07.38] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:09.74] (Fucking)\n[03:10.18] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:13.34] (Fucking)\n[03:13.74] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[03:16.09] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:18.99] (Fucking)\n[03:19.35] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:21.14] (Fucking)\n[03:21.71] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:23.93] (Fucking)\n[03:24.36] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[03:27.05] Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n[03:29.15] It's John John\n[03:30.80] Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n[03:32.16] I got your back cousin\n[03:33.60] I got the mack-dozen\n[03:34.79] And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n[03:37.56] 'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\n[03:39.88] Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n[03:42.67] Dead on arrival\n[03:44.62] We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n[03:47.42] Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n[03:49.77] Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n[03:52.16] Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n[03:54.14] Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n[03:57.46] Caught in the zone, home on the range\n[04:00.01] Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n[04:02.46] We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n[04:04.48] Eight ball in the corner pocket\n[04:06.86] We snatch wallets off the white collared\n[04:09.05] The Big Apple forever rotted\n[04:11.03] Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n[04:12.74] So what the bumba claat?\n[04:14.20] Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n[04:16.08] To shark niggaz, once bitten\n[04:18.24] Major swingers heavy hittin'\n[04:19.49] Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n[04:21.53] Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n[04:24.58] The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n[04:27.51] Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n[04:30.06] Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n[04:32.25] I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n[04:35.36] Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n[04:38.02] Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n[04:40.85] And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n[04:43.53] I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n[04:46.92] Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n[04:48.84] And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n[04:50.70] You ain't no thug!\n[04:51.61] I earned every God damn penny that I got\n[04:54.81] Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n[04:56.82] I wish a nigga would what?\n[04:58.44] Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n[05:01.40] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:07.78] (Fucking)\n[05:08.07] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:10.85] (Fucking)\n[05:11.30] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:13.33] (Fucking)\n[05:13.84] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[05:16.07] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[05:20.90] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[05:24.78] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: The Worst\n  artist: Onyx with Wu-Tang Clan\n  album: Shut 'Em Down\n  duration_ms: 640000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 1620\n  end_ms: 2620\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 2620\n  end_ms: 8130\n- text: Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n  start_ms: 8130\n  end_ms: 13310\n- text: Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n  start_ms: 13310\n  end_ms: 16070\n- text: Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n  start_ms: 16070\n  end_ms: 18720\n- text: Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n  start_ms: 18720\n  end_ms: 21330\n- text: Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n  start_ms: 21330\n  end_ms: 24030\n- text: You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n  start_ms: 24030\n  end_ms: 26780\n- text: Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n  start_ms: 26780\n  end_ms: 29250\n- text: This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n  start_ms: 29250\n  end_ms: 32590\n- text: My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n  start_ms: 32590\n  end_ms: 35440\n- text: Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n  start_ms: 35440\n  end_ms: 37790\n- text: Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n  start_ms: 37790\n  end_ms: 40370\n- text: Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n  start_ms: 40370\n  end_ms: 43580\n- text: My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n  start_ms: 43580\n  end_ms: 45780\n- text: You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n  start_ms: 45780\n  end_ms: 47900\n- text: Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n  start_ms: 47900\n  end_ms: 51130\n- text: That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n  start_ms: 51130\n  end_ms: 54170\n- text: Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n  start_ms: 54170\n  end_ms: 56760\n- text: The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n  start_ms: 56760\n  end_ms: 59460\n- text: Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n  start_ms: 59460\n  end_ms: 62310\n- text: You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n  start_ms: 62310\n  end_ms: 65350\n- text: X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n  start_ms: 65350\n  end_ms: 67720\n- text: '''Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin'' scraps out the garbage'\n  start_ms: 67720\n  end_ms: 70880\n- text: Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n  start_ms: 70880\n  end_ms: 73110\n- text: X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n  start_ms: 73110\n  end_ms: 75250\n- text: Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n  start_ms: 75250\n  end_ms: 78180\n- text: Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n  start_ms: 78180\n  end_ms: 80230\n- text: I draws the heat from across the street\n  start_ms: 80230\n  end_ms: 83590\n- text: Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n  start_ms: 83590\n  end_ms: 86250\n- text: Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n  start_ms: 86250\n  end_ms: 88460\n- text: Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n  start_ms: 88460\n  end_ms: 92010\n- text: Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n  start_ms: 92010\n  end_ms: 94580\n- text: On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n  start_ms: 94580\n  end_ms: 97970\n- text: Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n  start_ms: 97970\n  end_ms: 100390\n- text: I'm groin'' for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n  start_ms: 100390\n  end_ms: 102810\n- text: Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n  start_ms: 102810\n  end_ms: 106200\n- text: X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n  start_ms: 106200\n  end_ms: 109820\n- text: Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n  start_ms: 109820\n  end_ms: 112390\n- text: Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n  start_ms: 112390\n  end_ms: 114260\n- text: Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n  start_ms: 114260\n  end_ms: 117720\n- text: Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n  start_ms: 117720\n  end_ms: 120030\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 120030\n  end_ms: 122350\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 122350\n  end_ms: 123000\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 123000\n  end_ms: 125210\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 125210\n  end_ms: 125940\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 125940\n  end_ms: 127600\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 127600\n  end_ms: 128150\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 128150\n  end_ms: 130630\n- text: Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n  start_ms: 130630\n  end_ms: 132970\n- text: And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n  start_ms: 132970\n  end_ms: 135810\n- text: Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n  start_ms: 135810\n  end_ms: 139330\n- text: Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n  start_ms: 139330\n  end_ms: 141220\n- text: Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n  start_ms: 141220\n  end_ms: 144330\n- text: Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n  start_ms: 144330\n  end_ms: 147010\n- text: Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n  start_ms: 147010\n  end_ms: 149840\n- text: Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n  start_ms: 149840\n  end_ms: 152580\n- text: Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n  start_ms: 152580\n  end_ms: 155210\n- text: Pull fast for your stash\n  start_ms: 155210\n  end_ms: 157680\n- text: Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n  start_ms: 157680\n  end_ms: 159780\n- text: Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n  start_ms: 159780\n  end_ms: 162850\n- text: Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n  start_ms: 162850\n  end_ms: 166940\n- text: Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n  start_ms: 166940\n  end_ms: 169090\n- text: My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n  start_ms: 169090\n  end_ms: 171440\n- text: Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n  start_ms: 171440\n  end_ms: 174010\n- text: This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n  start_ms: 174010\n  end_ms: 176690\n- text: We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n  start_ms: 176690\n  end_ms: 179050\n- text: Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n  start_ms: 179050\n  end_ms: 182420\n- text: All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n  start_ms: 182420\n  end_ms: 184920\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 184920\n  end_ms: 186940\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 186940\n  end_ms: 187380\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 187380\n  end_ms: 189740\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 189740\n  end_ms: 190180\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 190180\n  end_ms: 193340\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 193340\n  end_ms: 193740\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 193740\n  end_ms: 196090\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 196090\n  end_ms: 198990\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 198990\n  end_ms: 199350\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 199350\n  end_ms: 201140\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 201140\n  end_ms: 201710\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 201710\n  end_ms: 203930\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 203930\n  end_ms: 204360\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 204360\n  end_ms: 207050\n- text: Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n  start_ms: 207050\n  end_ms: 209150\n- text: It's John John\n  start_ms: 209150\n  end_ms: 210800\n- text: Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n  start_ms: 210800\n  end_ms: 212160\n- text: I got your back cousin\n  start_ms: 212160\n  end_ms: 213600\n- text: I got the mack-dozen\n  start_ms: 213600\n  end_ms: 214790\n- text: And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n  start_ms: 214790\n  end_ms: 217560\n- text: '''Cause it''s a new year, time for some new shit'\n  start_ms: 217560\n  end_ms: 219880\n- text: Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n  start_ms: 219880\n  end_ms: 222670\n- text: Dead on arrival\n  start_ms: 222670\n  end_ms: 224620\n- text: We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n  start_ms: 224620\n  end_ms: 227420\n- text: Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n  start_ms: 227420\n  end_ms: 229770\n- text: Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n  start_ms: 229770\n  end_ms: 232160\n- text: Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n  start_ms: 232160\n  end_ms: 234140\n- text: Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n  start_ms: 234140\n  end_ms: 237460\n- text: Caught in the zone, home on the range\n  start_ms: 237460\n  end_ms: 240010\n- text: Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n  start_ms: 240010\n  end_ms: 242460\n- text: We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n  start_ms: 242460\n  end_ms: 244480\n- text: Eight ball in the corner pocket\n  start_ms: 244480\n  end_ms: 246860\n- text: We snatch wallets off the white collared\n  start_ms: 246860\n  end_ms: 249050\n- text: The Big Apple forever rotted\n  start_ms: 249050\n  end_ms: 251030\n- text: Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n  start_ms: 251030\n  end_ms: 252740\n- text: So what the bumba claat?\n  start_ms: 252740\n  end_ms: 254200\n- text: Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n  start_ms: 254200\n  end_ms: 256080\n- text: To shark niggaz, once bitten\n  start_ms: 256080\n  end_ms: 258240\n- text: Major swingers heavy hittin'\n  start_ms: 258240\n  end_ms: 259490\n- text: Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n  start_ms: 259490\n  end_ms: 261530\n- text: Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n  start_ms: 261530\n  end_ms: 264580\n- text: The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n  start_ms: 264580\n  end_ms: 267510\n- text: Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 267510\n  end_ms: 270060\n- text: Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n  start_ms: 270060\n  end_ms: 272250\n- text: I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n  start_ms: 272250\n  end_ms: 275360\n- text: Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n  start_ms: 275360\n  end_ms: 278020\n- text: Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n  start_ms: 278020\n  end_ms: 280850\n- text: And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n  start_ms: 280850\n  end_ms: 283530\n- text: I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n  start_ms: 283530\n  end_ms: 286920\n- text: Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n  start_ms: 286920\n  end_ms: 288840\n- text: And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n  start_ms: 288840\n  end_ms: 290700\n- text: You ain't no thug!\n  start_ms: 290700\n  end_ms: 291610\n- text: I earned every God damn penny that I got\n  start_ms: 291610\n  end_ms: 294810\n- text: Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n  start_ms: 294810\n  end_ms: 296820\n- text: I wish a nigga would what?\n  start_ms: 296820\n  end_ms: 298440\n- text: Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n  start_ms: 298440\n  end_ms: 301400\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 301400\n  end_ms: 307780\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 307780\n  end_ms: 308070\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 308070\n  end_ms: 310850\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 310850\n  end_ms: 311300\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 311300\n  end_ms: 313330\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 313330\n  end_ms: 313840\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 313840\n  end_ms: 316070\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 316070\n  end_ms: 320900\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 320900\n  end_ms: 324780\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 324780\nplain: |-\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n\n  Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n  Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n  Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n  Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n\n  Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n  You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n  Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n  This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n\n  My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n  Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n  Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n  Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n\n  My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n  You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n  Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n  That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n\n  Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n  The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n  Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n  You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n\n  X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n  'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\n  Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n  X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n  Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n  Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n\n  I draws the heat from across the street\n  Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n  Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n  Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n\n  Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n  On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n  Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n  I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n\n  Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n  X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n  Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n  Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n  Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n  Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n  And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n  Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n  Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n\n  Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n  Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n  Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n  Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n\n  Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n  Pull fast for your stash\n  Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n  Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n\n  Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n  Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n  My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n  Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n\n  This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n  We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n  Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n  All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n  It's John John\n  Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n  I got your back cousin\n\n  I got the mack-dozen\n  And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n  'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\n  Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n\n  Dead on arrival\n  We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n  Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n  Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n\n  Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n  Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n  Caught in the zone, home on the range\n  Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n\n  We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n  Eight ball in the corner pocket\n  We snatch wallets off the white collared\n  The Big Apple forever rotted\n  Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n  So what the bumba claat?\n\n  Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n  To shark niggaz, once bitten\n  Major swingers heavy hittin'\n  Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n  Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n  The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n\n  Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n  Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n  I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n  Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n\n  Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n  And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n  I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n  Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n  And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n\n  You ain't no thug!\n  I earned every God damn penny that I got\n  Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n  I wish a nigga would what?\n  Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n"},{"id":25978006,"name":"The Worst (Ft. Wu-Tang Clan) ／ Overshine (Ft. All City)","trackName":"The Worst (Ft. Wu-Tang Clan) ／ Overshine (Ft. All City)","artistName":"Onyx","albumName":"Shut 'Em Down","duration":639.3872,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n\nAiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\nTanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\nYeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\nPlay the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n\nWatch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\nYou know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\nRaw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\nThis yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n\nMy shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\nThrowin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\nThough, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\nThree-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n\nMy technique, rover in the robe, gold link\nYou know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\nRock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\nThat nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n\nYo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\nThe weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\nWhips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\nYou can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n\nX-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\nUnload a cartridge, and bust a cap\nX could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\nBitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\nBlow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n\nI draws the heat from across the street\nFly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\nStreet crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\nDispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n\nLookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\nOn the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\nTrick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\nI'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n\nWu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\nX-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\nBringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\nNuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\nSleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\nScatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nSteal master grab half the cash fast and bash\nAnd splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\nNigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\nGet marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n\nMack clever niggaz dat regga'\nCatch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\nShake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\nStraighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n\nOfficial Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\nPull fast for your stash\nLong as the war last, foot up in your ass\nTryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n\nYo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\nNumber one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\nMy whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\nKilla Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n\nThis terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\nWe cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\nWu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\nAll the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nHoly shit! Who the fuck is dat?\nIt's John John\nSticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\nI got your back cousin\n\nI got the mack-dozen\nAnd when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\nNowadays rappers dyin' over music\n\nDead on arrival\nWe raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\nDuckin' homicidal, you rivals\nYeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n\nChitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\nHot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\nCaught in the zone, home on the range\nAiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n\nWe got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\nEight ball in the corner pocket\nWe snatch wallets off the white collared\nThe Big Apple forever rotted\nNarcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\nSo what the bumba claat?\n\nPop shit, we do the knowledge\nTo shark niggaz, once bitten\nMajor swingers heavy hittin'\nPoly your kitten, throw up your mittens\nStop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\nThe meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n\nYo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\nBelieve dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\nI slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\nTouch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n\nEnough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\nAnd RIP they whole crew to a shred!\nI got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\nShow no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\nAnd shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n\nYou ain't no thug!\nI earned every God damn penny that I got\nSon I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\nI wish a nigga would what?\nTry to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx","syncedLyrics":"[00:02.54] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[00:03.24] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[00:10.71] Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n[00:13.46] Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n[00:16.18] Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n[00:18.76] Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n[00:21.69] Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n[00:24.27] You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n[00:27.05] Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n[00:30.48] This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n[00:32.74] My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n[00:35.52] Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n[00:38.22] Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n[00:41.18] Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n[00:43.77] My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n[00:46.24] You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n[00:48.76] Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n[00:51.35] That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n[00:54.54] Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n[00:57.10] The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n[00:59.96] Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n[01:02.71] You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n[01:05.47] X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n[01:07.53] 'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\n[01:11.08] Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n[01:13.31] X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n[01:15.84] Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n[01:18.42] Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n[01:21.51] I draws the heat from across the street\n[01:23.76] Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n[01:26.86] Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n[01:29.75] Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n[01:32.71] Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n[01:35.27] On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n[01:37.72] Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n[01:40.89] I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n[01:43.63] Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n[01:46.72] X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n[01:50.17] Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n[01:52.19] Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n[01:54.30] Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n[01:57.91] Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n[02:00.22] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:02.42] (Fucking)\n[02:03.30] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:05.29] (Fucking)\n[02:06.16] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:07.96] (Fucking)\n[02:08.64] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[02:11.01] Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n[02:13.87] And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n[02:16.21] Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n[02:19.32] Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n[02:22.04] Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n[02:24.44] Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n[02:27.11] Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n[02:29.85] Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n[02:32.48] Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n[02:35.83] Pull fast for your stash\n[02:37.56] Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n[02:40.05] Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n[02:43.29] Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n[02:46.22] Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n[02:48.56] My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n[02:51.57] Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n[02:54.05] This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n[02:57.06] We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n[02:59.60] Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n[03:02.47] All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n[03:05.23] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:07.60] (Fucking)\n[03:08.37] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:10.65] (Fucking)\n[03:11.32] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:13.30] (Fucking)\n[03:14.25] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[03:16.31] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:18.87] (Fucking)\n[03:19.71] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:21.36] (Fucking)\n[03:21.98] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:23.89] (Fucking)\n[03:24.67] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[03:27.20] Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n[03:29.73] It's John John\n[03:30.71] Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n[03:32.31] I got your back cousin\n[03:33.88] I got the mack-dozen\n[03:35.20] And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n[03:37.85] 'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\n[03:40.95] Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n[03:43.35] Dead on arrival\n[03:44.45] We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n[03:46.98] Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n[03:49.12] Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n[03:51.82] Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n[03:54.63] Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n[03:57.78] Caught in the zone, home on the range\n[04:03.33] Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n[04:04.50] We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n[04:05.62] Eight ball in the corner pocket\n[04:07.63] We snatch wallets off the white collared\n[04:08.88] The Big Apple forever rotted\n[04:10.87] Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n[04:12.75] So what the bumba claat?\n[04:14.99] Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n[04:16.13] To shark niggaz, once bitten\n[04:18.87] Major swingers heavy hittin'\n[04:20.06] Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n[04:21.65] Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n[04:24.23] The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n[04:26.85] Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n[04:29.94] Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n[04:32.80] I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n[04:35.56] Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n[04:37.07] Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n[04:41.11] And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n[04:43.78] I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n[04:46.35] Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n[04:48.41] And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n[04:50.73] You ain't no thug!\n[04:51.91] I earned every God damn penny that I got\n[04:54.47] Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n[04:57.19] I wish a nigga would what?\n[04:59.59] Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n[05:03.69] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:08.02] (Fucking)\n[05:08.93] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:10.48] (Fucking)\n[05:11.05] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:12.94] (Fucking)\n[05:13.50] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[05:16.49] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[05:21.82] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[05:24.68] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: The Worst (Ft. Wu-Tang Clan) ／ Overshine (Ft. All City)\n  artist: Onyx\n  album: Shut 'Em Down\n  duration_ms: 639387\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 2540\n  end_ms: 3240\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 3240\n  end_ms: 10710\n- text: Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n  start_ms: 10710\n  end_ms: 13460\n- text: Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n  start_ms: 13460\n  end_ms: 16180\n- text: Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n  start_ms: 16180\n  end_ms: 18760\n- text: Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n  start_ms: 18760\n  end_ms: 21690\n- text: Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n  start_ms: 21690\n  end_ms: 24270\n- text: You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n  start_ms: 24270\n  end_ms: 27050\n- text: Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n  start_ms: 27050\n  end_ms: 30480\n- text: This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n  start_ms: 30480\n  end_ms: 32740\n- text: My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n  start_ms: 32740\n  end_ms: 35520\n- text: Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n  start_ms: 35520\n  end_ms: 38220\n- text: Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n  start_ms: 38220\n  end_ms: 41180\n- text: Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n  start_ms: 41180\n  end_ms: 43770\n- text: My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n  start_ms: 43770\n  end_ms: 46240\n- text: You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n  start_ms: 46240\n  end_ms: 48760\n- text: Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n  start_ms: 48760\n  end_ms: 51350\n- text: That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n  start_ms: 51350\n  end_ms: 54540\n- text: Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n  start_ms: 54540\n  end_ms: 57100\n- text: The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n  start_ms: 57100\n  end_ms: 59960\n- text: Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n  start_ms: 59960\n  end_ms: 62710\n- text: You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n  start_ms: 62710\n  end_ms: 65470\n- text: X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n  start_ms: 65470\n  end_ms: 67530\n- text: '''Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin'' scraps out the garbage'\n  start_ms: 67530\n  end_ms: 71080\n- text: Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n  start_ms: 71080\n  end_ms: 73310\n- text: X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n  start_ms: 73310\n  end_ms: 75840\n- text: Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n  start_ms: 75840\n  end_ms: 78420\n- text: Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n  start_ms: 78420\n  end_ms: 81510\n- text: I draws the heat from across the street\n  start_ms: 81510\n  end_ms: 83760\n- text: Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n  start_ms: 83760\n  end_ms: 86860\n- text: Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n  start_ms: 86860\n  end_ms: 89750\n- text: Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n  start_ms: 89750\n  end_ms: 92710\n- text: Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n  start_ms: 92710\n  end_ms: 95270\n- text: On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n  start_ms: 95270\n  end_ms: 97720\n- text: Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n  start_ms: 97720\n  end_ms: 100890\n- text: I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n  start_ms: 100890\n  end_ms: 103630\n- text: Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n  start_ms: 103630\n  end_ms: 106720\n- text: X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n  start_ms: 106720\n  end_ms: 110170\n- text: Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n  start_ms: 110170\n  end_ms: 112190\n- text: Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n  start_ms: 112190\n  end_ms: 114300\n- text: Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n  start_ms: 114300\n  end_ms: 117910\n- text: Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n  start_ms: 117910\n  end_ms: 120220\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 120220\n  end_ms: 122420\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 122420\n  end_ms: 123300\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 123300\n  end_ms: 125290\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 125290\n  end_ms: 126160\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 126160\n  end_ms: 127960\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 127960\n  end_ms: 128640\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 128640\n  end_ms: 131010\n- text: Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n  start_ms: 131010\n  end_ms: 133870\n- text: And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n  start_ms: 133870\n  end_ms: 136210\n- text: Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n  start_ms: 136210\n  end_ms: 139320\n- text: Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n  start_ms: 139320\n  end_ms: 142040\n- text: Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n  start_ms: 142040\n  end_ms: 144440\n- text: Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n  start_ms: 144440\n  end_ms: 147110\n- text: Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n  start_ms: 147110\n  end_ms: 149850\n- text: Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n  start_ms: 149850\n  end_ms: 152480\n- text: Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n  start_ms: 152480\n  end_ms: 155830\n- text: Pull fast for your stash\n  start_ms: 155830\n  end_ms: 157560\n- text: Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n  start_ms: 157560\n  end_ms: 160050\n- text: Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n  start_ms: 160050\n  end_ms: 163290\n- text: Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n  start_ms: 163290\n  end_ms: 166220\n- text: Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n  start_ms: 166220\n  end_ms: 168560\n- text: My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n  start_ms: 168560\n  end_ms: 171570\n- text: Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n  start_ms: 171570\n  end_ms: 174050\n- text: This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n  start_ms: 174050\n  end_ms: 177060\n- text: We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n  start_ms: 177060\n  end_ms: 179600\n- text: Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n  start_ms: 179600\n  end_ms: 182470\n- text: All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n  start_ms: 182470\n  end_ms: 185230\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 185230\n  end_ms: 187600\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 187600\n  end_ms: 188370\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 188370\n  end_ms: 190650\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 190650\n  end_ms: 191320\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 191320\n  end_ms: 193300\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 193300\n  end_ms: 194250\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 194250\n  end_ms: 196310\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 196310\n  end_ms: 198870\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 198870\n  end_ms: 199710\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 199710\n  end_ms: 201360\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 201360\n  end_ms: 201980\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 201980\n  end_ms: 203890\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 203890\n  end_ms: 204670\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 204670\n  end_ms: 207200\n- text: Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n  start_ms: 207200\n  end_ms: 209730\n- text: It's John John\n  start_ms: 209730\n  end_ms: 210710\n- text: Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n  start_ms: 210710\n  end_ms: 212310\n- text: I got your back cousin\n  start_ms: 212310\n  end_ms: 213880\n- text: I got the mack-dozen\n  start_ms: 213880\n  end_ms: 215200\n- text: And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n  start_ms: 215200\n  end_ms: 217850\n- text: '''Cause it''s a new year, time for some new shit'\n  start_ms: 217850\n  end_ms: 220950\n- text: Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n  start_ms: 220950\n  end_ms: 223350\n- text: Dead on arrival\n  start_ms: 223350\n  end_ms: 224450\n- text: We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n  start_ms: 224450\n  end_ms: 226980\n- text: Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n  start_ms: 226980\n  end_ms: 229120\n- text: Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n  start_ms: 229120\n  end_ms: 231820\n- text: Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n  start_ms: 231820\n  end_ms: 234630\n- text: Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n  start_ms: 234630\n  end_ms: 237780\n- text: Caught in the zone, home on the range\n  start_ms: 237780\n  end_ms: 243330\n- text: Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n  start_ms: 243330\n  end_ms: 244500\n- text: We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n  start_ms: 244500\n  end_ms: 245620\n- text: Eight ball in the corner pocket\n  start_ms: 245620\n  end_ms: 247630\n- text: We snatch wallets off the white collared\n  start_ms: 247630\n  end_ms: 248880\n- text: The Big Apple forever rotted\n  start_ms: 248880\n  end_ms: 250870\n- text: Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n  start_ms: 250870\n  end_ms: 252750\n- text: So what the bumba claat?\n  start_ms: 252750\n  end_ms: 254990\n- text: Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n  start_ms: 254990\n  end_ms: 256130\n- text: To shark niggaz, once bitten\n  start_ms: 256130\n  end_ms: 258870\n- text: Major swingers heavy hittin'\n  start_ms: 258870\n  end_ms: 260060\n- text: Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n  start_ms: 260060\n  end_ms: 261650\n- text: Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n  start_ms: 261650\n  end_ms: 264230\n- text: The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n  start_ms: 264230\n  end_ms: 266850\n- text: Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 266850\n  end_ms: 269940\n- text: Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n  start_ms: 269940\n  end_ms: 272800\n- text: I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n  start_ms: 272800\n  end_ms: 275560\n- text: Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n  start_ms: 275560\n  end_ms: 277070\n- text: Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n  start_ms: 277070\n  end_ms: 281110\n- text: And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n  start_ms: 281110\n  end_ms: 283780\n- text: I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n  start_ms: 283780\n  end_ms: 286350\n- text: Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n  start_ms: 286350\n  end_ms: 288410\n- text: And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n  start_ms: 288410\n  end_ms: 290730\n- text: You ain't no thug!\n  start_ms: 290730\n  end_ms: 291910\n- text: I earned every God damn penny that I got\n  start_ms: 291910\n  end_ms: 294470\n- text: Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n  start_ms: 294470\n  end_ms: 297190\n- text: I wish a nigga would what?\n  start_ms: 297190\n  end_ms: 299590\n- text: Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n  start_ms: 299590\n  end_ms: 303690\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 303690\n  end_ms: 308020\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 308020\n  end_ms: 308930\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 308930\n  end_ms: 310480\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 310480\n  end_ms: 311050\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 311050\n  end_ms: 312940\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 312940\n  end_ms: 313500\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 313500\n  end_ms: 316490\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 316490\n  end_ms: 321820\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 321820\n  end_ms: 324680\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 324680\nplain: |-\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n\n  Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n  Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n  Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n  Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n\n  Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n  You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n  Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n  This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n\n  My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n  Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n  Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n  Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n\n  My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n  You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n  Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n  That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n\n  Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n  The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n  Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n  You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n\n  X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n  'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\n  Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n  X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n  Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n  Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n\n  I draws the heat from across the street\n  Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n  Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n  Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n\n  Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n  On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n  Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n  I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n\n  Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n  X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n  Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n  Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n  Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n  Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n  And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n  Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n  Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n\n  Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n  Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n  Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n  Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n\n  Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n  Pull fast for your stash\n  Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n  Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n\n  Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n  Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n  My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n  Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n\n  This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n  We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n  Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n  All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n  It's John John\n  Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n  I got your back cousin\n\n  I got the mack-dozen\n  And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n  'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\n  Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n\n  Dead on arrival\n  We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n  Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n  Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n\n  Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n  Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n  Caught in the zone, home on the range\n  Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n\n  We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n  Eight ball in the corner pocket\n  We snatch wallets off the white collared\n  The Big Apple forever rotted\n  Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n  So what the bumba claat?\n\n  Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n  To shark niggaz, once bitten\n  Major swingers heavy hittin'\n  Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n  Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n  The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n\n  Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n  Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n  I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n  Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n\n  Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n  And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n  I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n  Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n  And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n\n  You ain't no thug!\n  I earned every God damn penny that I got\n  Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n  I wish a nigga would what?\n  Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n"},{"id":33878923,"name":"The Worst (Feat. Raekwon, Method Man, Killa Sin, X1) / Overshine (Feat. All City)","trackName":"The Worst (Feat. Raekwon, Method Man, Killa Sin, X1) / Overshine (Feat. All City)","artistName":"Onyx","albumName":"Shut ’Em Down","duration":641.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n\nAiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\nTanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\nYeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\nPlay the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n\nWatch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\nYou know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\nRaw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\nThis yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n\nMy shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\nThrowin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\nThough, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\nThree-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n\nMy technique, rover in the robe, gold link\nYou know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\nRock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\nThat nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n\nYo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\nThe weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\nWhips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\nYou can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n\nX-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\nUnload a cartridge, and bust a cap\nX could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\nBitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\nBlow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n\nI draws the heat from across the street\nFly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\nStreet crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\nDispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n\nLookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\nOn the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\nTrick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\nI'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n\nWu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\nX-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\nBringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\nNuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\nSleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\nScatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nSteal master grab half the cash fast and bash\nAnd splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\nNigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\nGet marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n\nMack clever niggaz dat regga'\nCatch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\nShake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\nStraighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n\nOfficial Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\nPull fast for your stash\nLong as the war last, foot up in your ass\nTryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n\nYo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\nNumber one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\nMy whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\nKilla Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n\nThis terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\nWe cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\nWu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\nAll the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nHoly shit! Who the fuck is dat?\nIt's John John\nSticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\nI got your back cousin\n\nI got the mack-dozen\nAnd when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\nNowadays rappers dyin' over music\n\nDead on arrival\nWe raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\nDuckin' homicidal, you rivals\nYeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n\nChitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\nHot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\nCaught in the zone, home on the range\nAiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n\nWe got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\nEight ball in the corner pocket\nWe snatch wallets off the white collared\nThe Big Apple forever rotted\nNarcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\nSo what the bumba claat?\n\nPop shit, we do the knowledge\nTo shark niggaz, once bitten\nMajor swingers heavy hittin'\nPoly your kitten, throw up your mittens\nStop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\nThe meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n\nYo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\nBelieve dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\nI slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\nTouch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n\nEnough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\nAnd RIP they whole crew to a shred!\nI got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\nShow no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\nAnd shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n\nYou ain't no thug!\nI earned every God damn penny that I got\nSon I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\nI wish a nigga would what?\nTry to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx","syncedLyrics":"[00:01.70] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[00:04.58] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[00:10.06] Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n[00:13.68] Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n[00:15.44] Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n[00:18.18] Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n[00:20.82] Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n[00:23.65] You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n[00:26.36] Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n[00:29.91] This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n[00:31.75] My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n[00:34.45] Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n[00:37.23] Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n[00:40.88] Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n[00:43.54] My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n[00:45.39] You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n[00:48.02] Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n[00:50.84] That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n[00:53.58] Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n[00:56.25] The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n[00:58.93] Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n[01:01.63] You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n[01:04.48] X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n[01:07.15] 'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\n[01:10.75] Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n[01:12.57] X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n[01:15.32] Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n[01:18.01] Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n[01:20.71] I draws the heat from across the street\n[01:22.54] Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n[01:26.26] Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n[01:28.92] Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n[01:31.62] Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n[01:34.33] On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n[01:37.01] Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n[01:39.77] I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n[01:42.52] Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n[01:46.13] X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n[01:48.83] Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n[01:51.58] Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n[01:54.25] Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n[01:57.09] Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n[01:59.74] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:02.49] (Fucking)\n[02:04.27] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:05.18] (Fucking)\n[02:06.08] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:07.80] (Fucking)\n[02:08.73] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[02:09.67] Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n[02:13.36] And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n[02:15.17] Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n[02:18.71] Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n[02:21.45] Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n[02:24.13] Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n[02:26.07] Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n[02:28.72] Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n[02:31.46] Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n[02:35.08] Pull fast for your stash\n[02:36.84] Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n[02:39.69] Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n[02:43.25] Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n[02:45.96] Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n[02:48.61] My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n[02:50.58] Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n[02:53.27] This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n[02:55.99] We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n[02:59.51] Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n[03:02.20] All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n[03:05.02] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:06.89] (Fucking)\n[03:07.76] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:09.52] (Fucking)\n[03:10.43] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:12.25] (Fucking)\n[03:13.10] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[03:14.91] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:17.64] (Fucking)\n[03:18.50] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:21.34] (Fucking)\n[03:22.22] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:23.17] (Fucking)\n[03:24.01] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[03:26.73] Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n[03:29.42] It's John John\n[03:30.33] Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n[03:32.11] I got your back cousin\n[03:33.14] I got the mack-dozen\n[03:34.08] And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n[03:35.80] 'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\n[03:39.48] Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n[03:42.18] Dead on arrival\n[03:43.95] We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n[03:45.84] Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n[03:48.59] Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n[03:51.24] Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n[03:53.91] Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n[03:57.59] Caught in the zone, home on the range\n[03:59.45] Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n[04:01.22] We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n[04:03.92] Eight ball in the corner pocket\n[04:05.74] We snatch wallets off the white collared\n[04:08.58] The Big Apple forever rotted\n[04:10.34] Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n[04:12.18] So what the bumba claat?\n[04:13.94] Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n[04:15.74] To shark niggaz, once bitten\n[04:17.59] Major swingers heavy hittin'\n[04:19.39] Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n[04:21.25] Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n[04:23.94] The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n[04:26.61] Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n[04:29.33] Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n[04:31.16] I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n[04:34.85] Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n[04:37.55] Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n[04:40.21] And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n[04:42.96] I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n[04:45.70] Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n[04:47.59] And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n[04:50.26] You ain't no thug!\n[04:51.18] I earned every God damn penny that I got\n[04:53.87] Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n[04:55.62] I wish a nigga would what?\n[04:58.42] Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n[04:59.37] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:06.56] (Fucking)\n[05:07.45] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:10.16] (Fucking)\n[05:11.11] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:12.96] (Fucking)\n[05:13.88] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[05:15.66] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[05:18.35] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[05:26.54] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: The Worst (Feat. Raekwon, Method Man, Killa Sin, X1) / Overshine (Feat. All City)\n  artist: Onyx\n  album: Shut ’Em Down\n  duration_ms: 641000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 1700\n  end_ms: 4580\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 4580\n  end_ms: 10060\n- text: Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n  start_ms: 10060\n  end_ms: 13680\n- text: Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n  start_ms: 13680\n  end_ms: 15440\n- text: Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n  start_ms: 15440\n  end_ms: 18180\n- text: Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n  start_ms: 18180\n  end_ms: 20820\n- text: Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n  start_ms: 20820\n  end_ms: 23650\n- text: You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n  start_ms: 23650\n  end_ms: 26360\n- text: Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n  start_ms: 26360\n  end_ms: 29910\n- text: This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n  start_ms: 29910\n  end_ms: 31750\n- text: My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n  start_ms: 31750\n  end_ms: 34450\n- text: Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n  start_ms: 34450\n  end_ms: 37230\n- text: Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n  start_ms: 37230\n  end_ms: 40880\n- text: Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n  start_ms: 40880\n  end_ms: 43540\n- text: My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n  start_ms: 43540\n  end_ms: 45390\n- text: You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n  start_ms: 45390\n  end_ms: 48020\n- text: Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n  start_ms: 48020\n  end_ms: 50840\n- text: That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n  start_ms: 50840\n  end_ms: 53580\n- text: Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n  start_ms: 53580\n  end_ms: 56250\n- text: The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n  start_ms: 56250\n  end_ms: 58930\n- text: Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n  start_ms: 58930\n  end_ms: 61630\n- text: You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n  start_ms: 61630\n  end_ms: 64480\n- text: X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n  start_ms: 64480\n  end_ms: 67150\n- text: '''Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin'' scraps out the garbage'\n  start_ms: 67150\n  end_ms: 70750\n- text: Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n  start_ms: 70750\n  end_ms: 72570\n- text: X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n  start_ms: 72570\n  end_ms: 75320\n- text: Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n  start_ms: 75320\n  end_ms: 78010\n- text: Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n  start_ms: 78010\n  end_ms: 80710\n- text: I draws the heat from across the street\n  start_ms: 80710\n  end_ms: 82540\n- text: Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n  start_ms: 82540\n  end_ms: 86260\n- text: Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n  start_ms: 86260\n  end_ms: 88920\n- text: Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n  start_ms: 88920\n  end_ms: 91620\n- text: Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n  start_ms: 91620\n  end_ms: 94330\n- text: On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n  start_ms: 94330\n  end_ms: 97010\n- text: Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n  start_ms: 97010\n  end_ms: 99770\n- text: I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n  start_ms: 99770\n  end_ms: 102520\n- text: Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n  start_ms: 102520\n  end_ms: 106130\n- text: X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n  start_ms: 106130\n  end_ms: 108830\n- text: Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n  start_ms: 108830\n  end_ms: 111580\n- text: Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n  start_ms: 111580\n  end_ms: 114250\n- text: Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n  start_ms: 114250\n  end_ms: 117090\n- text: Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n  start_ms: 117090\n  end_ms: 119740\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 119740\n  end_ms: 122490\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 122490\n  end_ms: 124270\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 124270\n  end_ms: 125180\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 125180\n  end_ms: 126080\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 126080\n  end_ms: 127800\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 127800\n  end_ms: 128730\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 128730\n  end_ms: 129670\n- text: Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n  start_ms: 129670\n  end_ms: 133360\n- text: And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n  start_ms: 133360\n  end_ms: 135170\n- text: Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n  start_ms: 135170\n  end_ms: 138710\n- text: Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n  start_ms: 138710\n  end_ms: 141450\n- text: Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n  start_ms: 141450\n  end_ms: 144130\n- text: Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n  start_ms: 144130\n  end_ms: 146070\n- text: Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n  start_ms: 146070\n  end_ms: 148720\n- text: Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n  start_ms: 148720\n  end_ms: 151460\n- text: Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n  start_ms: 151460\n  end_ms: 155080\n- text: Pull fast for your stash\n  start_ms: 155080\n  end_ms: 156840\n- text: Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n  start_ms: 156840\n  end_ms: 159690\n- text: Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n  start_ms: 159690\n  end_ms: 163250\n- text: Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n  start_ms: 163250\n  end_ms: 165960\n- text: Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n  start_ms: 165960\n  end_ms: 168610\n- text: My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n  start_ms: 168610\n  end_ms: 170580\n- text: Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n  start_ms: 170580\n  end_ms: 173270\n- text: This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n  start_ms: 173270\n  end_ms: 175990\n- text: We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n  start_ms: 175990\n  end_ms: 179510\n- text: Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n  start_ms: 179510\n  end_ms: 182200\n- text: All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n  start_ms: 182200\n  end_ms: 185020\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 185020\n  end_ms: 186890\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 186890\n  end_ms: 187760\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 187760\n  end_ms: 189520\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 189520\n  end_ms: 190430\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 190430\n  end_ms: 192250\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 192250\n  end_ms: 193100\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 193100\n  end_ms: 194910\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 194910\n  end_ms: 197640\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 197640\n  end_ms: 198500\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 198500\n  end_ms: 201340\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 201340\n  end_ms: 202220\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 202220\n  end_ms: 203170\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 203170\n  end_ms: 204010\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 204010\n  end_ms: 206730\n- text: Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n  start_ms: 206730\n  end_ms: 209420\n- text: It's John John\n  start_ms: 209420\n  end_ms: 210330\n- text: Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n  start_ms: 210330\n  end_ms: 212110\n- text: I got your back cousin\n  start_ms: 212110\n  end_ms: 213140\n- text: I got the mack-dozen\n  start_ms: 213140\n  end_ms: 214080\n- text: And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n  start_ms: 214080\n  end_ms: 215800\n- text: '''Cause it''s a new year, time for some new shit'\n  start_ms: 215800\n  end_ms: 219480\n- text: Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n  start_ms: 219480\n  end_ms: 222180\n- text: Dead on arrival\n  start_ms: 222180\n  end_ms: 223950\n- text: We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n  start_ms: 223950\n  end_ms: 225840\n- text: Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n  start_ms: 225840\n  end_ms: 228590\n- text: Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n  start_ms: 228590\n  end_ms: 231240\n- text: Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n  start_ms: 231240\n  end_ms: 233910\n- text: Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n  start_ms: 233910\n  end_ms: 237590\n- text: Caught in the zone, home on the range\n  start_ms: 237590\n  end_ms: 239450\n- text: Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n  start_ms: 239450\n  end_ms: 241220\n- text: We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n  start_ms: 241220\n  end_ms: 243920\n- text: Eight ball in the corner pocket\n  start_ms: 243920\n  end_ms: 245740\n- text: We snatch wallets off the white collared\n  start_ms: 245740\n  end_ms: 248580\n- text: The Big Apple forever rotted\n  start_ms: 248580\n  end_ms: 250340\n- text: Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n  start_ms: 250340\n  end_ms: 252180\n- text: So what the bumba claat?\n  start_ms: 252180\n  end_ms: 253940\n- text: Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n  start_ms: 253940\n  end_ms: 255740\n- text: To shark niggaz, once bitten\n  start_ms: 255740\n  end_ms: 257590\n- text: Major swingers heavy hittin'\n  start_ms: 257590\n  end_ms: 259390\n- text: Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n  start_ms: 259390\n  end_ms: 261250\n- text: Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n  start_ms: 261250\n  end_ms: 263940\n- text: The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n  start_ms: 263940\n  end_ms: 266610\n- text: Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 266610\n  end_ms: 269330\n- text: Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n  start_ms: 269330\n  end_ms: 271160\n- text: I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n  start_ms: 271160\n  end_ms: 274850\n- text: Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n  start_ms: 274850\n  end_ms: 277550\n- text: Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n  start_ms: 277550\n  end_ms: 280210\n- text: And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n  start_ms: 280210\n  end_ms: 282960\n- text: I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n  start_ms: 282960\n  end_ms: 285700\n- text: Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n  start_ms: 285700\n  end_ms: 287590\n- text: And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n  start_ms: 287590\n  end_ms: 290260\n- text: You ain't no thug!\n  start_ms: 290260\n  end_ms: 291180\n- text: I earned every God damn penny that I got\n  start_ms: 291180\n  end_ms: 293870\n- text: Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n  start_ms: 293870\n  end_ms: 295620\n- text: I wish a nigga would what?\n  start_ms: 295620\n  end_ms: 298420\n- text: Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n  start_ms: 298420\n  end_ms: 299370\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 299370\n  end_ms: 306560\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 306560\n  end_ms: 307450\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 307450\n  end_ms: 310160\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 310160\n  end_ms: 311110\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 311110\n  end_ms: 312960\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 312960\n  end_ms: 313880\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 313880\n  end_ms: 315660\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 315660\n  end_ms: 318350\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 318350\n  end_ms: 326540\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 326540\nplain: |-\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n\n  Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n  Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n  Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n  Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n\n  Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n  You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n  Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n  This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n\n  My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n  Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n  Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n  Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n\n  My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n  You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n  Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n  That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n\n  Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n  The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n  Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n  You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n\n  X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n  'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\n  Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n  X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n  Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n  Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n\n  I draws the heat from across the street\n  Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n  Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n  Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n\n  Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n  On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n  Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n  I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n\n  Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n  X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n  Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n  Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n  Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n  Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n  And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n  Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n  Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n\n  Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n  Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n  Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n  Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n\n  Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n  Pull fast for your stash\n  Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n  Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n\n  Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n  Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n  My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n  Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n\n  This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n  We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n  Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n  All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n  It's John John\n  Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n  I got your back cousin\n\n  I got the mack-dozen\n  And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n  'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\n  Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n\n  Dead on arrival\n  We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n  Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n  Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n\n  Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n  Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n  Caught in the zone, home on the range\n  Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n\n  We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n  Eight ball in the corner pocket\n  We snatch wallets off the white collared\n  The Big Apple forever rotted\n  Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n  So what the bumba claat?\n\n  Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n  To shark niggaz, once bitten\n  Major swingers heavy hittin'\n  Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n  Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n  The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n\n  Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n  Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n  I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n  Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n\n  Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n  And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n  I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n  Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n  And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n\n  You ain't no thug!\n  I earned every God damn penny that I got\n  Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n  I wish a nigga would what?\n  Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n"},{"id":24078804,"name":"The Worst (Featuring Method Man, Raekwon, Killa Sin & X-1) / Overshine (Featuring J Mega & Greg Valentine)","trackName":"The Worst (Featuring Method Man, Raekwon, Killa Sin & X-1) / Overshine (Featuring J Mega & Greg Valentine)","artistName":"Onyx","albumName":"Shut 'Em Down","duration":641.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n\nAiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\nTanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\nYeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\nPlay the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n\nWatch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\nYou know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\nRaw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\nThis yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n\nMy shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\nThrowin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\nThough, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\nThree-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n\nMy technique, rover in the robe, gold link\nYou know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\nRock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\nThat nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n\nYo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\nThe weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\nWhips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\nYou can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n\nX-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\nUnload a cartridge, and bust a cap\nX could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\nBitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\nBlow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n\nI draws the heat from across the street\nFly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\nStreet crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\nDispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n\nLookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\nOn the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\nTrick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\nI'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n\nWu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\nX-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\nBringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\nNuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\nSleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\nScatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nSteal master grab half the cash fast and bash\nAnd splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\nNigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\nGet marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n\nMack clever niggaz dat regga'\nCatch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\nShake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\nStraighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n\nOfficial Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\nPull fast for your stash\nLong as the war last, foot up in your ass\nTryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n\nYo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\nNumber one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\nMy whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\nKilla Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n\nThis terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\nWe cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\nWu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\nAll the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nHoly shit! Who the fuck is dat?\nIt's John John\nSticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\nI got your back cousin\n\nI got the mack-dozen\nAnd when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\nNowadays rappers dyin' over music\n\nDead on arrival\nWe raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\nDuckin' homicidal, you rivals\nYeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n\nChitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\nHot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\nCaught in the zone, home on the range\nAiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n\nWe got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\nEight ball in the corner pocket\nWe snatch wallets off the white collared\nThe Big Apple forever rotted\nNarcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\nSo what the bumba claat?\n\nPop shit, we do the knowledge\nTo shark niggaz, once bitten\nMajor swingers heavy hittin'\nPoly your kitten, throw up your mittens\nStop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\nThe meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n\nYo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\nBelieve dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\nI slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\nTouch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n\nEnough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\nAnd RIP they whole crew to a shred!\nI got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\nShow no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\nAnd shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n\nYou ain't no thug!\nI earned every God damn penny that I got\nSon I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\nI wish a nigga would what?\nTry to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx","syncedLyrics":"[00:01.70] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[00:04.58] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[00:10.06] Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n[00:13.68] Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n[00:15.44] Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n[00:18.18] Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n[00:20.82] Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n[00:23.65] You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n[00:26.36] Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n[00:29.91] This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n[00:31.75] My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n[00:34.45] Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n[00:37.23] Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n[00:40.88] Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n[00:43.54] My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n[00:45.39] You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n[00:48.02] Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n[00:50.84] That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n[00:53.58] Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n[00:56.25] The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n[00:58.93] Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n[01:01.63] You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n[01:04.48] X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n[01:07.15] 'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\n[01:10.75] Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n[01:12.57] X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n[01:15.32] Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n[01:18.01] Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n[01:20.71] I draws the heat from across the street\n[01:22.54] Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n[01:26.26] Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n[01:28.92] Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n[01:31.62] Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n[01:34.33] On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n[01:37.01] Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n[01:39.77] I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n[01:42.52] Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n[01:46.13] X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n[01:48.83] Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n[01:51.58] Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n[01:54.25] Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n[01:57.09] Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n[01:59.74] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:02.49] (Fucking)\n[02:04.27] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:05.18] (Fucking)\n[02:06.08] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:07.80] (Fucking)\n[02:08.73] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[02:09.67] Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n[02:13.36] And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n[02:15.17] Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n[02:18.71] Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n[02:21.45] Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n[02:24.13] Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n[02:26.07] Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n[02:28.72] Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n[02:31.46] Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n[02:35.08] Pull fast for your stash\n[02:36.84] Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n[02:39.69] Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n[02:43.25] Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n[02:45.96] Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n[02:48.61] My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n[02:50.58] Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n[02:53.27] This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n[02:55.99] We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n[02:59.51] Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n[03:02.20] All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n[03:05.02] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:06.89] (Fucking)\n[03:07.76] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:09.52] (Fucking)\n[03:10.43] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:12.25] (Fucking)\n[03:13.10] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[03:14.91] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:17.64] (Fucking)\n[03:18.50] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:21.34] (Fucking)\n[03:22.22] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:23.17] (Fucking)\n[03:24.01] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[03:26.73] Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n[03:29.42] It's John John\n[03:30.33] Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n[03:32.11] I got your back cousin\n[03:33.14] I got the mack-dozen\n[03:34.08] And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n[03:35.80] 'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\n[03:39.48] Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n[03:42.18] Dead on arrival\n[03:43.95] We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n[03:45.84] Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n[03:48.59] Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n[03:51.24] Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n[03:53.91] Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n[03:57.59] Caught in the zone, home on the range\n[03:59.45] Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n[04:01.22] We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n[04:03.92] Eight ball in the corner pocket\n[04:05.74] We snatch wallets off the white collared\n[04:08.58] The Big Apple forever rotted\n[04:10.34] Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n[04:12.18] So what the bumba claat?\n[04:13.94] Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n[04:15.74] To shark niggaz, once bitten\n[04:17.59] Major swingers heavy hittin'\n[04:19.39] Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n[04:21.25] Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n[04:23.94] The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n[04:26.61] Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n[04:29.33] Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n[04:31.16] I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n[04:34.85] Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n[04:37.55] Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n[04:40.21] And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n[04:42.96] I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n[04:45.70] Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n[04:47.59] And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n[04:50.26] You ain't no thug!\n[04:51.18] I earned every God damn penny that I got\n[04:53.87] Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n[04:55.62] I wish a nigga would what?\n[04:58.42] Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n[04:59.37] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:06.56] (Fucking)\n[05:07.45] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:10.16] (Fucking)\n[05:11.11] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:12.96] (Fucking)\n[05:13.88] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[05:15.66] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[05:18.35] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[05:26.54] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: The Worst (Featuring Method Man, Raekwon, Killa Sin & X-1) / Overshine (Featuring J Mega & Greg Valentine)\n  artist: Onyx\n  album: Shut 'Em Down\n  duration_ms: 641000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 1700\n  end_ms: 4580\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 4580\n  end_ms: 10060\n- text: Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n  start_ms: 10060\n  end_ms: 13680\n- text: Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n  start_ms: 13680\n  end_ms: 15440\n- text: Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n  start_ms: 15440\n  end_ms: 18180\n- text: Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n  start_ms: 18180\n  end_ms: 20820\n- text: Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n  start_ms: 20820\n  end_ms: 23650\n- text: You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n  start_ms: 23650\n  end_ms: 26360\n- text: Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n  start_ms: 26360\n  end_ms: 29910\n- text: This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n  start_ms: 29910\n  end_ms: 31750\n- text: My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n  start_ms: 31750\n  end_ms: 34450\n- text: Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n  start_ms: 34450\n  end_ms: 37230\n- text: Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n  start_ms: 37230\n  end_ms: 40880\n- text: Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n  start_ms: 40880\n  end_ms: 43540\n- text: My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n  start_ms: 43540\n  end_ms: 45390\n- text: You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n  start_ms: 45390\n  end_ms: 48020\n- text: Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n  start_ms: 48020\n  end_ms: 50840\n- text: That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n  start_ms: 50840\n  end_ms: 53580\n- text: Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n  start_ms: 53580\n  end_ms: 56250\n- text: The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n  start_ms: 56250\n  end_ms: 58930\n- text: Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n  start_ms: 58930\n  end_ms: 61630\n- text: You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n  start_ms: 61630\n  end_ms: 64480\n- text: X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n  start_ms: 64480\n  end_ms: 67150\n- text: '''Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin'' scraps out the garbage'\n  start_ms: 67150\n  end_ms: 70750\n- text: Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n  start_ms: 70750\n  end_ms: 72570\n- text: X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n  start_ms: 72570\n  end_ms: 75320\n- text: Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n  start_ms: 75320\n  end_ms: 78010\n- text: Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n  start_ms: 78010\n  end_ms: 80710\n- text: I draws the heat from across the street\n  start_ms: 80710\n  end_ms: 82540\n- text: Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n  start_ms: 82540\n  end_ms: 86260\n- text: Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n  start_ms: 86260\n  end_ms: 88920\n- text: Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n  start_ms: 88920\n  end_ms: 91620\n- text: Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n  start_ms: 91620\n  end_ms: 94330\n- text: On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n  start_ms: 94330\n  end_ms: 97010\n- text: Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n  start_ms: 97010\n  end_ms: 99770\n- text: I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n  start_ms: 99770\n  end_ms: 102520\n- text: Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n  start_ms: 102520\n  end_ms: 106130\n- text: X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n  start_ms: 106130\n  end_ms: 108830\n- text: Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n  start_ms: 108830\n  end_ms: 111580\n- text: Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n  start_ms: 111580\n  end_ms: 114250\n- text: Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n  start_ms: 114250\n  end_ms: 117090\n- text: Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n  start_ms: 117090\n  end_ms: 119740\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 119740\n  end_ms: 122490\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 122490\n  end_ms: 124270\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 124270\n  end_ms: 125180\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 125180\n  end_ms: 126080\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 126080\n  end_ms: 127800\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 127800\n  end_ms: 128730\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 128730\n  end_ms: 129670\n- text: Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n  start_ms: 129670\n  end_ms: 133360\n- text: And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n  start_ms: 133360\n  end_ms: 135170\n- text: Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n  start_ms: 135170\n  end_ms: 138710\n- text: Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n  start_ms: 138710\n  end_ms: 141450\n- text: Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n  start_ms: 141450\n  end_ms: 144130\n- text: Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n  start_ms: 144130\n  end_ms: 146070\n- text: Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n  start_ms: 146070\n  end_ms: 148720\n- text: Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n  start_ms: 148720\n  end_ms: 151460\n- text: Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n  start_ms: 151460\n  end_ms: 155080\n- text: Pull fast for your stash\n  start_ms: 155080\n  end_ms: 156840\n- text: Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n  start_ms: 156840\n  end_ms: 159690\n- text: Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n  start_ms: 159690\n  end_ms: 163250\n- text: Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n  start_ms: 163250\n  end_ms: 165960\n- text: Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n  start_ms: 165960\n  end_ms: 168610\n- text: My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n  start_ms: 168610\n  end_ms: 170580\n- text: Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n  start_ms: 170580\n  end_ms: 173270\n- text: This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n  start_ms: 173270\n  end_ms: 175990\n- text: We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n  start_ms: 175990\n  end_ms: 179510\n- text: Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n  start_ms: 179510\n  end_ms: 182200\n- text: All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n  start_ms: 182200\n  end_ms: 185020\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 185020\n  end_ms: 186890\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 186890\n  end_ms: 187760\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 187760\n  end_ms: 189520\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 189520\n  end_ms: 190430\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 190430\n  end_ms: 192250\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 192250\n  end_ms: 193100\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 193100\n  end_ms: 194910\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 194910\n  end_ms: 197640\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 197640\n  end_ms: 198500\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 198500\n  end_ms: 201340\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 201340\n  end_ms: 202220\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 202220\n  end_ms: 203170\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 203170\n  end_ms: 204010\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 204010\n  end_ms: 206730\n- text: Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n  start_ms: 206730\n  end_ms: 209420\n- text: It's John John\n  start_ms: 209420\n  end_ms: 210330\n- text: Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n  start_ms: 210330\n  end_ms: 212110\n- text: I got your back cousin\n  start_ms: 212110\n  end_ms: 213140\n- text: I got the mack-dozen\n  start_ms: 213140\n  end_ms: 214080\n- text: And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n  start_ms: 214080\n  end_ms: 215800\n- text: '''Cause it''s a new year, time for some new shit'\n  start_ms: 215800\n  end_ms: 219480\n- text: Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n  start_ms: 219480\n  end_ms: 222180\n- text: Dead on arrival\n  start_ms: 222180\n  end_ms: 223950\n- text: We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n  start_ms: 223950\n  end_ms: 225840\n- text: Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n  start_ms: 225840\n  end_ms: 228590\n- text: Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n  start_ms: 228590\n  end_ms: 231240\n- text: Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n  start_ms: 231240\n  end_ms: 233910\n- text: Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n  start_ms: 233910\n  end_ms: 237590\n- text: Caught in the zone, home on the range\n  start_ms: 237590\n  end_ms: 239450\n- text: Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n  start_ms: 239450\n  end_ms: 241220\n- text: We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n  start_ms: 241220\n  end_ms: 243920\n- text: Eight ball in the corner pocket\n  start_ms: 243920\n  end_ms: 245740\n- text: We snatch wallets off the white collared\n  start_ms: 245740\n  end_ms: 248580\n- text: The Big Apple forever rotted\n  start_ms: 248580\n  end_ms: 250340\n- text: Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n  start_ms: 250340\n  end_ms: 252180\n- text: So what the bumba claat?\n  start_ms: 252180\n  end_ms: 253940\n- text: Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n  start_ms: 253940\n  end_ms: 255740\n- text: To shark niggaz, once bitten\n  start_ms: 255740\n  end_ms: 257590\n- text: Major swingers heavy hittin'\n  start_ms: 257590\n  end_ms: 259390\n- text: Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n  start_ms: 259390\n  end_ms: 261250\n- text: Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n  start_ms: 261250\n  end_ms: 263940\n- text: The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n  start_ms: 263940\n  end_ms: 266610\n- text: Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 266610\n  end_ms: 269330\n- text: Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n  start_ms: 269330\n  end_ms: 271160\n- text: I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n  start_ms: 271160\n  end_ms: 274850\n- text: Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n  start_ms: 274850\n  end_ms: 277550\n- text: Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n  start_ms: 277550\n  end_ms: 280210\n- text: And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n  start_ms: 280210\n  end_ms: 282960\n- text: I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n  start_ms: 282960\n  end_ms: 285700\n- text: Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n  start_ms: 285700\n  end_ms: 287590\n- text: And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n  start_ms: 287590\n  end_ms: 290260\n- text: You ain't no thug!\n  start_ms: 290260\n  end_ms: 291180\n- text: I earned every God damn penny that I got\n  start_ms: 291180\n  end_ms: 293870\n- text: Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n  start_ms: 293870\n  end_ms: 295620\n- text: I wish a nigga would what?\n  start_ms: 295620\n  end_ms: 298420\n- text: Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n  start_ms: 298420\n  end_ms: 299370\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 299370\n  end_ms: 306560\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 306560\n  end_ms: 307450\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 307450\n  end_ms: 310160\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 310160\n  end_ms: 311110\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 311110\n  end_ms: 312960\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 312960\n  end_ms: 313880\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 313880\n  end_ms: 315660\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 315660\n  end_ms: 318350\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 318350\n  end_ms: 326540\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 326540\nplain: |-\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n\n  Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n  Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n  Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n  Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n\n  Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n  You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n  Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n  This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n\n  My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n  Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n  Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n  Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n\n  My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n  You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n  Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n  That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n\n  Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n  The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n  Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n  You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n\n  X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n  'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\n  Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n  X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n  Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n  Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n\n  I draws the heat from across the street\n  Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n  Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n  Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n\n  Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n  On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n  Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n  I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n\n  Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n  X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n  Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n  Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n  Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n  Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n  And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n  Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n  Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n\n  Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n  Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n  Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n  Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n\n  Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n  Pull fast for your stash\n  Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n  Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n\n  Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n  Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n  My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n  Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n\n  This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n  We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n  Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n  All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n  It's John John\n  Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n  I got your back cousin\n\n  I got the mack-dozen\n  And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n  'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\n  Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n\n  Dead on arrival\n  We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n  Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n  Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n\n  Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n  Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n  Caught in the zone, home on the range\n  Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n\n  We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n  Eight ball in the corner pocket\n  We snatch wallets off the white collared\n  The Big Apple forever rotted\n  Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n  So what the bumba claat?\n\n  Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n  To shark niggaz, once bitten\n  Major swingers heavy hittin'\n  Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n  Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n  The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n\n  Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n  Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n  I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n  Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n\n  Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n  And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n  I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n  Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n  And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n\n  You ain't no thug!\n  I earned every God damn penny that I got\n  Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n  I wish a nigga would what?\n  Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n"},{"id":22632142,"name":"The Worst (feat. X-1, Method Man, Raekwon & Killer Sin); Overshine (feat. J Mega & Greg Valentine)","trackName":"The Worst (feat. X-1, Method Man, Raekwon & Killer Sin); Overshine (feat. J Mega & Greg Valentine)","artistName":"Onyx","albumName":"Shut 'em Down","duration":639.3872,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n\nAiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\nTanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\nYeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\nPlay the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n\nWatch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\nYou know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\nRaw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\nThis yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n\nMy shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\nThrowin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\nThough, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\nThree-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n\nMy technique, rover in the robe, gold link\nYou know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\nRock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\nThat nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n\nYo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\nThe weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\nWhips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\nYou can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n\nX-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\nUnload a cartridge, and bust a cap\nX could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\nBitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\nBlow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n\nI draws the heat from across the street\nFly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\nStreet crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\nDispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n\nLookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\nOn the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\nTrick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\nI'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n\nWu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\nX-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\nBringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\nNuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\nSleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\nScatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nSteal master grab half the cash fast and bash\nAnd splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\nNigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\nGet marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n\nMack clever niggaz dat regga'\nCatch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\nShake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\nStraighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n\nOfficial Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\nPull fast for your stash\nLong as the war last, foot up in your ass\nTryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n\nYo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\nNumber one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\nMy whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\nKilla Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n\nThis terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\nWe cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\nWu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\nAll the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nHoly shit! Who the fuck is dat?\nIt's John John\nSticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\nI got your back cousin\n\nI got the mack-dozen\nAnd when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\nNowadays rappers dyin' over music\n\nDead on arrival\nWe raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\nDuckin' homicidal, you rivals\nYeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n\nChitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\nHot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\nCaught in the zone, home on the range\nAiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n\nWe got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\nEight ball in the corner pocket\nWe snatch wallets off the white collared\nThe Big Apple forever rotted\nNarcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\nSo what the bumba claat?\n\nPop shit, we do the knowledge\nTo shark niggaz, once bitten\nMajor swingers heavy hittin'\nPoly your kitten, throw up your mittens\nStop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\nThe meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n\nYo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\nBelieve dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\nI slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\nTouch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n\nEnough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\nAnd RIP they whole crew to a shred!\nI got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\nShow no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\nAnd shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n\nYou ain't no thug!\nI earned every God damn penny that I got\nSon I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\nI wish a nigga would what?\nTry to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx","syncedLyrics":"[00:02.54] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[00:03.24] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[00:10.71] Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n[00:13.46] Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n[00:16.18] Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n[00:18.76] Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n[00:21.69] Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n[00:24.27] You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n[00:27.05] Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n[00:30.48] This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n[00:32.74] My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n[00:35.52] Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n[00:38.22] Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n[00:41.18] Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n[00:43.77] My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n[00:46.24] You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n[00:48.76] Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n[00:51.35] That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n[00:54.54] Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n[00:57.10] The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n[00:59.96] Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n[01:02.71] You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n[01:05.47] X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n[01:07.53] 'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\n[01:11.08] Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n[01:13.31] X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n[01:15.84] Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n[01:18.42] Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n[01:21.51] I draws the heat from across the street\n[01:23.76] Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n[01:26.86] Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n[01:29.75] Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n[01:32.71] Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n[01:35.27] On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n[01:37.72] Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n[01:40.89] I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n[01:43.63] Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n[01:46.72] X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n[01:50.17] Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n[01:52.19] Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n[01:54.30] Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n[01:57.91] Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n[02:00.22] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:02.42] (Fucking)\n[02:03.30] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:05.29] (Fucking)\n[02:06.16] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:07.96] (Fucking)\n[02:08.64] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[02:11.01] Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n[02:13.87] And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n[02:16.21] Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n[02:19.32] Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n[02:22.04] Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n[02:24.44] Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n[02:27.11] Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n[02:29.85] Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n[02:32.48] Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n[02:35.83] Pull fast for your stash\n[02:37.56] Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n[02:40.05] Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n[02:43.29] Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n[02:46.22] Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n[02:48.56] My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n[02:51.57] Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n[02:54.05] This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n[02:57.06] We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n[02:59.60] Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n[03:02.47] All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n[03:05.23] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:07.60] (Fucking)\n[03:08.37] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:10.65] (Fucking)\n[03:11.32] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:13.30] (Fucking)\n[03:14.25] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[03:16.31] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:18.87] (Fucking)\n[03:19.71] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:21.36] (Fucking)\n[03:21.98] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:23.89] (Fucking)\n[03:24.67] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[03:27.20] Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n[03:29.73] It's John John\n[03:30.71] Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n[03:32.31] I got your back cousin\n[03:33.88] I got the mack-dozen\n[03:35.20] And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n[03:37.85] 'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\n[03:40.95] Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n[03:43.35] Dead on arrival\n[03:44.45] We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n[03:46.98] Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n[03:49.12] Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n[03:51.82] Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n[03:54.63] Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n[03:57.78] Caught in the zone, home on the range\n[04:03.33] Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n[04:04.50] We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n[04:05.62] Eight ball in the corner pocket\n[04:07.63] We snatch wallets off the white collared\n[04:08.88] The Big Apple forever rotted\n[04:10.87] Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n[04:12.75] So what the bumba claat?\n[04:14.99] Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n[04:16.13] To shark niggaz, once bitten\n[04:18.87] Major swingers heavy hittin'\n[04:20.06] Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n[04:21.65] Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n[04:24.23] The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n[04:26.85] Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n[04:29.94] Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n[04:32.80] I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n[04:35.56] Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n[04:37.07] Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n[04:41.11] And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n[04:43.78] I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n[04:46.35] Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n[04:48.41] And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n[04:50.73] You ain't no thug!\n[04:51.91] I earned every God damn penny that I got\n[04:54.47] Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n[04:57.19] I wish a nigga would what?\n[04:59.59] Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n[05:03.69] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:08.02] (Fucking)\n[05:08.93] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:10.48] (Fucking)\n[05:11.05] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:12.94] (Fucking)\n[05:13.50] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[05:16.49] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[05:21.82] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[05:24.68] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: The Worst (feat. X-1, Method Man, Raekwon & Killer Sin); Overshine (feat. J Mega & Greg Valentine)\n  artist: Onyx\n  album: Shut 'em Down\n  duration_ms: 639387\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 2540\n  end_ms: 3240\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 3240\n  end_ms: 10710\n- text: Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n  start_ms: 10710\n  end_ms: 13460\n- text: Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n  start_ms: 13460\n  end_ms: 16180\n- text: Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n  start_ms: 16180\n  end_ms: 18760\n- text: Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n  start_ms: 18760\n  end_ms: 21690\n- text: Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n  start_ms: 21690\n  end_ms: 24270\n- text: You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n  start_ms: 24270\n  end_ms: 27050\n- text: Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n  start_ms: 27050\n  end_ms: 30480\n- text: This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n  start_ms: 30480\n  end_ms: 32740\n- text: My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n  start_ms: 32740\n  end_ms: 35520\n- text: Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n  start_ms: 35520\n  end_ms: 38220\n- text: Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n  start_ms: 38220\n  end_ms: 41180\n- text: Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n  start_ms: 41180\n  end_ms: 43770\n- text: My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n  start_ms: 43770\n  end_ms: 46240\n- text: You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n  start_ms: 46240\n  end_ms: 48760\n- text: Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n  start_ms: 48760\n  end_ms: 51350\n- text: That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n  start_ms: 51350\n  end_ms: 54540\n- text: Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n  start_ms: 54540\n  end_ms: 57100\n- text: The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n  start_ms: 57100\n  end_ms: 59960\n- text: Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n  start_ms: 59960\n  end_ms: 62710\n- text: You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n  start_ms: 62710\n  end_ms: 65470\n- text: X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n  start_ms: 65470\n  end_ms: 67530\n- text: '''Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin'' scraps out the garbage'\n  start_ms: 67530\n  end_ms: 71080\n- text: Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n  start_ms: 71080\n  end_ms: 73310\n- text: X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n  start_ms: 73310\n  end_ms: 75840\n- text: Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n  start_ms: 75840\n  end_ms: 78420\n- text: Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n  start_ms: 78420\n  end_ms: 81510\n- text: I draws the heat from across the street\n  start_ms: 81510\n  end_ms: 83760\n- text: Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n  start_ms: 83760\n  end_ms: 86860\n- text: Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n  start_ms: 86860\n  end_ms: 89750\n- text: Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n  start_ms: 89750\n  end_ms: 92710\n- text: Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n  start_ms: 92710\n  end_ms: 95270\n- text: On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n  start_ms: 95270\n  end_ms: 97720\n- text: Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n  start_ms: 97720\n  end_ms: 100890\n- text: I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n  start_ms: 100890\n  end_ms: 103630\n- text: Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n  start_ms: 103630\n  end_ms: 106720\n- text: X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n  start_ms: 106720\n  end_ms: 110170\n- text: Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n  start_ms: 110170\n  end_ms: 112190\n- text: Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n  start_ms: 112190\n  end_ms: 114300\n- text: Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n  start_ms: 114300\n  end_ms: 117910\n- text: Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n  start_ms: 117910\n  end_ms: 120220\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 120220\n  end_ms: 122420\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 122420\n  end_ms: 123300\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 123300\n  end_ms: 125290\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 125290\n  end_ms: 126160\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 126160\n  end_ms: 127960\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 127960\n  end_ms: 128640\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 128640\n  end_ms: 131010\n- text: Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n  start_ms: 131010\n  end_ms: 133870\n- text: And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n  start_ms: 133870\n  end_ms: 136210\n- text: Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n  start_ms: 136210\n  end_ms: 139320\n- text: Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n  start_ms: 139320\n  end_ms: 142040\n- text: Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n  start_ms: 142040\n  end_ms: 144440\n- text: Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n  start_ms: 144440\n  end_ms: 147110\n- text: Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n  start_ms: 147110\n  end_ms: 149850\n- text: Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n  start_ms: 149850\n  end_ms: 152480\n- text: Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n  start_ms: 152480\n  end_ms: 155830\n- text: Pull fast for your stash\n  start_ms: 155830\n  end_ms: 157560\n- text: Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n  start_ms: 157560\n  end_ms: 160050\n- text: Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n  start_ms: 160050\n  end_ms: 163290\n- text: Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n  start_ms: 163290\n  end_ms: 166220\n- text: Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n  start_ms: 166220\n  end_ms: 168560\n- text: My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n  start_ms: 168560\n  end_ms: 171570\n- text: Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n  start_ms: 171570\n  end_ms: 174050\n- text: This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n  start_ms: 174050\n  end_ms: 177060\n- text: We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n  start_ms: 177060\n  end_ms: 179600\n- text: Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n  start_ms: 179600\n  end_ms: 182470\n- text: All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n  start_ms: 182470\n  end_ms: 185230\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 185230\n  end_ms: 187600\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 187600\n  end_ms: 188370\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 188370\n  end_ms: 190650\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 190650\n  end_ms: 191320\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 191320\n  end_ms: 193300\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 193300\n  end_ms: 194250\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 194250\n  end_ms: 196310\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 196310\n  end_ms: 198870\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 198870\n  end_ms: 199710\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 199710\n  end_ms: 201360\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 201360\n  end_ms: 201980\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 201980\n  end_ms: 203890\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 203890\n  end_ms: 204670\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 204670\n  end_ms: 207200\n- text: Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n  start_ms: 207200\n  end_ms: 209730\n- text: It's John John\n  start_ms: 209730\n  end_ms: 210710\n- text: Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n  start_ms: 210710\n  end_ms: 212310\n- text: I got your back cousin\n  start_ms: 212310\n  end_ms: 213880\n- text: I got the mack-dozen\n  start_ms: 213880\n  end_ms: 215200\n- text: And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n  start_ms: 215200\n  end_ms: 217850\n- text: '''Cause it''s a new year, time for some new shit'\n  start_ms: 217850\n  end_ms: 220950\n- text: Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n  start_ms: 220950\n  end_ms: 223350\n- text: Dead on arrival\n  start_ms: 223350\n  end_ms: 224450\n- text: We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n  start_ms: 224450\n  end_ms: 226980\n- text: Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n  start_ms: 226980\n  end_ms: 229120\n- text: Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n  start_ms: 229120\n  end_ms: 231820\n- text: Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n  start_ms: 231820\n  end_ms: 234630\n- text: Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n  start_ms: 234630\n  end_ms: 237780\n- text: Caught in the zone, home on the range\n  start_ms: 237780\n  end_ms: 243330\n- text: Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n  start_ms: 243330\n  end_ms: 244500\n- text: We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n  start_ms: 244500\n  end_ms: 245620\n- text: Eight ball in the corner pocket\n  start_ms: 245620\n  end_ms: 247630\n- text: We snatch wallets off the white collared\n  start_ms: 247630\n  end_ms: 248880\n- text: The Big Apple forever rotted\n  start_ms: 248880\n  end_ms: 250870\n- text: Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n  start_ms: 250870\n  end_ms: 252750\n- text: So what the bumba claat?\n  start_ms: 252750\n  end_ms: 254990\n- text: Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n  start_ms: 254990\n  end_ms: 256130\n- text: To shark niggaz, once bitten\n  start_ms: 256130\n  end_ms: 258870\n- text: Major swingers heavy hittin'\n  start_ms: 258870\n  end_ms: 260060\n- text: Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n  start_ms: 260060\n  end_ms: 261650\n- text: Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n  start_ms: 261650\n  end_ms: 264230\n- text: The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n  start_ms: 264230\n  end_ms: 266850\n- text: Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 266850\n  end_ms: 269940\n- text: Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n  start_ms: 269940\n  end_ms: 272800\n- text: I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n  start_ms: 272800\n  end_ms: 275560\n- text: Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n  start_ms: 275560\n  end_ms: 277070\n- text: Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n  start_ms: 277070\n  end_ms: 281110\n- text: And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n  start_ms: 281110\n  end_ms: 283780\n- text: I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n  start_ms: 283780\n  end_ms: 286350\n- text: Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n  start_ms: 286350\n  end_ms: 288410\n- text: And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n  start_ms: 288410\n  end_ms: 290730\n- text: You ain't no thug!\n  start_ms: 290730\n  end_ms: 291910\n- text: I earned every God damn penny that I got\n  start_ms: 291910\n  end_ms: 294470\n- text: Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n  start_ms: 294470\n  end_ms: 297190\n- text: I wish a nigga would what?\n  start_ms: 297190\n  end_ms: 299590\n- text: Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n  start_ms: 299590\n  end_ms: 303690\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 303690\n  end_ms: 308020\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 308020\n  end_ms: 308930\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 308930\n  end_ms: 310480\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 310480\n  end_ms: 311050\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 311050\n  end_ms: 312940\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 312940\n  end_ms: 313500\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 313500\n  end_ms: 316490\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 316490\n  end_ms: 321820\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 321820\n  end_ms: 324680\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 324680\nplain: |-\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n\n  Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n  Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n  Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n  Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n\n  Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n  You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n  Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n  This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n\n  My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n  Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n  Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n  Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n\n  My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n  You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n  Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n  That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n\n  Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n  The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n  Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n  You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n\n  X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n  'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\n  Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n  X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n  Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n  Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n\n  I draws the heat from across the street\n  Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n  Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n  Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n\n  Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n  On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n  Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n  I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n\n  Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n  X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n  Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n  Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n  Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n  Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n  And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n  Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n  Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n\n  Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n  Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n  Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n  Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n\n  Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n  Pull fast for your stash\n  Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n  Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n\n  Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n  Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n  My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n  Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n\n  This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n  We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n  Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n  All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n  It's John John\n  Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n  I got your back cousin\n\n  I got the mack-dozen\n  And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n  'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\n  Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n\n  Dead on arrival\n  We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n  Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n  Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n\n  Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n  Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n  Caught in the zone, home on the range\n  Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n\n  We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n  Eight ball in the corner pocket\n  We snatch wallets off the white collared\n  The Big Apple forever rotted\n  Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n  So what the bumba claat?\n\n  Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n  To shark niggaz, once bitten\n  Major swingers heavy hittin'\n  Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n  Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n  The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n\n  Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n  Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n  I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n  Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n\n  Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n  And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n  I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n  Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n  And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n\n  You ain't no thug!\n  I earned every God damn penny that I got\n  Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n  I wish a nigga would what?\n  Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n"},{"id":23064595,"name":"The Worst (ft. Method Man, Raekwon, Killer Sin & X-1) / Overshine (ft. J Mega & Greg Valentine)","trackName":"The Worst (ft. Method Man, Raekwon, Killer Sin & X-1) / Overshine (ft. J Mega & Greg Valentine)","artistName":"Onyx","albumName":"Shut 'Em Down","duration":641.044898,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n\nAiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\nTanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\nYeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\nPlay the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n\nWatch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\nYou know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\nRaw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\nThis yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n\nMy shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\nThrowin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\nThough, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\nThree-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n\nMy technique, rover in the robe, gold link\nYou know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\nRock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\nThat nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n\nYo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\nThe weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\nWhips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\nYou can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n\nX-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\nUnload a cartridge, and bust a cap\nX could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\nBitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\nBlow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n\nI draws the heat from across the street\nFly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\nStreet crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\nDispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n\nLookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\nOn the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\nTrick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\nI'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n\nWu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\nX-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\nBringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\nNuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\nSleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\nScatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nSteal master grab half the cash fast and bash\nAnd splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\nNigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\nGet marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n\nMack clever niggaz dat regga'\nCatch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\nShake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\nStraighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n\nOfficial Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\nPull fast for your stash\nLong as the war last, foot up in your ass\nTryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n\nYo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\nNumber one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\nMy whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\nKilla Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n\nThis terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\nWe cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\nWu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\nAll the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nHoly shit! Who the fuck is dat?\nIt's John John\nSticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\nI got your back cousin\n\nI got the mack-dozen\nAnd when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\nNowadays rappers dyin' over music\n\nDead on arrival\nWe raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\nDuckin' homicidal, you rivals\nYeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n\nChitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\nHot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\nCaught in the zone, home on the range\nAiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n\nWe got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\nEight ball in the corner pocket\nWe snatch wallets off the white collared\nThe Big Apple forever rotted\nNarcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\nSo what the bumba claat?\n\nPop shit, we do the knowledge\nTo shark niggaz, once bitten\nMajor swingers heavy hittin'\nPoly your kitten, throw up your mittens\nStop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\nThe meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n\nYo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\nBelieve dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\nI slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\nTouch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n\nEnough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\nAnd RIP they whole crew to a shred!\nI got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\nShow no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\nAnd shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n\nYou ain't no thug!\nI earned every God damn penny that I got\nSon I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\nI wish a nigga would what?\nTry to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nFirst things first man, you're with the worst\n(Fucking)\nYou can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx","syncedLyrics":"[00:01.70] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[00:04.58] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[00:10.06] Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n[00:13.68] Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n[00:15.44] Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n[00:18.18] Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n[00:20.82] Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n[00:23.65] You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n[00:26.36] Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n[00:29.91] This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n[00:31.75] My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n[00:34.45] Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n[00:37.23] Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n[00:40.88] Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n[00:43.54] My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n[00:45.39] You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n[00:48.02] Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n[00:50.84] That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n[00:53.58] Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n[00:56.25] The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n[00:58.93] Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n[01:01.63] You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n[01:04.48] X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n[01:07.15] 'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\n[01:10.75] Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n[01:12.57] X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n[01:15.32] Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n[01:18.01] Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n[01:20.71] I draws the heat from across the street\n[01:22.54] Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n[01:26.26] Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n[01:28.92] Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n[01:31.62] Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n[01:34.33] On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n[01:37.01] Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n[01:39.77] I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n[01:42.52] Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n[01:46.13] X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n[01:48.83] Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n[01:51.58] Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n[01:54.25] Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n[01:57.09] Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n[01:59.74] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:02.49] (Fucking)\n[02:04.27] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:05.18] (Fucking)\n[02:06.08] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[02:07.80] (Fucking)\n[02:08.73] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[02:09.67] Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n[02:13.36] And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n[02:15.17] Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n[02:18.71] Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n[02:21.45] Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n[02:24.13] Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n[02:26.07] Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n[02:28.72] Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n[02:31.46] Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n[02:35.08] Pull fast for your stash\n[02:36.84] Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n[02:39.69] Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n[02:43.25] Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n[02:45.96] Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n[02:48.61] My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n[02:50.58] Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n[02:53.27] This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n[02:55.99] We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n[02:59.51] Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n[03:02.20] All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n[03:05.02] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:06.89] (Fucking)\n[03:07.76] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:09.52] (Fucking)\n[03:10.43] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:12.25] (Fucking)\n[03:13.10] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[03:14.91] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:17.64] (Fucking)\n[03:18.50] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:21.34] (Fucking)\n[03:22.22] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[03:23.17] (Fucking)\n[03:24.01] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[03:26.73] Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n[03:29.42] It's John John\n[03:30.33] Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n[03:32.11] I got your back cousin\n[03:33.14] I got the mack-dozen\n[03:34.08] And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n[03:35.80] 'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\n[03:39.48] Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n[03:42.18] Dead on arrival\n[03:43.95] We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n[03:45.84] Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n[03:48.59] Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n[03:51.24] Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n[03:53.91] Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n[03:57.59] Caught in the zone, home on the range\n[03:59.45] Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n[04:01.22] We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n[04:03.92] Eight ball in the corner pocket\n[04:05.74] We snatch wallets off the white collared\n[04:08.58] The Big Apple forever rotted\n[04:10.34] Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n[04:12.18] So what the bumba claat?\n[04:13.94] Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n[04:15.74] To shark niggaz, once bitten\n[04:17.59] Major swingers heavy hittin'\n[04:19.39] Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n[04:21.25] Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n[04:23.94] The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n[04:26.61] Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n[04:29.33] Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n[04:31.16] I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n[04:34.85] Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n[04:37.55] Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n[04:40.21] And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n[04:42.96] I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n[04:45.70] Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n[04:47.59] And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n[04:50.26] You ain't no thug!\n[04:51.18] I earned every God damn penny that I got\n[04:53.87] Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n[04:55.62] I wish a nigga would what?\n[04:58.42] Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n[04:59.37] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:06.56] (Fucking)\n[05:07.45] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:10.16] (Fucking)\n[05:11.11] First things first man, you're with the worst\n[05:12.96] (Fucking)\n[05:13.88] You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n[05:15.66] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[05:18.35] Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n[05:26.54] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: The Worst (ft. Method Man, Raekwon, Killer Sin & X-1) / Overshine (ft. J Mega & Greg Valentine)\n  artist: Onyx\n  album: Shut 'Em Down\n  duration_ms: 641045\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 1700\n  end_ms: 4580\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 4580\n  end_ms: 10060\n- text: Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n  start_ms: 10060\n  end_ms: 13680\n- text: Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n  start_ms: 13680\n  end_ms: 15440\n- text: Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n  start_ms: 15440\n  end_ms: 18180\n- text: Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n  start_ms: 18180\n  end_ms: 20820\n- text: Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n  start_ms: 20820\n  end_ms: 23650\n- text: You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n  start_ms: 23650\n  end_ms: 26360\n- text: Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n  start_ms: 26360\n  end_ms: 29910\n- text: This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n  start_ms: 29910\n  end_ms: 31750\n- text: My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n  start_ms: 31750\n  end_ms: 34450\n- text: Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n  start_ms: 34450\n  end_ms: 37230\n- text: Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n  start_ms: 37230\n  end_ms: 40880\n- text: Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n  start_ms: 40880\n  end_ms: 43540\n- text: My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n  start_ms: 43540\n  end_ms: 45390\n- text: You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n  start_ms: 45390\n  end_ms: 48020\n- text: Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n  start_ms: 48020\n  end_ms: 50840\n- text: That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n  start_ms: 50840\n  end_ms: 53580\n- text: Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n  start_ms: 53580\n  end_ms: 56250\n- text: The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n  start_ms: 56250\n  end_ms: 58930\n- text: Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n  start_ms: 58930\n  end_ms: 61630\n- text: You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n  start_ms: 61630\n  end_ms: 64480\n- text: X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n  start_ms: 64480\n  end_ms: 67150\n- text: '''Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin'' scraps out the garbage'\n  start_ms: 67150\n  end_ms: 70750\n- text: Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n  start_ms: 70750\n  end_ms: 72570\n- text: X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n  start_ms: 72570\n  end_ms: 75320\n- text: Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n  start_ms: 75320\n  end_ms: 78010\n- text: Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n  start_ms: 78010\n  end_ms: 80710\n- text: I draws the heat from across the street\n  start_ms: 80710\n  end_ms: 82540\n- text: Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n  start_ms: 82540\n  end_ms: 86260\n- text: Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n  start_ms: 86260\n  end_ms: 88920\n- text: Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n  start_ms: 88920\n  end_ms: 91620\n- text: Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n  start_ms: 91620\n  end_ms: 94330\n- text: On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n  start_ms: 94330\n  end_ms: 97010\n- text: Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n  start_ms: 97010\n  end_ms: 99770\n- text: I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n  start_ms: 99770\n  end_ms: 102520\n- text: Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n  start_ms: 102520\n  end_ms: 106130\n- text: X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n  start_ms: 106130\n  end_ms: 108830\n- text: Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n  start_ms: 108830\n  end_ms: 111580\n- text: Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n  start_ms: 111580\n  end_ms: 114250\n- text: Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n  start_ms: 114250\n  end_ms: 117090\n- text: Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n  start_ms: 117090\n  end_ms: 119740\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 119740\n  end_ms: 122490\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 122490\n  end_ms: 124270\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 124270\n  end_ms: 125180\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 125180\n  end_ms: 126080\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 126080\n  end_ms: 127800\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 127800\n  end_ms: 128730\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 128730\n  end_ms: 129670\n- text: Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n  start_ms: 129670\n  end_ms: 133360\n- text: And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n  start_ms: 133360\n  end_ms: 135170\n- text: Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n  start_ms: 135170\n  end_ms: 138710\n- text: Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n  start_ms: 138710\n  end_ms: 141450\n- text: Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n  start_ms: 141450\n  end_ms: 144130\n- text: Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n  start_ms: 144130\n  end_ms: 146070\n- text: Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n  start_ms: 146070\n  end_ms: 148720\n- text: Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n  start_ms: 148720\n  end_ms: 151460\n- text: Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n  start_ms: 151460\n  end_ms: 155080\n- text: Pull fast for your stash\n  start_ms: 155080\n  end_ms: 156840\n- text: Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n  start_ms: 156840\n  end_ms: 159690\n- text: Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n  start_ms: 159690\n  end_ms: 163250\n- text: Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n  start_ms: 163250\n  end_ms: 165960\n- text: Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n  start_ms: 165960\n  end_ms: 168610\n- text: My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n  start_ms: 168610\n  end_ms: 170580\n- text: Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n  start_ms: 170580\n  end_ms: 173270\n- text: This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n  start_ms: 173270\n  end_ms: 175990\n- text: We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n  start_ms: 175990\n  end_ms: 179510\n- text: Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n  start_ms: 179510\n  end_ms: 182200\n- text: All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n  start_ms: 182200\n  end_ms: 185020\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 185020\n  end_ms: 186890\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 186890\n  end_ms: 187760\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 187760\n  end_ms: 189520\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 189520\n  end_ms: 190430\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 190430\n  end_ms: 192250\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 192250\n  end_ms: 193100\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 193100\n  end_ms: 194910\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 194910\n  end_ms: 197640\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 197640\n  end_ms: 198500\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 198500\n  end_ms: 201340\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 201340\n  end_ms: 202220\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 202220\n  end_ms: 203170\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 203170\n  end_ms: 204010\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 204010\n  end_ms: 206730\n- text: Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n  start_ms: 206730\n  end_ms: 209420\n- text: It's John John\n  start_ms: 209420\n  end_ms: 210330\n- text: Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n  start_ms: 210330\n  end_ms: 212110\n- text: I got your back cousin\n  start_ms: 212110\n  end_ms: 213140\n- text: I got the mack-dozen\n  start_ms: 213140\n  end_ms: 214080\n- text: And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n  start_ms: 214080\n  end_ms: 215800\n- text: '''Cause it''s a new year, time for some new shit'\n  start_ms: 215800\n  end_ms: 219480\n- text: Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n  start_ms: 219480\n  end_ms: 222180\n- text: Dead on arrival\n  start_ms: 222180\n  end_ms: 223950\n- text: We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n  start_ms: 223950\n  end_ms: 225840\n- text: Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n  start_ms: 225840\n  end_ms: 228590\n- text: Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n  start_ms: 228590\n  end_ms: 231240\n- text: Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n  start_ms: 231240\n  end_ms: 233910\n- text: Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n  start_ms: 233910\n  end_ms: 237590\n- text: Caught in the zone, home on the range\n  start_ms: 237590\n  end_ms: 239450\n- text: Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n  start_ms: 239450\n  end_ms: 241220\n- text: We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n  start_ms: 241220\n  end_ms: 243920\n- text: Eight ball in the corner pocket\n  start_ms: 243920\n  end_ms: 245740\n- text: We snatch wallets off the white collared\n  start_ms: 245740\n  end_ms: 248580\n- text: The Big Apple forever rotted\n  start_ms: 248580\n  end_ms: 250340\n- text: Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n  start_ms: 250340\n  end_ms: 252180\n- text: So what the bumba claat?\n  start_ms: 252180\n  end_ms: 253940\n- text: Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n  start_ms: 253940\n  end_ms: 255740\n- text: To shark niggaz, once bitten\n  start_ms: 255740\n  end_ms: 257590\n- text: Major swingers heavy hittin'\n  start_ms: 257590\n  end_ms: 259390\n- text: Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n  start_ms: 259390\n  end_ms: 261250\n- text: Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n  start_ms: 261250\n  end_ms: 263940\n- text: The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n  start_ms: 263940\n  end_ms: 266610\n- text: Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 266610\n  end_ms: 269330\n- text: Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n  start_ms: 269330\n  end_ms: 271160\n- text: I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n  start_ms: 271160\n  end_ms: 274850\n- text: Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n  start_ms: 274850\n  end_ms: 277550\n- text: Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n  start_ms: 277550\n  end_ms: 280210\n- text: And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n  start_ms: 280210\n  end_ms: 282960\n- text: I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n  start_ms: 282960\n  end_ms: 285700\n- text: Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n  start_ms: 285700\n  end_ms: 287590\n- text: And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n  start_ms: 287590\n  end_ms: 290260\n- text: You ain't no thug!\n  start_ms: 290260\n  end_ms: 291180\n- text: I earned every God damn penny that I got\n  start_ms: 291180\n  end_ms: 293870\n- text: Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n  start_ms: 293870\n  end_ms: 295620\n- text: I wish a nigga would what?\n  start_ms: 295620\n  end_ms: 298420\n- text: Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n  start_ms: 298420\n  end_ms: 299370\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 299370\n  end_ms: 306560\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 306560\n  end_ms: 307450\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 307450\n  end_ms: 310160\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 310160\n  end_ms: 311110\n- text: First things first man, you're with the worst\n  start_ms: 311110\n  end_ms: 312960\n- text: (Fucking)\n  start_ms: 312960\n  end_ms: 313880\n- text: You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n  start_ms: 313880\n  end_ms: 315660\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 315660\n  end_ms: 318350\n- text: Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  start_ms: 318350\n  end_ms: 326540\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 326540\nplain: |-\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n\n  Aiyyo, staircase to stage now, major waves\n  Tanktop Nautica, flipping your daughter thirty ways\n  Yeah who want mine? Bent outta shape, one time\n  Play the mall, starin' at your beautiful, sunshine\n\n  Watch my shit shift, niggaz in the back, wigs lift\n  You know the stats God, don't even ask pah, back slit\n  Raw drug raps, thug hats and mob hats, spit on that cat\n  This yellow love nigga fuckin' with a rich cat\n\n  My shit now, 5 feet 6, with a crisp hat plush\n  Throwin' down on thirty bricks, niggaz is with that\n  Though, federados locked my man yo, hit lotto\n  Three-hundred thousand dollars in the bottle, bitch math is how\n\n  My technique, rover in the robe, gold link\n  You know the code read, suitcase money, stow heat\n  Rock nave's though, hundred dollar bags valet\n  That nigga crabbed me, gamin himself, like Milton Bradley\n\n  Yo the semi-automatic glock this, unlock this\n  The weed spots get knocked, it's so hot chicks is topless\n  Whips are spotless, chrome rims spin obnoxious\n  You can't knock this, bust a shot you better not miss\n\n  X-1 wild out, and make you watch this\n  'Til your eyes turn red with blotches, eatin' scraps out the garbage\n  Unload a cartridge, and bust a cap\n  X could never trust a cat, Onyx is as hot as it gets\n  Bitches fuckin' for free, is outta the quest\n  Blow blood outta your flesh, your body outta your vest\n\n  I draws the heat from across the street\n  Fly you up off your feet, you die livin' short but sweet\n  Street crime, time is money, nigga don't waste mine\n  Dispose my 9, throwin' your shine, your froze in time\n\n  Lookin' at death, holdin' your breath, laid out\n  On the dance floor, blood and Moet, I'm blowin' your set\n  Trick twenty G's, no sweat, your groin' in debt\n  I'm groin\" for broke, I'm blowin' out smoke, you catch a stroke\n\n  Wu-Tang and Baldhedz, Swiss foreheads, leave you all red\n  X-Million, fully armed, illest beyond your realest form\n  Bringin' the storm, forseein' you warned\n  Nuttin' keepin' me calm but heat in my palm\n  Sleep and you gone, you see what I'm on? Creepin' outta the dark\n  Scatter your parts from here to Battery Park\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Steal master grab half the cash fast and bash\n  And splash yo' class, mash your staff, what\n  Nigga get smacked, you ain't worth a punch, hurt your bunch\n  Get marked in front, in the wrong circle punk\n\n  Mack clever niggaz dat regga'\n  Catch you on the D-Lo in Mecca and Etch-a-Sketch ya\n  Shake and erase, vacation your space, breakin' your face\n  Straighten your waist, twist you, and won't miss you\n\n  Official Nast and Killa Bee, full blast, get off smash\n  Pull fast for your stash\n  Long as the war last, foot up in your ass\n  Tryin' to count more math, bring in the hardcore rap\n\n  Yo, we be the mainstream supreme rhyme top of the line cuisine fiends\n  Number one love for thugs queens schemin' on cream\n  My whole team love, the E-cup bras and Mobb cars\n  Killa Sin known for makin' niggaz reach for the stars\n\n  This terrorist, lyricist in the midst of the abyss\n  We cannabis evangelists, iron palms with metal fists\n  Wu build, like construction and bang, like percussion\n  All the Planet Battery packs com bust and malfunction, what kid?\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Holy shit! Who the fuck is dat?\n  It's John John\n  Sticky Fingaz kid, you got my back?\n  I got your back cousin\n\n  I got the mack-dozen\n  And when them niggaz start jumpin', bust back cousin\n  'Cause it's a new year, time for some new shit\n  Nowadays rappers dyin' over music\n\n  Dead on arrival\n  We raised in the ghetto singin' songs called survival\n  Duckin' homicidal, you rivals\n  Yeah, yeah, Onyx, Wu-Tang, on tracks we gang bang\n\n  Chitty-bang-bang, chitty-chitty-bang-bang\n  Hot Nix' spit flame, lava pump through my veins\n  Caught in the zone, home on the range\n  Aiyyo you rang for ferocious, atrocious\n\n  We got that super califragalisticexpiala dope shit\n  Eight ball in the corner pocket\n  We snatch wallets off the white collared\n  The Big Apple forever rotted\n  Narcotics hunt the hard target, Hot Nix'\n  So what the bumba claat?\n\n  Pop shit, we do the knowledge\n  To shark niggaz, once bitten\n  Major swingers heavy hittin'\n  Poly your kitten, throw up your mittens\n  Stop bitchin', no slippin', no pot to piss in\n  The meltin' pot's boilin' hot now in Hell's Kitchen\n\n  Yo, yo, Sticky Fingaz, one of the illest motherfuckers\n  Believe dat! My moms don't raise no suckers\n  I slap rappers, turn 'em into singers\n  Touch somethin' of mine and you'll have nine fingaz!\n\n  Enough said, let's paint this whole fuckin' town red\n  And RIP they whole crew to a shred!\n  I got cold blood, I pull yo' plug, I hold, bust\n  Show no love, I'm so bugged, shoot yo' home up\n  And shoot up the whole club we throw slugs\n\n  You ain't no thug!\n  I earned every God damn penny that I got\n  Son I'm rollin' shotgun in the convertible\n  I wish a nigga would what?\n  Try to fuckin' jack me, I'll murder you\n\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  First things first man, you're with the worst\n  (Fucking)\n  You can't slam, don't let me get fool on him man\n\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n  Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang, Onyx\n"}]