[{"id":36545160,"name":"assassins","trackName":"assassins","artistName":"pharoahe monch","albumName":"war","duration":272.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"In 2013 the world government placed sanctions\nAgainst free thinking individuals\nIn order to force people to adhere to one way of life\nAn independently organization called\n\nHired 100 assassins to infiltrate the headquarters\nWhere the files of the enslaved people were kept\nOf these 100, 97 were captured, tortured and executed\nOnly three remained\n\nThe third of which was said to own an arsenal\nThat would rival and entire city's police force\nThe second was rumored to be able to move\nThroughout space and time, and the first one\n\nFasten your seat belts for the last of the three assassins on earth\nThe first flashing her purse where the heat's stashed\nThey call me Jean McCoy, beast in thee employ, deploy deplorable\nThrough audible destructive actions, attractive decoy\n\nThen pass it to Troy, after, I'm passing your life over\nHe'll deliver in through river Styx, Hades\nI'm cold, deliberate, ladies, my foes limited\nPray me some praise, whisper it\n\nStay on your toes, villains, it's Grae and your day's whittling\nBlistering lines packed in sick, stick to spine\n\nRacked with a sick mind, trapped in thick bitch frame\nDrug you with strychnine, in nine drinks\nYou drunk and it's my kidney, you dick-brain\nI'm just itching to slit veins, stitch lines, Rick James\n\nFuck yo lives, sip brains, bitches\nNiggas, kick rocks, or kick rhymes, it's to the pain\nLiquor riddled liver, sieve in it, sipping it like Capri Sun\nIgnint as ever, she's clever, equivalent be none\n\nA ball breaker, call fakers out with passion\nYou got the gall, bastard, to brawl with the broad brashest?\nThe balls in your court, pass it but warning, fall faster\nThan asses with age slack on the back of a Kardashian\n\nThe walls crash in, you all on the floor gasping\nThe gas pour in the corridor, racking your jaws, blacking out\nCatch Grae backing out the back door cackling\nStill make it back to the bar for last call, two\n\nThey ask me why I'm highly regarded as God body, probably\nMonch is a mixture of Marcus Garvey, Miles Davis and Bob Marley\nRadical, never skateboard slang like gnarly, more like\nWeed in my whip on the way to get top like Charles Barkley\n\nYou are hardly prepared to spar with a marksman, spark me\nI'm Gambit with the ace of spades, I'm mastering archery\nVenculi, venicular, particularly the vernacular\nSpecifically to fit so when I spit, it's spectacular and accurate\n\nWhen I attack, I'm more legend that Acura\nFlip Bloomberg the bird bitch, more blood than Blackula\nMore crip that cryptic scriptures, encrypted with backwards vernacular\nPlus sicker than most and Glen Close in fatal attraction\n\nI am that nigga for real, per capita\nSmacking the rapper that uses the term swagger after\nThese three assassins get the ass-whipping\nPrepare for a professional ass-kicking\n\nShape shift, spit hollow tip clips, mainly sick, ain't he?\nMind Control, make you shoot your best friend in the face\nDick Cheney, my life is like a documentary film\nDepicted in black and white flicks grainy\n\nGeronimo\nI'm at Guantanamo Bay taking pic in a Captain Morgan pose\nWith my left foot on a pile of detainees screaming\n\"We Are Renegades, fuck you pay, me\"\n\nI be riding 'round with a stripper slash burlesque model\nI make it pop like my cock in a Durex condom\nI'm a opposite artist, I find irony, In going from being\nLike a stone in grass to rocking the Garden\n\nThe same irony as going from fully automatic in the backyard\nTo having the whole machine behind me\n\nI take my Australian bitch and show her some other things\nShe know my stroke is deadly so she gave me bloody brain\nDon't try to get familiar if I don't feel you in person\nI'll flip the script and I accidentally kill you on purpose\n\nThe bat is what I'm flailing, I got so many furs\nPETA gon' paint splash me when they see me\nNo matter what I'm wearing\nYour bitch about to open up, sniff some blow off my dick\nGuess you can say she on my coke and nuts\n\nI'm on point like Chris Paul\nYou on point like and an Atlantic City hooker that licks balls\nI'm 'bout to flip in this bitch like Dominique Dawes\nAnd shuts shit down like a car when it stalls\n\nI am the deadliest rapper, you claiming that you flow like water\nBut really y'all niggas Evian backwards\nMarshall hit the jackpot with this flow that I got\nI'm knowing I'm hot, it's my show to stop holding my crotch\n\nMy whip cleaner that Amish men and honest inns\nTwo dimes with me like I'm a twin 'cause I'm a 10\nOkay, I'm in","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: assassins\n  artist: pharoahe monch\n  album: war\n  duration_ms: 272000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  In 2013 the world government placed sanctions\n  Against free thinking individuals\n  In order to force people to adhere to one way of life\n  An independently organization called\n\n  Hired 100 assassins to infiltrate the headquarters\n  Where the files of the enslaved people were kept\n  Of these 100, 97 were captured, tortured and executed\n  Only three remained\n\n  The third of which was said to own an arsenal\n  That would rival and entire city's police force\n  The second was rumored to be able to move\n  Throughout space and time, and the first one\n\n  Fasten your seat belts for the last of the three assassins on earth\n  The first flashing her purse where the heat's stashed\n  They call me Jean McCoy, beast in thee employ, deploy deplorable\n  Through audible destructive actions, attractive decoy\n\n  Then pass it to Troy, after, I'm passing your life over\n  He'll deliver in through river Styx, Hades\n  I'm cold, deliberate, ladies, my foes limited\n  Pray me some praise, whisper it\n\n  Stay on your toes, villains, it's Grae and your day's whittling\n  Blistering lines packed in sick, stick to spine\n\n  Racked with a sick mind, trapped in thick bitch frame\n  Drug you with strychnine, in nine drinks\n  You drunk and it's my kidney, you dick-brain\n  I'm just itching to slit veins, stitch lines, Rick James\n\n  Fuck yo lives, sip brains, bitches\n  Niggas, kick rocks, or kick rhymes, it's to the pain\n  Liquor riddled liver, sieve in it, sipping it like Capri Sun\n  Ignint as ever, she's clever, equivalent be none\n\n  A ball breaker, call fakers out with passion\n  You got the gall, bastard, to brawl with the broad brashest?\n  The balls in your court, pass it but warning, fall faster\n  Than asses with age slack on the back of a Kardashian\n\n  The walls crash in, you all on the floor gasping\n  The gas pour in the corridor, racking your jaws, blacking out\n  Catch Grae backing out the back door cackling\n  Still make it back to the bar for last call, two\n\n  They ask me why I'm highly regarded as God body, probably\n  Monch is a mixture of Marcus Garvey, Miles Davis and Bob Marley\n  Radical, never skateboard slang like gnarly, more like\n  Weed in my whip on the way to get top like Charles Barkley\n\n  You are hardly prepared to spar with a marksman, spark me\n  I'm Gambit with the ace of spades, I'm mastering archery\n  Venculi, venicular, particularly the vernacular\n  Specifically to fit so when I spit, it's spectacular and accurate\n\n  When I attack, I'm more legend that Acura\n  Flip Bloomberg the bird bitch, more blood than Blackula\n  More crip that cryptic scriptures, encrypted with backwards vernacular\n  Plus sicker than most and Glen Close in fatal attraction\n\n  I am that nigga for real, per capita\n  Smacking the rapper that uses the term swagger after\n  These three assassins get the ass-whipping\n  Prepare for a professional ass-kicking\n\n  Shape shift, spit hollow tip clips, mainly sick, ain't he?\n  Mind Control, make you shoot your best friend in the face\n  Dick Cheney, my life is like a documentary film\n  Depicted in black and white flicks grainy\n\n  Geronimo\n  I'm at Guantanamo Bay taking pic in a Captain Morgan pose\n  With my left foot on a pile of detainees screaming\n  \"We Are Renegades, fuck you pay, me\"\n\n  I be riding 'round with a stripper slash burlesque model\n  I make it pop like my cock in a Durex condom\n  I'm a opposite artist, I find irony, In going from being\n  Like a stone in grass to rocking the Garden\n\n  The same irony as going from fully automatic in the backyard\n  To having the whole machine behind me\n\n  I take my Australian bitch and show her some other things\n  She know my stroke is deadly so she gave me bloody brain\n  Don't try to get familiar if I don't feel you in person\n  I'll flip the script and I accidentally kill you on purpose\n\n  The bat is what I'm flailing, I got so many furs\n  PETA gon' paint splash me when they see me\n  No matter what I'm wearing\n  Your bitch about to open up, sniff some blow off my dick\n  Guess you can say she on my coke and nuts\n\n  I'm on point like Chris Paul\n  You on point like and an Atlantic City hooker that licks balls\n  I'm 'bout to flip in this bitch like Dominique Dawes\n  And shuts shit down like a car when it stalls\n\n  I am the deadliest rapper, you claiming that you flow like water\n  But really y'all niggas Evian backwards\n  Marshall hit the jackpot with this flow that I got\n  I'm knowing I'm hot, it's my show to stop holding my crotch\n\n  My whip cleaner that Amish men and honest inns\n  Two dimes with me like I'm a twin 'cause I'm a 10\n  Okay, I'm in\n"},{"id":28632273,"name":"Assassins","trackName":"Assassins","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch","albumName":"W.A.R. (We Are Renegades)","duration":272.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"In 2013 the world government placed sanctions\nAgainst free thinking individuals\nIn order to force people to adhere to one way of life\nAn independently organization called\n\nHired 100 assassins to infiltrate the headquarters\nWhere the files of the enslaved people were kept\nOf these 100, 97 were captured, tortured and executed\nOnly three remained\n\nThe third of which was said to own an arsenal\nThat would rival and entire city's police force\nThe second was rumored to be able to move\nThroughout space and time, and the first one\n\nFasten your seat belts for the last of the three assassins on earth\nThe first flashing her purse where the heat's stashed\nThey call me Jean McCoy, beast in thee employ, deploy deplorable\nThrough audible destructive actions, attractive decoy\n\nThen pass it to Troy, after, I'm passing your life over\nHe'll deliver in through river Styx, Hades\nI'm cold, deliberate, ladies, my foes limited\nPray me some praise, whisper it\n\nStay on your toes, villains, it's Grae and your day's whittling\nBlistering lines packed in sick, stick to spine\n\nRacked with a sick mind, trapped in thick bitch frame\nDrug you with strychnine, in nine drinks\nYou drunk and it's my kidney, you dick-brain\nI'm just itching to slit veins, stitch lines, Rick James\n\nFuck yo lives, sip brains, bitches\nNiggas, kick rocks, or kick rhymes, it's to the pain\nLiquor riddled liver, sieve in it, sipping it like Capri Sun\nIgnint as ever, she's clever, equivalent be none\n\nA ball breaker, call fakers out with passion\nYou got the gall, bastard, to brawl with the broad brashest?\nThe balls in your court, pass it but warning, fall faster\nThan asses with age slack on the back of a Kardashian\n\nThe walls crash in, you all on the floor gasping\nThe gas pour in the corridor, racking your jaws, blacking out\nCatch Grae backing out the back door cackling\nStill make it back to the bar for last call, two\n\nThey ask me why I'm highly regarded as God body, probably\nMonch is a mixture of Marcus Garvey, Miles Davis and Bob Marley\nRadical, never skateboard slang like gnarly, more like\nWeed in my whip on the way to get top like Charles Barkley\n\nYou are hardly prepared to spar with a marksman, spark me\nI'm Gambit with the ace of spades, I'm mastering archery\nVenculi, venicular, particularly the vernacular\nSpecifically to fit so when I spit, it's spectacular and accurate\n\nWhen I attack, I'm more legend that Acura\nFlip Bloomberg the bird bitch, more blood than Blackula\nMore crip that cryptic scriptures, encrypted with backwards vernacular\nPlus sicker than most and Glen Close in fatal attraction\n\nI am that nigga for real, per capita\nSmacking the rapper that uses the term swagger after\nThese three assassins get the ass-whipping\nPrepare for a professional ass-kicking\n\nShape shift, spit hollow tip clips, mainly sick, ain't he?\nMind Control, make you shoot your best friend in the face\nDick Cheney, my life is like a documentary film\nDepicted in black and white flicks grainy\n\nGeronimo\nI'm at Guantanamo Bay taking pic in a Captain Morgan pose\nWith my left foot on a pile of detainees screaming\n\"We Are Renegades, fuck you pay, me\"\n\nI be riding 'round with a stripper slash burlesque model\nI make it pop like my cock in a Durex condom\nI'm a opposite artist, I find irony, In going from being\nLike a stone in grass to rocking the Garden\n\nThe same irony as going from fully automatic in the backyard\nTo having the whole machine behind me\n\nI take my Australian bitch and show her some other things\nShe know my stroke is deadly so she gave me bloody brain\nDon't try to get familiar if I don't feel you in person\nI'll flip the script and I accidentally kill you on purpose\n\nThe bat is what I'm flailing, I got so many furs\nPETA gon' paint splash me when they see me\nNo matter what I'm wearing\nYour bitch about to open up, sniff some blow off my dick\nGuess you can say she on my coke and nuts\n\nI'm on point like Chris Paul\nYou on point like and an Atlantic City hooker that licks balls\nI'm 'bout to flip in this bitch like Dominique Dawes\nAnd shuts shit down like a car when it stalls\n\nI am the deadliest rapper, you claiming that you flow like water\nBut really y'all niggas Evian backwards\nMarshall hit the jackpot with this flow that I got\nI'm knowing I'm hot, it's my show to stop holding my crotch\n\nMy whip cleaner that Amish men and honest inns\nTwo dimes with me like I'm a twin 'cause I'm a 10\nOkay, I'm in","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Assassins\n  artist: Pharoahe Monch\n  album: W.A.R. (We Are Renegades)\n  duration_ms: 272000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  In 2013 the world government placed sanctions\n  Against free thinking individuals\n  In order to force people to adhere to one way of life\n  An independently organization called\n\n  Hired 100 assassins to infiltrate the headquarters\n  Where the files of the enslaved people were kept\n  Of these 100, 97 were captured, tortured and executed\n  Only three remained\n\n  The third of which was said to own an arsenal\n  That would rival and entire city's police force\n  The second was rumored to be able to move\n  Throughout space and time, and the first one\n\n  Fasten your seat belts for the last of the three assassins on earth\n  The first flashing her purse where the heat's stashed\n  They call me Jean McCoy, beast in thee employ, deploy deplorable\n  Through audible destructive actions, attractive decoy\n\n  Then pass it to Troy, after, I'm passing your life over\n  He'll deliver in through river Styx, Hades\n  I'm cold, deliberate, ladies, my foes limited\n  Pray me some praise, whisper it\n\n  Stay on your toes, villains, it's Grae and your day's whittling\n  Blistering lines packed in sick, stick to spine\n\n  Racked with a sick mind, trapped in thick bitch frame\n  Drug you with strychnine, in nine drinks\n  You drunk and it's my kidney, you dick-brain\n  I'm just itching to slit veins, stitch lines, Rick James\n\n  Fuck yo lives, sip brains, bitches\n  Niggas, kick rocks, or kick rhymes, it's to the pain\n  Liquor riddled liver, sieve in it, sipping it like Capri Sun\n  Ignint as ever, she's clever, equivalent be none\n\n  A ball breaker, call fakers out with passion\n  You got the gall, bastard, to brawl with the broad brashest?\n  The balls in your court, pass it but warning, fall faster\n  Than asses with age slack on the back of a Kardashian\n\n  The walls crash in, you all on the floor gasping\n  The gas pour in the corridor, racking your jaws, blacking out\n  Catch Grae backing out the back door cackling\n  Still make it back to the bar for last call, two\n\n  They ask me why I'm highly regarded as God body, probably\n  Monch is a mixture of Marcus Garvey, Miles Davis and Bob Marley\n  Radical, never skateboard slang like gnarly, more like\n  Weed in my whip on the way to get top like Charles Barkley\n\n  You are hardly prepared to spar with a marksman, spark me\n  I'm Gambit with the ace of spades, I'm mastering archery\n  Venculi, venicular, particularly the vernacular\n  Specifically to fit so when I spit, it's spectacular and accurate\n\n  When I attack, I'm more legend that Acura\n  Flip Bloomberg the bird bitch, more blood than Blackula\n  More crip that cryptic scriptures, encrypted with backwards vernacular\n  Plus sicker than most and Glen Close in fatal attraction\n\n  I am that nigga for real, per capita\n  Smacking the rapper that uses the term swagger after\n  These three assassins get the ass-whipping\n  Prepare for a professional ass-kicking\n\n  Shape shift, spit hollow tip clips, mainly sick, ain't he?\n  Mind Control, make you shoot your best friend in the face\n  Dick Cheney, my life is like a documentary film\n  Depicted in black and white flicks grainy\n\n  Geronimo\n  I'm at Guantanamo Bay taking pic in a Captain Morgan pose\n  With my left foot on a pile of detainees screaming\n  \"We Are Renegades, fuck you pay, me\"\n\n  I be riding 'round with a stripper slash burlesque model\n  I make it pop like my cock in a Durex condom\n  I'm a opposite artist, I find irony, In going from being\n  Like a stone in grass to rocking the Garden\n\n  The same irony as going from fully automatic in the backyard\n  To having the whole machine behind me\n\n  I take my Australian bitch and show her some other things\n  She know my stroke is deadly so she gave me bloody brain\n  Don't try to get familiar if I don't feel you in person\n  I'll flip the script and I accidentally kill you on purpose\n\n  The bat is what I'm flailing, I got so many furs\n  PETA gon' paint splash me when they see me\n  No matter what I'm wearing\n  Your bitch about to open up, sniff some blow off my dick\n  Guess you can say she on my coke and nuts\n\n  I'm on point like Chris Paul\n  You on point like and an Atlantic City hooker that licks balls\n  I'm 'bout to flip in this bitch like Dominique Dawes\n  And shuts shit down like a car when it stalls\n\n  I am the deadliest rapper, you claiming that you flow like water\n  But really y'all niggas Evian backwards\n  Marshall hit the jackpot with this flow that I got\n  I'm knowing I'm hot, it's my show to stop holding my crotch\n\n  My whip cleaner that Amish men and honest inns\n  Two dimes with me like I'm a twin 'cause I'm a 10\n  Okay, I'm in\n"},{"id":4413205,"name":"Assassins (Feat. Jean Grae & Royce Da 5'9\")","trackName":"Assassins (Feat. Jean Grae & Royce Da 5'9\")","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch","albumName":"W.A.R. (We Are Renegades)","duration":272.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"In 2013 the world government placed sanctions\nAgainst free thinking individuals\nIn order to force people to adhere to one way of life\nAn independently organization called\n\nHired 100 assassins to infiltrate the headquarters\nWhere the files of the enslaved people were kept\nOf these 100, 97 were captured, tortured and executed\nOnly three remained\n\nThe third of which was said to own an arsenal\nThat would rival and entire city's police force\nThe second was rumored to be able to move\nThroughout space and time, and the first one\n\nFasten your seat belts for the last of the three assassins on earth\nThe first flashing her purse where the heat's stashed\nThey call me Jean McCoy, beast in thee employ, deploy deplorable\nThrough audible destructive actions, attractive decoy\n\nThen pass it to Troy, after, I'm passing your life over\nHe'll deliver in through river Styx, Hades\nI'm cold, deliberate, ladies, my foes limited\nPray me some praise, whisper it\n\nStay on your toes, villains, it's Grae and your day's whittling\nBlistering lines packed in sick, stick to spine\n\nRacked with a sick mind, trapped in thick bitch frame\nDrug you with strychnine, in nine drinks\nYou drunk and it's my kidney, you dick-brain\nI'm just itching to slit veins, stitch lines, Rick James\n\nFuck yo lives, sip brains, bitches\nNiggas, kick rocks, or kick rhymes, it's to the pain\nLiquor riddled liver, sieve in it, sipping it like Capri Sun\nIgnint as ever, she's clever, equivalent be none\n\nA ball breaker, call fakers out with passion\nYou got the gall, bastard, to brawl with the broad brashest?\nThe balls in your court, pass it but warning, fall faster\nThan asses with age slack on the back of a Kardashian\n\nThe walls crash in, you all on the floor gasping\nThe gas pour in the corridor, racking your jaws, blacking out\nCatch Grae backing out the back door cackling\nStill make it back to the bar for last call, two\n\nThey ask me why I'm highly regarded as God body, probably\nMonch is a mixture of Marcus Garvey, Miles Davis and Bob Marley\nRadical, never skateboard slang like gnarly, more like\nWeed in my whip on the way to get top like Charles Barkley\n\nYou are hardly prepared to spar with a marksman, spark me\nI'm Gambit with the ace of spades, I'm mastering archery\nVenculi, venicular, particularly the vernacular\nSpecifically to fit so when I spit, it's spectacular and accurate\n\nWhen I attack, I'm more legend that Acura\nFlip Bloomberg the bird bitch, more blood than Blackula\nMore crip that cryptic scriptures, encrypted with backwards vernacular\nPlus sicker than most and Glen Close in fatal attraction\n\nI am that nigga for real, per capita\nSmacking the rapper that uses the term swagger after\nThese three assassins get the ass-whipping\nPrepare for a professional ass-kicking\n\nShape shift, spit hollow tip clips, mainly sick, ain't he?\nMind Control, make you shoot your best friend in the face\nDick Cheney, my life is like a documentary film\nDepicted in black and white flicks grainy\n\nGeronimo\nI'm at Guantanamo Bay taking pic in a Captain Morgan pose\nWith my left foot on a pile of detainees screaming\n\"We Are Renegades, fuck you pay, me\"\n\nI be riding 'round with a stripper slash burlesque model\nI make it pop like my cock in a Durex condom\nI'm a opposite artist, I find irony, In going from being\nLike a stone in grass to rocking the Garden\n\nThe same irony as going from fully automatic in the backyard\nTo having the whole machine behind me\n\nI take my Australian bitch and show her some other things\nShe know my stroke is deadly so she gave me bloody brain\nDon't try to get familiar if I don't feel you in person\nI'll flip the script and I accidentally kill you on purpose\n\nThe bat is what I'm flailing, I got so many furs\nPETA gon' paint splash me when they see me\nNo matter what I'm wearing\nYour bitch about to open up, sniff some blow off my dick\nGuess you can say she on my coke and nuts\n\nI'm on point like Chris Paul\nYou on point like and an Atlantic City hooker that licks balls\nI'm 'bout to flip in this bitch like Dominique Dawes\nAnd shuts shit down like a car when it stalls\n\nI am the deadliest rapper, you claiming that you flow like water\nBut really y'all niggas Evian backwards\nMarshall hit the jackpot with this flow that I got\nI'm knowing I'm hot, it's my show to stop holding my crotch\n\nMy whip cleaner that Amish men and honest inns\nTwo dimes with me like I'm a twin 'cause I'm a 10\nOkay, I'm in","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Assassins (Feat. Jean Grae & Royce Da 5'9\")\n  artist: Pharoahe Monch\n  album: W.A.R. (We Are Renegades)\n  duration_ms: 272000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  In 2013 the world government placed sanctions\n  Against free thinking individuals\n  In order to force people to adhere to one way of life\n  An independently organization called\n\n  Hired 100 assassins to infiltrate the headquarters\n  Where the files of the enslaved people were kept\n  Of these 100, 97 were captured, tortured and executed\n  Only three remained\n\n  The third of which was said to own an arsenal\n  That would rival and entire city's police force\n  The second was rumored to be able to move\n  Throughout space and time, and the first one\n\n  Fasten your seat belts for the last of the three assassins on earth\n  The first flashing her purse where the heat's stashed\n  They call me Jean McCoy, beast in thee employ, deploy deplorable\n  Through audible destructive actions, attractive decoy\n\n  Then pass it to Troy, after, I'm passing your life over\n  He'll deliver in through river Styx, Hades\n  I'm cold, deliberate, ladies, my foes limited\n  Pray me some praise, whisper it\n\n  Stay on your toes, villains, it's Grae and your day's whittling\n  Blistering lines packed in sick, stick to spine\n\n  Racked with a sick mind, trapped in thick bitch frame\n  Drug you with strychnine, in nine drinks\n  You drunk and it's my kidney, you dick-brain\n  I'm just itching to slit veins, stitch lines, Rick James\n\n  Fuck yo lives, sip brains, bitches\n  Niggas, kick rocks, or kick rhymes, it's to the pain\n  Liquor riddled liver, sieve in it, sipping it like Capri Sun\n  Ignint as ever, she's clever, equivalent be none\n\n  A ball breaker, call fakers out with passion\n  You got the gall, bastard, to brawl with the broad brashest?\n  The balls in your court, pass it but warning, fall faster\n  Than asses with age slack on the back of a Kardashian\n\n  The walls crash in, you all on the floor gasping\n  The gas pour in the corridor, racking your jaws, blacking out\n  Catch Grae backing out the back door cackling\n  Still make it back to the bar for last call, two\n\n  They ask me why I'm highly regarded as God body, probably\n  Monch is a mixture of Marcus Garvey, Miles Davis and Bob Marley\n  Radical, never skateboard slang like gnarly, more like\n  Weed in my whip on the way to get top like Charles Barkley\n\n  You are hardly prepared to spar with a marksman, spark me\n  I'm Gambit with the ace of spades, I'm mastering archery\n  Venculi, venicular, particularly the vernacular\n  Specifically to fit so when I spit, it's spectacular and accurate\n\n  When I attack, I'm more legend that Acura\n  Flip Bloomberg the bird bitch, more blood than Blackula\n  More crip that cryptic scriptures, encrypted with backwards vernacular\n  Plus sicker than most and Glen Close in fatal attraction\n\n  I am that nigga for real, per capita\n  Smacking the rapper that uses the term swagger after\n  These three assassins get the ass-whipping\n  Prepare for a professional ass-kicking\n\n  Shape shift, spit hollow tip clips, mainly sick, ain't he?\n  Mind Control, make you shoot your best friend in the face\n  Dick Cheney, my life is like a documentary film\n  Depicted in black and white flicks grainy\n\n  Geronimo\n  I'm at Guantanamo Bay taking pic in a Captain Morgan pose\n  With my left foot on a pile of detainees screaming\n  \"We Are Renegades, fuck you pay, me\"\n\n  I be riding 'round with a stripper slash burlesque model\n  I make it pop like my cock in a Durex condom\n  I'm a opposite artist, I find irony, In going from being\n  Like a stone in grass to rocking the Garden\n\n  The same irony as going from fully automatic in the backyard\n  To having the whole machine behind me\n\n  I take my Australian bitch and show her some other things\n  She know my stroke is deadly so she gave me bloody brain\n  Don't try to get familiar if I don't feel you in person\n  I'll flip the script and I accidentally kill you on purpose\n\n  The bat is what I'm flailing, I got so many furs\n  PETA gon' paint splash me when they see me\n  No matter what I'm wearing\n  Your bitch about to open up, sniff some blow off my dick\n  Guess you can say she on my coke and nuts\n\n  I'm on point like Chris Paul\n  You on point like and an Atlantic City hooker that licks balls\n  I'm 'bout to flip in this bitch like Dominique Dawes\n  And shuts shit down like a car when it stalls\n\n  I am the deadliest rapper, you claiming that you flow like water\n  But really y'all niggas Evian backwards\n  Marshall hit the jackpot with this flow that I got\n  I'm knowing I'm hot, it's my show to stop holding my crotch\n\n  My whip cleaner that Amish men and honest inns\n  Two dimes with me like I'm a twin 'cause I'm a 10\n  Okay, I'm in\n"},{"id":35735180,"name":"Assassins featuring Jean Grae & Royce Da 5'9\"","trackName":"Assassins featuring Jean Grae & Royce Da 5'9\"","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch","albumName":"W.A.R.","duration":272.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"In 2013 the world government placed sanctions\nAgainst free thinking individuals\nIn order to force people to adhere to one way of life\nAn independently organization called\n\nHired 100 assassins to infiltrate the headquarters\nWhere the files of the enslaved people were kept\nOf these 100, 97 were captured, tortured and executed\nOnly three remained\n\nThe third of which was said to own an arsenal\nThat would rival and entire city's police force\nThe second was rumored to be able to move\nThroughout space and time, and the first one\n\nFasten your seat belts for the last of the three assassins on earth\nThe first flashing her purse where the heat's stashed\nThey call me Jean McCoy, beast in thee employ, deploy deplorable\nThrough audible destructive actions, attractive decoy\n\nThen pass it to Troy, after, I'm passing your life over\nHe'll deliver in through river Styx, Hades\nI'm cold, deliberate, ladies, my foes limited\nPray me some praise, whisper it\n\nStay on your toes, villains, it's Grae and your day's whittling\nBlistering lines packed in sick, stick to spine\n\nRacked with a sick mind, trapped in thick bitch frame\nDrug you with strychnine, in nine drinks\nYou drunk and it's my kidney, you dick-brain\nI'm just itching to slit veins, stitch lines, Rick James\n\nFuck yo lives, sip brains, bitches\nNiggas, kick rocks, or kick rhymes, it's to the pain\nLiquor riddled liver, sieve in it, sipping it like Capri Sun\nIgnint as ever, she's clever, equivalent be none\n\nA ball breaker, call fakers out with passion\nYou got the gall, bastard, to brawl with the broad brashest?\nThe balls in your court, pass it but warning, fall faster\nThan asses with age slack on the back of a Kardashian\n\nThe walls crash in, you all on the floor gasping\nThe gas pour in the corridor, racking your jaws, blacking out\nCatch Grae backing out the back door cackling\nStill make it back to the bar for last call, two\n\nThey ask me why I'm highly regarded as God body, probably\nMonch is a mixture of Marcus Garvey, Miles Davis and Bob Marley\nRadical, never skateboard slang like gnarly, more like\nWeed in my whip on the way to get top like Charles Barkley\n\nYou are hardly prepared to spar with a marksman, spark me\nI'm Gambit with the ace of spades, I'm mastering archery\nVenculi, venicular, particularly the vernacular\nSpecifically to fit so when I spit, it's spectacular and accurate\n\nWhen I attack, I'm more legend that Acura\nFlip Bloomberg the bird bitch, more blood than Blackula\nMore crip that cryptic scriptures, encrypted with backwards vernacular\nPlus sicker than most and Glen Close in fatal attraction\n\nI am that nigga for real, per capita\nSmacking the rapper that uses the term swagger after\nThese three assassins get the ass-whipping\nPrepare for a professional ass-kicking\n\nShape shift, spit hollow tip clips, mainly sick, ain't he?\nMind Control, make you shoot your best friend in the face\nDick Cheney, my life is like a documentary film\nDepicted in black and white flicks grainy\n\nGeronimo\nI'm at Guantanamo Bay taking pic in a Captain Morgan pose\nWith my left foot on a pile of detainees screaming\n\"We Are Renegades, fuck you pay, me\"\n\nI be riding 'round with a stripper slash burlesque model\nI make it pop like my cock in a Durex condom\nI'm a opposite artist, I find irony, In going from being\nLike a stone in grass to rocking the Garden\n\nThe same irony as going from fully automatic in the backyard\nTo having the whole machine behind me\n\nI take my Australian bitch and show her some other things\nShe know my stroke is deadly so she gave me bloody brain\nDon't try to get familiar if I don't feel you in person\nI'll flip the script and I accidentally kill you on purpose\n\nThe bat is what I'm flailing, I got so many furs\nPETA gon' paint splash me when they see me\nNo matter what I'm wearing\nYour bitch about to open up, sniff some blow off my dick\nGuess you can say she on my coke and nuts\n\nI'm on point like Chris Paul\nYou on point like and an Atlantic City hooker that licks balls\nI'm 'bout to flip in this bitch like Dominique Dawes\nAnd shuts shit down like a car when it stalls\n\nI am the deadliest rapper, you claiming that you flow like water\nBut really y'all niggas Evian backwards\nMarshall hit the jackpot with this flow that I got\nI'm knowing I'm hot, it's my show to stop holding my crotch\n\nMy whip cleaner that Amish men and honest inns\nTwo dimes with me like I'm a twin 'cause I'm a 10\nOkay, I'm in","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Assassins featuring Jean Grae & Royce Da 5'9\"\n  artist: Pharoahe Monch\n  album: W.A.R.\n  duration_ms: 272000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  In 2013 the world government placed sanctions\n  Against free thinking individuals\n  In order to force people to adhere to one way of life\n  An independently organization called\n\n  Hired 100 assassins to infiltrate the headquarters\n  Where the files of the enslaved people were kept\n  Of these 100, 97 were captured, tortured and executed\n  Only three remained\n\n  The third of which was said to own an arsenal\n  That would rival and entire city's police force\n  The second was rumored to be able to move\n  Throughout space and time, and the first one\n\n  Fasten your seat belts for the last of the three assassins on earth\n  The first flashing her purse where the heat's stashed\n  They call me Jean McCoy, beast in thee employ, deploy deplorable\n  Through audible destructive actions, attractive decoy\n\n  Then pass it to Troy, after, I'm passing your life over\n  He'll deliver in through river Styx, Hades\n  I'm cold, deliberate, ladies, my foes limited\n  Pray me some praise, whisper it\n\n  Stay on your toes, villains, it's Grae and your day's whittling\n  Blistering lines packed in sick, stick to spine\n\n  Racked with a sick mind, trapped in thick bitch frame\n  Drug you with strychnine, in nine drinks\n  You drunk and it's my kidney, you dick-brain\n  I'm just itching to slit veins, stitch lines, Rick James\n\n  Fuck yo lives, sip brains, bitches\n  Niggas, kick rocks, or kick rhymes, it's to the pain\n  Liquor riddled liver, sieve in it, sipping it like Capri Sun\n  Ignint as ever, she's clever, equivalent be none\n\n  A ball breaker, call fakers out with passion\n  You got the gall, bastard, to brawl with the broad brashest?\n  The balls in your court, pass it but warning, fall faster\n  Than asses with age slack on the back of a Kardashian\n\n  The walls crash in, you all on the floor gasping\n  The gas pour in the corridor, racking your jaws, blacking out\n  Catch Grae backing out the back door cackling\n  Still make it back to the bar for last call, two\n\n  They ask me why I'm highly regarded as God body, probably\n  Monch is a mixture of Marcus Garvey, Miles Davis and Bob Marley\n  Radical, never skateboard slang like gnarly, more like\n  Weed in my whip on the way to get top like Charles Barkley\n\n  You are hardly prepared to spar with a marksman, spark me\n  I'm Gambit with the ace of spades, I'm mastering archery\n  Venculi, venicular, particularly the vernacular\n  Specifically to fit so when I spit, it's spectacular and accurate\n\n  When I attack, I'm more legend that Acura\n  Flip Bloomberg the bird bitch, more blood than Blackula\n  More crip that cryptic scriptures, encrypted with backwards vernacular\n  Plus sicker than most and Glen Close in fatal attraction\n\n  I am that nigga for real, per capita\n  Smacking the rapper that uses the term swagger after\n  These three assassins get the ass-whipping\n  Prepare for a professional ass-kicking\n\n  Shape shift, spit hollow tip clips, mainly sick, ain't he?\n  Mind Control, make you shoot your best friend in the face\n  Dick Cheney, my life is like a documentary film\n  Depicted in black and white flicks grainy\n\n  Geronimo\n  I'm at Guantanamo Bay taking pic in a Captain Morgan pose\n  With my left foot on a pile of detainees screaming\n  \"We Are Renegades, fuck you pay, me\"\n\n  I be riding 'round with a stripper slash burlesque model\n  I make it pop like my cock in a Durex condom\n  I'm a opposite artist, I find irony, In going from being\n  Like a stone in grass to rocking the Garden\n\n  The same irony as going from fully automatic in the backyard\n  To having the whole machine behind me\n\n  I take my Australian bitch and show her some other things\n  She know my stroke is deadly so she gave me bloody brain\n  Don't try to get familiar if I don't feel you in person\n  I'll flip the script and I accidentally kill you on purpose\n\n  The bat is what I'm flailing, I got so many furs\n  PETA gon' paint splash me when they see me\n  No matter what I'm wearing\n  Your bitch about to open up, sniff some blow off my dick\n  Guess you can say she on my coke and nuts\n\n  I'm on point like Chris Paul\n  You on point like and an Atlantic City hooker that licks balls\n  I'm 'bout to flip in this bitch like Dominique Dawes\n  And shuts shit down like a car when it stalls\n\n  I am the deadliest rapper, you claiming that you flow like water\n  But really y'all niggas Evian backwards\n  Marshall hit the jackpot with this flow that I got\n  I'm knowing I'm hot, it's my show to stop holding my crotch\n\n  My whip cleaner that Amish men and honest inns\n  Two dimes with me like I'm a twin 'cause I'm a 10\n  Okay, I'm in\n"},{"id":37476246,"name":"Assassins (feat. Jean Grae & Royce Da 5'9)","trackName":"Assassins (feat. Jean Grae & Royce Da 5'9)","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch","albumName":"W.A.R. (We Are Renegades) [Bonus Video Version]","duration":272.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"In 2013 the world government placed sanctions\nAgainst free thinking individuals\nIn order to force people to adhere to one way of life\nAn independently organization called\n\nHired 100 assassins to infiltrate the headquarters\nWhere the files of the enslaved people were kept\nOf these 100, 97 were captured, tortured and executed\nOnly three remained\n\nThe third of which was said to own an arsenal\nThat would rival and entire city's police force\nThe second was rumored to be able to move\nThroughout space and time, and the first one\n\nFasten your seat belts for the last of the three assassins on earth\nThe first flashing her purse where the heat's stashed\nThey call me Jean McCoy, beast in thee employ, deploy deplorable\nThrough audible destructive actions, attractive decoy\n\nThen pass it to Troy, after, I'm passing your life over\nHe'll deliver in through river Styx, Hades\nI'm cold, deliberate, ladies, my foes limited\nPray me some praise, whisper it\n\nStay on your toes, villains, it's Grae and your day's whittling\nBlistering lines packed in sick, stick to spine\n\nRacked with a sick mind, trapped in thick bitch frame\nDrug you with strychnine, in nine drinks\nYou drunk and it's my kidney, you dick-brain\nI'm just itching to slit veins, stitch lines, Rick James\n\nFuck yo lives, sip brains, bitches\nNiggas, kick rocks, or kick rhymes, it's to the pain\nLiquor riddled liver, sieve in it, sipping it like Capri Sun\nIgnint as ever, she's clever, equivalent be none\n\nA ball breaker, call fakers out with passion\nYou got the gall, bastard, to brawl with the broad brashest?\nThe balls in your court, pass it but warning, fall faster\nThan asses with age slack on the back of a Kardashian\n\nThe walls crash in, you all on the floor gasping\nThe gas pour in the corridor, racking your jaws, blacking out\nCatch Grae backing out the back door cackling\nStill make it back to the bar for last call, two\n\nThey ask me why I'm highly regarded as God body, probably\nMonch is a mixture of Marcus Garvey, Miles Davis and Bob Marley\nRadical, never skateboard slang like gnarly, more like\nWeed in my whip on the way to get top like Charles Barkley\n\nYou are hardly prepared to spar with a marksman, spark me\nI'm Gambit with the ace of spades, I'm mastering archery\nVenculi, venicular, particularly the vernacular\nSpecifically to fit so when I spit, it's spectacular and accurate\n\nWhen I attack, I'm more legend that Acura\nFlip Bloomberg the bird bitch, more blood than Blackula\nMore crip that cryptic scriptures, encrypted with backwards vernacular\nPlus sicker than most and Glen Close in fatal attraction\n\nI am that nigga for real, per capita\nSmacking the rapper that uses the term swagger after\nThese three assassins get the ass-whipping\nPrepare for a professional ass-kicking\n\nShape shift, spit hollow tip clips, mainly sick, ain't he?\nMind Control, make you shoot your best friend in the face\nDick Cheney, my life is like a documentary film\nDepicted in black and white flicks grainy\n\nGeronimo\nI'm at Guantanamo Bay taking pic in a Captain Morgan pose\nWith my left foot on a pile of detainees screaming\n\"We Are Renegades, fuck you pay, me\"\n\nI be riding 'round with a stripper slash burlesque model\nI make it pop like my cock in a Durex condom\nI'm a opposite artist, I find irony, In going from being\nLike a stone in grass to rocking the Garden\n\nThe same irony as going from fully automatic in the backyard\nTo having the whole machine behind me\n\nI take my Australian bitch and show her some other things\nShe know my stroke is deadly so she gave me bloody brain\nDon't try to get familiar if I don't feel you in person\nI'll flip the script and I accidentally kill you on purpose\n\nThe bat is what I'm flailing, I got so many furs\nPETA gon' paint splash me when they see me\nNo matter what I'm wearing\nYour bitch about to open up, sniff some blow off my dick\nGuess you can say she on my coke and nuts\n\nI'm on point like Chris Paul\nYou on point like and an Atlantic City hooker that licks balls\nI'm 'bout to flip in this bitch like Dominique Dawes\nAnd shuts shit down like a car when it stalls\n\nI am the deadliest rapper, you claiming that you flow like water\nBut really y'all niggas Evian backwards\nMarshall hit the jackpot with this flow that I got\nI'm knowing I'm hot, it's my show to stop holding my crotch\n\nMy whip cleaner that Amish men and honest inns\nTwo dimes with me like I'm a twin 'cause I'm a 10\nOkay, I'm in","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Assassins (feat. Jean Grae & Royce Da 5'9)\n  artist: Pharoahe Monch\n  album: W.A.R. (We Are Renegades) [Bonus Video Version]\n  duration_ms: 271952\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  In 2013 the world government placed sanctions\n  Against free thinking individuals\n  In order to force people to adhere to one way of life\n  An independently organization called\n\n  Hired 100 assassins to infiltrate the headquarters\n  Where the files of the enslaved people were kept\n  Of these 100, 97 were captured, tortured and executed\n  Only three remained\n\n  The third of which was said to own an arsenal\n  That would rival and entire city's police force\n  The second was rumored to be able to move\n  Throughout space and time, and the first one\n\n  Fasten your seat belts for the last of the three assassins on earth\n  The first flashing her purse where the heat's stashed\n  They call me Jean McCoy, beast in thee employ, deploy deplorable\n  Through audible destructive actions, attractive decoy\n\n  Then pass it to Troy, after, I'm passing your life over\n  He'll deliver in through river Styx, Hades\n  I'm cold, deliberate, ladies, my foes limited\n  Pray me some praise, whisper it\n\n  Stay on your toes, villains, it's Grae and your day's whittling\n  Blistering lines packed in sick, stick to spine\n\n  Racked with a sick mind, trapped in thick bitch frame\n  Drug you with strychnine, in nine drinks\n  You drunk and it's my kidney, you dick-brain\n  I'm just itching to slit veins, stitch lines, Rick James\n\n  Fuck yo lives, sip brains, bitches\n  Niggas, kick rocks, or kick rhymes, it's to the pain\n  Liquor riddled liver, sieve in it, sipping it like Capri Sun\n  Ignint as ever, she's clever, equivalent be none\n\n  A ball breaker, call fakers out with passion\n  You got the gall, bastard, to brawl with the broad brashest?\n  The balls in your court, pass it but warning, fall faster\n  Than asses with age slack on the back of a Kardashian\n\n  The walls crash in, you all on the floor gasping\n  The gas pour in the corridor, racking your jaws, blacking out\n  Catch Grae backing out the back door cackling\n  Still make it back to the bar for last call, two\n\n  They ask me why I'm highly regarded as God body, probably\n  Monch is a mixture of Marcus Garvey, Miles Davis and Bob Marley\n  Radical, never skateboard slang like gnarly, more like\n  Weed in my whip on the way to get top like Charles Barkley\n\n  You are hardly prepared to spar with a marksman, spark me\n  I'm Gambit with the ace of spades, I'm mastering archery\n  Venculi, venicular, particularly the vernacular\n  Specifically to fit so when I spit, it's spectacular and accurate\n\n  When I attack, I'm more legend that Acura\n  Flip Bloomberg the bird bitch, more blood than Blackula\n  More crip that cryptic scriptures, encrypted with backwards vernacular\n  Plus sicker than most and Glen Close in fatal attraction\n\n  I am that nigga for real, per capita\n  Smacking the rapper that uses the term swagger after\n  These three assassins get the ass-whipping\n  Prepare for a professional ass-kicking\n\n  Shape shift, spit hollow tip clips, mainly sick, ain't he?\n  Mind Control, make you shoot your best friend in the face\n  Dick Cheney, my life is like a documentary film\n  Depicted in black and white flicks grainy\n\n  Geronimo\n  I'm at Guantanamo Bay taking pic in a Captain Morgan pose\n  With my left foot on a pile of detainees screaming\n  \"We Are Renegades, fuck you pay, me\"\n\n  I be riding 'round with a stripper slash burlesque model\n  I make it pop like my cock in a Durex condom\n  I'm a opposite artist, I find irony, In going from being\n  Like a stone in grass to rocking the Garden\n\n  The same irony as going from fully automatic in the backyard\n  To having the whole machine behind me\n\n  I take my Australian bitch and show her some other things\n  She know my stroke is deadly so she gave me bloody brain\n  Don't try to get familiar if I don't feel you in person\n  I'll flip the script and I accidentally kill you on purpose\n\n  The bat is what I'm flailing, I got so many furs\n  PETA gon' paint splash me when they see me\n  No matter what I'm wearing\n  Your bitch about to open up, sniff some blow off my dick\n  Guess you can say she on my coke and nuts\n\n  I'm on point like Chris Paul\n  You on point like and an Atlantic City hooker that licks balls\n  I'm 'bout to flip in this bitch like Dominique Dawes\n  And shuts shit down like a car when it stalls\n\n  I am the deadliest rapper, you claiming that you flow like water\n  But really y'all niggas Evian backwards\n  Marshall hit the jackpot with this flow that I got\n  I'm knowing I'm hot, it's my show to stop holding my crotch\n\n  My whip cleaner that Amish men and honest inns\n  Two dimes with me like I'm a twin 'cause I'm a 10\n  Okay, I'm in\n"},{"id":32374971,"name":"Assassins Ft. Jean Grae And Royce Da 5'9'","trackName":"Assassins Ft. Jean Grae And Royce Da 5'9'","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch","albumName":"W.A.R. (We Are Renegades)","duration":272.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"In 2013 the world government placed sanctions\nAgainst free thinking individuals\nIn order to force people to adhere to one way of life\nAn independently organization called\n\nHired 100 assassins to infiltrate the headquarters\nWhere the files of the enslaved people were kept\nOf these 100, 97 were captured, tortured and executed\nOnly three remained\n\nThe third of which was said to own an arsenal\nThat would rival and entire city's police force\nThe second was rumored to be able to move\nThroughout space and time, and the first one\n\nFasten your seat belts for the last of the three assassins on earth\nThe first flashing her purse where the heat's stashed\nThey call me Jean McCoy, beast in thee employ, deploy deplorable\nThrough audible destructive actions, attractive decoy\n\nThen pass it to Troy, after, I'm passing your life over\nHe'll deliver in through river Styx, Hades\nI'm cold, deliberate, ladies, my foes limited\nPray me some praise, whisper it\n\nStay on your toes, villains, it's Grae and your day's whittling\nBlistering lines packed in sick, stick to spine\n\nRacked with a sick mind, trapped in thick bitch frame\nDrug you with strychnine, in nine drinks\nYou drunk and it's my kidney, you dick-brain\nI'm just itching to slit veins, stitch lines, Rick James\n\nFuck yo lives, sip brains, bitches\nNiggas, kick rocks, or kick rhymes, it's to the pain\nLiquor riddled liver, sieve in it, sipping it like Capri Sun\nIgnint as ever, she's clever, equivalent be none\n\nA ball breaker, call fakers out with passion\nYou got the gall, bastard, to brawl with the broad brashest?\nThe balls in your court, pass it but warning, fall faster\nThan asses with age slack on the back of a Kardashian\n\nThe walls crash in, you all on the floor gasping\nThe gas pour in the corridor, racking your jaws, blacking out\nCatch Grae backing out the back door cackling\nStill make it back to the bar for last call, two\n\nThey ask me why I'm highly regarded as God body, probably\nMonch is a mixture of Marcus Garvey, Miles Davis and Bob Marley\nRadical, never skateboard slang like gnarly, more like\nWeed in my whip on the way to get top like Charles Barkley\n\nYou are hardly prepared to spar with a marksman, spark me\nI'm Gambit with the ace of spades, I'm mastering archery\nVenculi, venicular, particularly the vernacular\nSpecifically to fit so when I spit, it's spectacular and accurate\n\nWhen I attack, I'm more legend that Acura\nFlip Bloomberg the bird bitch, more blood than Blackula\nMore crip that cryptic scriptures, encrypted with backwards vernacular\nPlus sicker than most and Glen Close in fatal attraction\n\nI am that nigga for real, per capita\nSmacking the rapper that uses the term swagger after\nThese three assassins get the ass-whipping\nPrepare for a professional ass-kicking\n\nShape shift, spit hollow tip clips, mainly sick, ain't he?\nMind Control, make you shoot your best friend in the face\nDick Cheney, my life is like a documentary film\nDepicted in black and white flicks grainy\n\nGeronimo\nI'm at Guantanamo Bay taking pic in a Captain Morgan pose\nWith my left foot on a pile of detainees screaming\n\"We Are Renegades, fuck you pay, me\"\n\nI be riding 'round with a stripper slash burlesque model\nI make it pop like my cock in a Durex condom\nI'm a opposite artist, I find irony, In going from being\nLike a stone in grass to rocking the Garden\n\nThe same irony as going from fully automatic in the backyard\nTo having the whole machine behind me\n\nI take my Australian bitch and show her some other things\nShe know my stroke is deadly so she gave me bloody brain\nDon't try to get familiar if I don't feel you in person\nI'll flip the script and I accidentally kill you on purpose\n\nThe bat is what I'm flailing, I got so many furs\nPETA gon' paint splash me when they see me\nNo matter what I'm wearing\nYour bitch about to open up, sniff some blow off my dick\nGuess you can say she on my coke and nuts\n\nI'm on point like Chris Paul\nYou on point like and an Atlantic City hooker that licks balls\nI'm 'bout to flip in this bitch like Dominique Dawes\nAnd shuts shit down like a car when it stalls\n\nI am the deadliest rapper, you claiming that you flow like water\nBut really y'all niggas Evian backwards\nMarshall hit the jackpot with this flow that I got\nI'm knowing I'm hot, it's my show to stop holding my crotch\n\nMy whip cleaner that Amish men and honest inns\nTwo dimes with me like I'm a twin 'cause I'm a 10\nOkay, I'm in","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Assassins Ft. Jean Grae And Royce Da 5'9'\n  artist: Pharoahe Monch\n  album: W.A.R. (We Are Renegades)\n  duration_ms: 272000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  In 2013 the world government placed sanctions\n  Against free thinking individuals\n  In order to force people to adhere to one way of life\n  An independently organization called\n\n  Hired 100 assassins to infiltrate the headquarters\n  Where the files of the enslaved people were kept\n  Of these 100, 97 were captured, tortured and executed\n  Only three remained\n\n  The third of which was said to own an arsenal\n  That would rival and entire city's police force\n  The second was rumored to be able to move\n  Throughout space and time, and the first one\n\n  Fasten your seat belts for the last of the three assassins on earth\n  The first flashing her purse where the heat's stashed\n  They call me Jean McCoy, beast in thee employ, deploy deplorable\n  Through audible destructive actions, attractive decoy\n\n  Then pass it to Troy, after, I'm passing your life over\n  He'll deliver in through river Styx, Hades\n  I'm cold, deliberate, ladies, my foes limited\n  Pray me some praise, whisper it\n\n  Stay on your toes, villains, it's Grae and your day's whittling\n  Blistering lines packed in sick, stick to spine\n\n  Racked with a sick mind, trapped in thick bitch frame\n  Drug you with strychnine, in nine drinks\n  You drunk and it's my kidney, you dick-brain\n  I'm just itching to slit veins, stitch lines, Rick James\n\n  Fuck yo lives, sip brains, bitches\n  Niggas, kick rocks, or kick rhymes, it's to the pain\n  Liquor riddled liver, sieve in it, sipping it like Capri Sun\n  Ignint as ever, she's clever, equivalent be none\n\n  A ball breaker, call fakers out with passion\n  You got the gall, bastard, to brawl with the broad brashest?\n  The balls in your court, pass it but warning, fall faster\n  Than asses with age slack on the back of a Kardashian\n\n  The walls crash in, you all on the floor gasping\n  The gas pour in the corridor, racking your jaws, blacking out\n  Catch Grae backing out the back door cackling\n  Still make it back to the bar for last call, two\n\n  They ask me why I'm highly regarded as God body, probably\n  Monch is a mixture of Marcus Garvey, Miles Davis and Bob Marley\n  Radical, never skateboard slang like gnarly, more like\n  Weed in my whip on the way to get top like Charles Barkley\n\n  You are hardly prepared to spar with a marksman, spark me\n  I'm Gambit with the ace of spades, I'm mastering archery\n  Venculi, venicular, particularly the vernacular\n  Specifically to fit so when I spit, it's spectacular and accurate\n\n  When I attack, I'm more legend that Acura\n  Flip Bloomberg the bird bitch, more blood than Blackula\n  More crip that cryptic scriptures, encrypted with backwards vernacular\n  Plus sicker than most and Glen Close in fatal attraction\n\n  I am that nigga for real, per capita\n  Smacking the rapper that uses the term swagger after\n  These three assassins get the ass-whipping\n  Prepare for a professional ass-kicking\n\n  Shape shift, spit hollow tip clips, mainly sick, ain't he?\n  Mind Control, make you shoot your best friend in the face\n  Dick Cheney, my life is like a documentary film\n  Depicted in black and white flicks grainy\n\n  Geronimo\n  I'm at Guantanamo Bay taking pic in a Captain Morgan pose\n  With my left foot on a pile of detainees screaming\n  \"We Are Renegades, fuck you pay, me\"\n\n  I be riding 'round with a stripper slash burlesque model\n  I make it pop like my cock in a Durex condom\n  I'm a opposite artist, I find irony, In going from being\n  Like a stone in grass to rocking the Garden\n\n  The same irony as going from fully automatic in the backyard\n  To having the whole machine behind me\n\n  I take my Australian bitch and show her some other things\n  She know my stroke is deadly so she gave me bloody brain\n  Don't try to get familiar if I don't feel you in person\n  I'll flip the script and I accidentally kill you on purpose\n\n  The bat is what I'm flailing, I got so many furs\n  PETA gon' paint splash me when they see me\n  No matter what I'm wearing\n  Your bitch about to open up, sniff some blow off my dick\n  Guess you can say she on my coke and nuts\n\n  I'm on point like Chris Paul\n  You on point like and an Atlantic City hooker that licks balls\n  I'm 'bout to flip in this bitch like Dominique Dawes\n  And shuts shit down like a car when it stalls\n\n  I am the deadliest rapper, you claiming that you flow like water\n  But really y'all niggas Evian backwards\n  Marshall hit the jackpot with this flow that I got\n  I'm knowing I'm hot, it's my show to stop holding my crotch\n\n  My whip cleaner that Amish men and honest inns\n  Two dimes with me like I'm a twin 'cause I'm a 10\n  Okay, I'm in\n"},{"id":34104277,"name":"Assassins Feat. Jean Grae & Royce Da 5′9″","trackName":"Assassins Feat. Jean Grae & Royce Da 5′9″","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch","albumName":"W.A.R. (We Are Renegades)","duration":272.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"In 2013 the world government placed sanctions\nAgainst free thinking individuals\nIn order to force people to adhere to one way of life\nAn independently organization called\n\nHired 100 assassins to infiltrate the headquarters\nWhere the files of the enslaved people were kept\nOf these 100, 97 were captured, tortured and executed\nOnly three remained\n\nThe third of which was said to own an arsenal\nThat would rival and entire city's police force\nThe second was rumored to be able to move\nThroughout space and time, and the first one\n\nFasten your seat belts for the last of the three assassins on earth\nThe first flashing her purse where the heat's stashed\nThey call me Jean McCoy, beast in thee employ, deploy deplorable\nThrough audible destructive actions, attractive decoy\n\nThen pass it to Troy, after, I'm passing your life over\nHe'll deliver in through river Styx, Hades\nI'm cold, deliberate, ladies, my foes limited\nPray me some praise, whisper it\n\nStay on your toes, villains, it's Grae and your day's whittling\nBlistering lines packed in sick, stick to spine\n\nRacked with a sick mind, trapped in thick bitch frame\nDrug you with strychnine, in nine drinks\nYou drunk and it's my kidney, you dick-brain\nI'm just itching to slit veins, stitch lines, Rick James\n\nFuck yo lives, sip brains, bitches\nNiggas, kick rocks, or kick rhymes, it's to the pain\nLiquor riddled liver, sieve in it, sipping it like Capri Sun\nIgnint as ever, she's clever, equivalent be none\n\nA ball breaker, call fakers out with passion\nYou got the gall, bastard, to brawl with the broad brashest?\nThe balls in your court, pass it but warning, fall faster\nThan asses with age slack on the back of a Kardashian\n\nThe walls crash in, you all on the floor gasping\nThe gas pour in the corridor, racking your jaws, blacking out\nCatch Grae backing out the back door cackling\nStill make it back to the bar for last call, two\n\nThey ask me why I'm highly regarded as God body, probably\nMonch is a mixture of Marcus Garvey, Miles Davis and Bob Marley\nRadical, never skateboard slang like gnarly, more like\nWeed in my whip on the way to get top like Charles Barkley\n\nYou are hardly prepared to spar with a marksman, spark me\nI'm Gambit with the ace of spades, I'm mastering archery\nVenculi, venicular, particularly the vernacular\nSpecifically to fit so when I spit, it's spectacular and accurate\n\nWhen I attack, I'm more legend that Acura\nFlip Bloomberg the bird bitch, more blood than Blackula\nMore crip that cryptic scriptures, encrypted with backwards vernacular\nPlus sicker than most and Glen Close in fatal attraction\n\nI am that nigga for real, per capita\nSmacking the rapper that uses the term swagger after\nThese three assassins get the ass-whipping\nPrepare for a professional ass-kicking\n\nShape shift, spit hollow tip clips, mainly sick, ain't he?\nMind Control, make you shoot your best friend in the face\nDick Cheney, my life is like a documentary film\nDepicted in black and white flicks grainy\n\nGeronimo\nI'm at Guantanamo Bay taking pic in a Captain Morgan pose\nWith my left foot on a pile of detainees screaming\n\"We Are Renegades, fuck you pay, me\"\n\nI be riding 'round with a stripper slash burlesque model\nI make it pop like my cock in a Durex condom\nI'm a opposite artist, I find irony, In going from being\nLike a stone in grass to rocking the Garden\n\nThe same irony as going from fully automatic in the backyard\nTo having the whole machine behind me\n\nI take my Australian bitch and show her some other things\nShe know my stroke is deadly so she gave me bloody brain\nDon't try to get familiar if I don't feel you in person\nI'll flip the script and I accidentally kill you on purpose\n\nThe bat is what I'm flailing, I got so many furs\nPETA gon' paint splash me when they see me\nNo matter what I'm wearing\nYour bitch about to open up, sniff some blow off my dick\nGuess you can say she on my coke and nuts\n\nI'm on point like Chris Paul\nYou on point like and an Atlantic City hooker that licks balls\nI'm 'bout to flip in this bitch like Dominique Dawes\nAnd shuts shit down like a car when it stalls\n\nI am the deadliest rapper, you claiming that you flow like water\nBut really y'all niggas Evian backwards\nMarshall hit the jackpot with this flow that I got\nI'm knowing I'm hot, it's my show to stop holding my crotch\n\nMy whip cleaner that Amish men and honest inns\nTwo dimes with me like I'm a twin 'cause I'm a 10\nOkay, I'm in","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Assassins Feat. Jean Grae & Royce Da 5′9″\n  artist: Pharoahe Monch\n  album: W.A.R. (We Are Renegades)\n  duration_ms: 272000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  In 2013 the world government placed sanctions\n  Against free thinking individuals\n  In order to force people to adhere to one way of life\n  An independently organization called\n\n  Hired 100 assassins to infiltrate the headquarters\n  Where the files of the enslaved people were kept\n  Of these 100, 97 were captured, tortured and executed\n  Only three remained\n\n  The third of which was said to own an arsenal\n  That would rival and entire city's police force\n  The second was rumored to be able to move\n  Throughout space and time, and the first one\n\n  Fasten your seat belts for the last of the three assassins on earth\n  The first flashing her purse where the heat's stashed\n  They call me Jean McCoy, beast in thee employ, deploy deplorable\n  Through audible destructive actions, attractive decoy\n\n  Then pass it to Troy, after, I'm passing your life over\n  He'll deliver in through river Styx, Hades\n  I'm cold, deliberate, ladies, my foes limited\n  Pray me some praise, whisper it\n\n  Stay on your toes, villains, it's Grae and your day's whittling\n  Blistering lines packed in sick, stick to spine\n\n  Racked with a sick mind, trapped in thick bitch frame\n  Drug you with strychnine, in nine drinks\n  You drunk and it's my kidney, you dick-brain\n  I'm just itching to slit veins, stitch lines, Rick James\n\n  Fuck yo lives, sip brains, bitches\n  Niggas, kick rocks, or kick rhymes, it's to the pain\n  Liquor riddled liver, sieve in it, sipping it like Capri Sun\n  Ignint as ever, she's clever, equivalent be none\n\n  A ball breaker, call fakers out with passion\n  You got the gall, bastard, to brawl with the broad brashest?\n  The balls in your court, pass it but warning, fall faster\n  Than asses with age slack on the back of a Kardashian\n\n  The walls crash in, you all on the floor gasping\n  The gas pour in the corridor, racking your jaws, blacking out\n  Catch Grae backing out the back door cackling\n  Still make it back to the bar for last call, two\n\n  They ask me why I'm highly regarded as God body, probably\n  Monch is a mixture of Marcus Garvey, Miles Davis and Bob Marley\n  Radical, never skateboard slang like gnarly, more like\n  Weed in my whip on the way to get top like Charles Barkley\n\n  You are hardly prepared to spar with a marksman, spark me\n  I'm Gambit with the ace of spades, I'm mastering archery\n  Venculi, venicular, particularly the vernacular\n  Specifically to fit so when I spit, it's spectacular and accurate\n\n  When I attack, I'm more legend that Acura\n  Flip Bloomberg the bird bitch, more blood than Blackula\n  More crip that cryptic scriptures, encrypted with backwards vernacular\n  Plus sicker than most and Glen Close in fatal attraction\n\n  I am that nigga for real, per capita\n  Smacking the rapper that uses the term swagger after\n  These three assassins get the ass-whipping\n  Prepare for a professional ass-kicking\n\n  Shape shift, spit hollow tip clips, mainly sick, ain't he?\n  Mind Control, make you shoot your best friend in the face\n  Dick Cheney, my life is like a documentary film\n  Depicted in black and white flicks grainy\n\n  Geronimo\n  I'm at Guantanamo Bay taking pic in a Captain Morgan pose\n  With my left foot on a pile of detainees screaming\n  \"We Are Renegades, fuck you pay, me\"\n\n  I be riding 'round with a stripper slash burlesque model\n  I make it pop like my cock in a Durex condom\n  I'm a opposite artist, I find irony, In going from being\n  Like a stone in grass to rocking the Garden\n\n  The same irony as going from fully automatic in the backyard\n  To having the whole machine behind me\n\n  I take my Australian bitch and show her some other things\n  She know my stroke is deadly so she gave me bloody brain\n  Don't try to get familiar if I don't feel you in person\n  I'll flip the script and I accidentally kill you on purpose\n\n  The bat is what I'm flailing, I got so many furs\n  PETA gon' paint splash me when they see me\n  No matter what I'm wearing\n  Your bitch about to open up, sniff some blow off my dick\n  Guess you can say she on my coke and nuts\n\n  I'm on point like Chris Paul\n  You on point like and an Atlantic City hooker that licks balls\n  I'm 'bout to flip in this bitch like Dominique Dawes\n  And shuts shit down like a car when it stalls\n\n  I am the deadliest rapper, you claiming that you flow like water\n  But really y'all niggas Evian backwards\n  Marshall hit the jackpot with this flow that I got\n  I'm knowing I'm hot, it's my show to stop holding my crotch\n\n  My whip cleaner that Amish men and honest inns\n  Two dimes with me like I'm a twin 'cause I'm a 10\n  Okay, I'm in\n"},{"id":4413204,"name":"Assassins","trackName":"Assassins","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch, Royce Da 5'9\" & Jean Grae","albumName":"W.A.R. (We Are Renegades)","duration":272.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"In 2013 the world government placed sanctions\nAgainst free thinking individuals\nIn order to force people to adhere to one way of life\nAn independently organization called\n\nHired 100 assassins to infiltrate the headquarters\nWhere the files of the enslaved people were kept\nOf these 100, 97 were captured, tortured and executed\nOnly three remained\n\nThe third of which was said to own an arsenal\nThat would rival and entire city's police force\nThe second was rumored to be able to move\nThroughout space and time, and the first one\n\nFasten your seat belts for the last of the three assassins on earth\nThe first flashing her purse where the heat's stashed\nThey call me Jean McCoy, beast in thee employ, deploy deplorable\nThrough audible destructive actions, attractive decoy\n\nThen pass it to Troy, after, I'm passing your life over\nHe'll deliver in through river Styx, Hades\nI'm cold, deliberate, ladies, my foes limited\nPray me some praise, whisper it\n\nStay on your toes, villains, it's Grae and your day's whittling\nBlistering lines packed in sick, stick to spine\n\nRacked with a sick mind, trapped in thick bitch frame\nDrug you with strychnine, in nine drinks\nYou drunk and it's my kidney, you dick-brain\nI'm just itching to slit veins, stitch lines, Rick James\n\nFuck yo lives, sip brains, bitches\nNiggas, kick rocks, or kick rhymes, it's to the pain\nLiquor riddled liver, sieve in it, sipping it like Capri Sun\nIgnint as ever, she's clever, equivalent be none\n\nA ball breaker, call fakers out with passion\nYou got the gall, bastard, to brawl with the broad brashest?\nThe balls in your court, pass it but warning, fall faster\nThan asses with age slack on the back of a Kardashian\n\nThe walls crash in, you all on the floor gasping\nThe gas pour in the corridor, racking your jaws, blacking out\nCatch Grae backing out the back door cackling\nStill make it back to the bar for last call, two\n\nThey ask me why I'm highly regarded as God body, probably\nMonch is a mixture of Marcus Garvey, Miles Davis and Bob Marley\nRadical, never skateboard slang like gnarly, more like\nWeed in my whip on the way to get top like Charles Barkley\n\nYou are hardly prepared to spar with a marksman, spark me\nI'm Gambit with the ace of spades, I'm mastering archery\nVenculi, venicular, particularly the vernacular\nSpecifically to fit so when I spit, it's spectacular and accurate\n\nWhen I attack, I'm more legend that Acura\nFlip Bloomberg the bird bitch, more blood than Blackula\nMore crip that cryptic scriptures, encrypted with backwards vernacular\nPlus sicker than most and Glen Close in fatal attraction\n\nI am that nigga for real, per capita\nSmacking the rapper that uses the term swagger after\nThese three assassins get the ass-whipping\nPrepare for a professional ass-kicking\n\nShape shift, spit hollow tip clips, mainly sick, ain't he?\nMind Control, make you shoot your best friend in the face\nDick Cheney, my life is like a documentary film\nDepicted in black and white flicks grainy\n\nGeronimo\nI'm at Guantanamo Bay taking pic in a Captain Morgan pose\nWith my left foot on a pile of detainees screaming\n\"We Are Renegades, fuck you pay, me\"\n\nI be riding 'round with a stripper slash burlesque model\nI make it pop like my cock in a Durex condom\nI'm a opposite artist, I find irony, In going from being\nLike a stone in grass to rocking the Garden\n\nThe same irony as going from fully automatic in the backyard\nTo having the whole machine behind me\n\nI take my Australian bitch and show her some other things\nShe know my stroke is deadly so she gave me bloody brain\nDon't try to get familiar if I don't feel you in person\nI'll flip the script and I accidentally kill you on purpose\n\nThe bat is what I'm flailing, I got so many furs\nPETA gon' paint splash me when they see me\nNo matter what I'm wearing\nYour bitch about to open up, sniff some blow off my dick\nGuess you can say she on my coke and nuts\n\nI'm on point like Chris Paul\nYou on point like and an Atlantic City hooker that licks balls\nI'm 'bout to flip in this bitch like Dominique Dawes\nAnd shuts shit down like a car when it stalls\n\nI am the deadliest rapper, you claiming that you flow like water\nBut really y'all niggas Evian backwards\nMarshall hit the jackpot with this flow that I got\nI'm knowing I'm hot, it's my show to stop holding my crotch\n\nMy whip cleaner that Amish men and honest inns\nTwo dimes with me like I'm a twin 'cause I'm a 10\nOkay, I'm in","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Assassins\n  artist: Pharoahe Monch, Royce Da 5'9\" & Jean Grae\n  album: W.A.R. (We Are Renegades)\n  duration_ms: 272000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  In 2013 the world government placed sanctions\n  Against free thinking individuals\n  In order to force people to adhere to one way of life\n  An independently organization called\n\n  Hired 100 assassins to infiltrate the headquarters\n  Where the files of the enslaved people were kept\n  Of these 100, 97 were captured, tortured and executed\n  Only three remained\n\n  The third of which was said to own an arsenal\n  That would rival and entire city's police force\n  The second was rumored to be able to move\n  Throughout space and time, and the first one\n\n  Fasten your seat belts for the last of the three assassins on earth\n  The first flashing her purse where the heat's stashed\n  They call me Jean McCoy, beast in thee employ, deploy deplorable\n  Through audible destructive actions, attractive decoy\n\n  Then pass it to Troy, after, I'm passing your life over\n  He'll deliver in through river Styx, Hades\n  I'm cold, deliberate, ladies, my foes limited\n  Pray me some praise, whisper it\n\n  Stay on your toes, villains, it's Grae and your day's whittling\n  Blistering lines packed in sick, stick to spine\n\n  Racked with a sick mind, trapped in thick bitch frame\n  Drug you with strychnine, in nine drinks\n  You drunk and it's my kidney, you dick-brain\n  I'm just itching to slit veins, stitch lines, Rick James\n\n  Fuck yo lives, sip brains, bitches\n  Niggas, kick rocks, or kick rhymes, it's to the pain\n  Liquor riddled liver, sieve in it, sipping it like Capri Sun\n  Ignint as ever, she's clever, equivalent be none\n\n  A ball breaker, call fakers out with passion\n  You got the gall, bastard, to brawl with the broad brashest?\n  The balls in your court, pass it but warning, fall faster\n  Than asses with age slack on the back of a Kardashian\n\n  The walls crash in, you all on the floor gasping\n  The gas pour in the corridor, racking your jaws, blacking out\n  Catch Grae backing out the back door cackling\n  Still make it back to the bar for last call, two\n\n  They ask me why I'm highly regarded as God body, probably\n  Monch is a mixture of Marcus Garvey, Miles Davis and Bob Marley\n  Radical, never skateboard slang like gnarly, more like\n  Weed in my whip on the way to get top like Charles Barkley\n\n  You are hardly prepared to spar with a marksman, spark me\n  I'm Gambit with the ace of spades, I'm mastering archery\n  Venculi, venicular, particularly the vernacular\n  Specifically to fit so when I spit, it's spectacular and accurate\n\n  When I attack, I'm more legend that Acura\n  Flip Bloomberg the bird bitch, more blood than Blackula\n  More crip that cryptic scriptures, encrypted with backwards vernacular\n  Plus sicker than most and Glen Close in fatal attraction\n\n  I am that nigga for real, per capita\n  Smacking the rapper that uses the term swagger after\n  These three assassins get the ass-whipping\n  Prepare for a professional ass-kicking\n\n  Shape shift, spit hollow tip clips, mainly sick, ain't he?\n  Mind Control, make you shoot your best friend in the face\n  Dick Cheney, my life is like a documentary film\n  Depicted in black and white flicks grainy\n\n  Geronimo\n  I'm at Guantanamo Bay taking pic in a Captain Morgan pose\n  With my left foot on a pile of detainees screaming\n  \"We Are Renegades, fuck you pay, me\"\n\n  I be riding 'round with a stripper slash burlesque model\n  I make it pop like my cock in a Durex condom\n  I'm a opposite artist, I find irony, In going from being\n  Like a stone in grass to rocking the Garden\n\n  The same irony as going from fully automatic in the backyard\n  To having the whole machine behind me\n\n  I take my Australian bitch and show her some other things\n  She know my stroke is deadly so she gave me bloody brain\n  Don't try to get familiar if I don't feel you in person\n  I'll flip the script and I accidentally kill you on purpose\n\n  The bat is what I'm flailing, I got so many furs\n  PETA gon' paint splash me when they see me\n  No matter what I'm wearing\n  Your bitch about to open up, sniff some blow off my dick\n  Guess you can say she on my coke and nuts\n\n  I'm on point like Chris Paul\n  You on point like and an Atlantic City hooker that licks balls\n  I'm 'bout to flip in this bitch like Dominique Dawes\n  And shuts shit down like a car when it stalls\n\n  I am the deadliest rapper, you claiming that you flow like water\n  But really y'all niggas Evian backwards\n  Marshall hit the jackpot with this flow that I got\n  I'm knowing I'm hot, it's my show to stop holding my crotch\n\n  My whip cleaner that Amish men and honest inns\n  Two dimes with me like I'm a twin 'cause I'm a 10\n  Okay, I'm in\n"},{"id":12053438,"name":"Assassins","trackName":"Assassins","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch feat. Jean Grae & Royce da 5′9″","albumName":"W.A.R. (We Are Renegades)","duration":272.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"In 2013 the world government placed sanctions\nAgainst free thinking individuals\nIn order to force people to adhere to one way of life\nAn independently organization called\n\nHired 100 assassins to infiltrate the headquarters\nWhere the files of the enslaved people were kept\nOf these 100, 97 were captured, tortured and executed\nOnly three remained\n\nThe third of which was said to own an arsenal\nThat would rival and entire city's police force\nThe second was rumored to be able to move\nThroughout space and time, and the first one\n\nFasten your seat belts for the last of the three assassins on earth\nThe first flashing her purse where the heat's stashed\nThey call me Jean McCoy, beast in thee employ, deploy deplorable\nThrough audible destructive actions, attractive decoy\n\nThen pass it to Troy, after, I'm passing your life over\nHe'll deliver in through river Styx, Hades\nI'm cold, deliberate, ladies, my foes limited\nPray me some praise, whisper it\n\nStay on your toes, villains, it's Grae and your day's whittling\nBlistering lines packed in sick, stick to spine\n\nRacked with a sick mind, trapped in thick bitch frame\nDrug you with strychnine, in nine drinks\nYou drunk and it's my kidney, you dick-brain\nI'm just itching to slit veins, stitch lines, Rick James\n\nFuck yo lives, sip brains, bitches\nNiggas, kick rocks, or kick rhymes, it's to the pain\nLiquor riddled liver, sieve in it, sipping it like Capri Sun\nIgnint as ever, she's clever, equivalent be none\n\nA ball breaker, call fakers out with passion\nYou got the gall, bastard, to brawl with the broad brashest?\nThe balls in your court, pass it but warning, fall faster\nThan asses with age slack on the back of a Kardashian\n\nThe walls crash in, you all on the floor gasping\nThe gas pour in the corridor, racking your jaws, blacking out\nCatch Grae backing out the back door cackling\nStill make it back to the bar for last call, two\n\nThey ask me why I'm highly regarded as God body, probably\nMonch is a mixture of Marcus Garvey, Miles Davis and Bob Marley\nRadical, never skateboard slang like gnarly, more like\nWeed in my whip on the way to get top like Charles Barkley\n\nYou are hardly prepared to spar with a marksman, spark me\nI'm Gambit with the ace of spades, I'm mastering archery\nVenculi, venicular, particularly the vernacular\nSpecifically to fit so when I spit, it's spectacular and accurate\n\nWhen I attack, I'm more legend that Acura\nFlip Bloomberg the bird bitch, more blood than Blackula\nMore crip that cryptic scriptures, encrypted with backwards vernacular\nPlus sicker than most and Glen Close in fatal attraction\n\nI am that nigga for real, per capita\nSmacking the rapper that uses the term swagger after\nThese three assassins get the ass-whipping\nPrepare for a professional ass-kicking\n\nShape shift, spit hollow tip clips, mainly sick, ain't he?\nMind Control, make you shoot your best friend in the face\nDick Cheney, my life is like a documentary film\nDepicted in black and white flicks grainy\n\nGeronimo\nI'm at Guantanamo Bay taking pic in a Captain Morgan pose\nWith my left foot on a pile of detainees screaming\n\"We Are Renegades, fuck you pay, me\"\n\nI be riding 'round with a stripper slash burlesque model\nI make it pop like my cock in a Durex condom\nI'm a opposite artist, I find irony, In going from being\nLike a stone in grass to rocking the Garden\n\nThe same irony as going from fully automatic in the backyard\nTo having the whole machine behind me\n\nI take my Australian bitch and show her some other things\nShe know my stroke is deadly so she gave me bloody brain\nDon't try to get familiar if I don't feel you in person\nI'll flip the script and I accidentally kill you on purpose\n\nThe bat is what I'm flailing, I got so many furs\nPETA gon' paint splash me when they see me\nNo matter what I'm wearing\nYour bitch about to open up, sniff some blow off my dick\nGuess you can say she on my coke and nuts\n\nI'm on point like Chris Paul\nYou on point like and an Atlantic City hooker that licks balls\nI'm 'bout to flip in this bitch like Dominique Dawes\nAnd shuts shit down like a car when it stalls\n\nI am the deadliest rapper, you claiming that you flow like water\nBut really y'all niggas Evian backwards\nMarshall hit the jackpot with this flow that I got\nI'm knowing I'm hot, it's my show to stop holding my crotch\n\nMy whip cleaner that Amish men and honest inns\nTwo dimes with me like I'm a twin 'cause I'm a 10\nOkay, I'm in","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Assassins\n  artist: Pharoahe Monch feat. Jean Grae & Royce da 5′9″\n  album: W.A.R. (We Are Renegades)\n  duration_ms: 272000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  In 2013 the world government placed sanctions\n  Against free thinking individuals\n  In order to force people to adhere to one way of life\n  An independently organization called\n\n  Hired 100 assassins to infiltrate the headquarters\n  Where the files of the enslaved people were kept\n  Of these 100, 97 were captured, tortured and executed\n  Only three remained\n\n  The third of which was said to own an arsenal\n  That would rival and entire city's police force\n  The second was rumored to be able to move\n  Throughout space and time, and the first one\n\n  Fasten your seat belts for the last of the three assassins on earth\n  The first flashing her purse where the heat's stashed\n  They call me Jean McCoy, beast in thee employ, deploy deplorable\n  Through audible destructive actions, attractive decoy\n\n  Then pass it to Troy, after, I'm passing your life over\n  He'll deliver in through river Styx, Hades\n  I'm cold, deliberate, ladies, my foes limited\n  Pray me some praise, whisper it\n\n  Stay on your toes, villains, it's Grae and your day's whittling\n  Blistering lines packed in sick, stick to spine\n\n  Racked with a sick mind, trapped in thick bitch frame\n  Drug you with strychnine, in nine drinks\n  You drunk and it's my kidney, you dick-brain\n  I'm just itching to slit veins, stitch lines, Rick James\n\n  Fuck yo lives, sip brains, bitches\n  Niggas, kick rocks, or kick rhymes, it's to the pain\n  Liquor riddled liver, sieve in it, sipping it like Capri Sun\n  Ignint as ever, she's clever, equivalent be none\n\n  A ball breaker, call fakers out with passion\n  You got the gall, bastard, to brawl with the broad brashest?\n  The balls in your court, pass it but warning, fall faster\n  Than asses with age slack on the back of a Kardashian\n\n  The walls crash in, you all on the floor gasping\n  The gas pour in the corridor, racking your jaws, blacking out\n  Catch Grae backing out the back door cackling\n  Still make it back to the bar for last call, two\n\n  They ask me why I'm highly regarded as God body, probably\n  Monch is a mixture of Marcus Garvey, Miles Davis and Bob Marley\n  Radical, never skateboard slang like gnarly, more like\n  Weed in my whip on the way to get top like Charles Barkley\n\n  You are hardly prepared to spar with a marksman, spark me\n  I'm Gambit with the ace of spades, I'm mastering archery\n  Venculi, venicular, particularly the vernacular\n  Specifically to fit so when I spit, it's spectacular and accurate\n\n  When I attack, I'm more legend that Acura\n  Flip Bloomberg the bird bitch, more blood than Blackula\n  More crip that cryptic scriptures, encrypted with backwards vernacular\n  Plus sicker than most and Glen Close in fatal attraction\n\n  I am that nigga for real, per capita\n  Smacking the rapper that uses the term swagger after\n  These three assassins get the ass-whipping\n  Prepare for a professional ass-kicking\n\n  Shape shift, spit hollow tip clips, mainly sick, ain't he?\n  Mind Control, make you shoot your best friend in the face\n  Dick Cheney, my life is like a documentary film\n  Depicted in black and white flicks grainy\n\n  Geronimo\n  I'm at Guantanamo Bay taking pic in a Captain Morgan pose\n  With my left foot on a pile of detainees screaming\n  \"We Are Renegades, fuck you pay, me\"\n\n  I be riding 'round with a stripper slash burlesque model\n  I make it pop like my cock in a Durex condom\n  I'm a opposite artist, I find irony, In going from being\n  Like a stone in grass to rocking the Garden\n\n  The same irony as going from fully automatic in the backyard\n  To having the whole machine behind me\n\n  I take my Australian bitch and show her some other things\n  She know my stroke is deadly so she gave me bloody brain\n  Don't try to get familiar if I don't feel you in person\n  I'll flip the script and I accidentally kill you on purpose\n\n  The bat is what I'm flailing, I got so many furs\n  PETA gon' paint splash me when they see me\n  No matter what I'm wearing\n  Your bitch about to open up, sniff some blow off my dick\n  Guess you can say she on my coke and nuts\n\n  I'm on point like Chris Paul\n  You on point like and an Atlantic City hooker that licks balls\n  I'm 'bout to flip in this bitch like Dominique Dawes\n  And shuts shit down like a car when it stalls\n\n  I am the deadliest rapper, you claiming that you flow like water\n  But really y'all niggas Evian backwards\n  Marshall hit the jackpot with this flow that I got\n  I'm knowing I'm hot, it's my show to stop holding my crotch\n\n  My whip cleaner that Amish men and honest inns\n  Two dimes with me like I'm a twin 'cause I'm a 10\n  Okay, I'm in\n"},{"id":29489086,"name":"Assassins","trackName":"Assassins","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch feat. Jean Grae and Royce da 5′9″","albumName":"W.A.R. (We Are Renegades)","duration":272.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"In 2013 the world government placed sanctions\nAgainst free thinking individuals\nIn order to force people to adhere to one way of life\nAn independently organization called\n\nHired 100 assassins to infiltrate the headquarters\nWhere the files of the enslaved people were kept\nOf these 100, 97 were captured, tortured and executed\nOnly three remained\n\nThe third of which was said to own an arsenal\nThat would rival and entire city's police force\nThe second was rumored to be able to move\nThroughout space and time, and the first one\n\nFasten your seat belts for the last of the three assassins on earth\nThe first flashing her purse where the heat's stashed\nThey call me Jean McCoy, beast in thee employ, deploy deplorable\nThrough audible destructive actions, attractive decoy\n\nThen pass it to Troy, after, I'm passing your life over\nHe'll deliver in through river Styx, Hades\nI'm cold, deliberate, ladies, my foes limited\nPray me some praise, whisper it\n\nStay on your toes, villains, it's Grae and your day's whittling\nBlistering lines packed in sick, stick to spine\n\nRacked with a sick mind, trapped in thick bitch frame\nDrug you with strychnine, in nine drinks\nYou drunk and it's my kidney, you dick-brain\nI'm just itching to slit veins, stitch lines, Rick James\n\nFuck yo lives, sip brains, bitches\nNiggas, kick rocks, or kick rhymes, it's to the pain\nLiquor riddled liver, sieve in it, sipping it like Capri Sun\nIgnint as ever, she's clever, equivalent be none\n\nA ball breaker, call fakers out with passion\nYou got the gall, bastard, to brawl with the broad brashest?\nThe balls in your court, pass it but warning, fall faster\nThan asses with age slack on the back of a Kardashian\n\nThe walls crash in, you all on the floor gasping\nThe gas pour in the corridor, racking your jaws, blacking out\nCatch Grae backing out the back door cackling\nStill make it back to the bar for last call, two\n\nThey ask me why I'm highly regarded as God body, probably\nMonch is a mixture of Marcus Garvey, Miles Davis and Bob Marley\nRadical, never skateboard slang like gnarly, more like\nWeed in my whip on the way to get top like Charles Barkley\n\nYou are hardly prepared to spar with a marksman, spark me\nI'm Gambit with the ace of spades, I'm mastering archery\nVenculi, venicular, particularly the vernacular\nSpecifically to fit so when I spit, it's spectacular and accurate\n\nWhen I attack, I'm more legend that Acura\nFlip Bloomberg the bird bitch, more blood than Blackula\nMore crip that cryptic scriptures, encrypted with backwards vernacular\nPlus sicker than most and Glen Close in fatal attraction\n\nI am that nigga for real, per capita\nSmacking the rapper that uses the term swagger after\nThese three assassins get the ass-whipping\nPrepare for a professional ass-kicking\n\nShape shift, spit hollow tip clips, mainly sick, ain't he?\nMind Control, make you shoot your best friend in the face\nDick Cheney, my life is like a documentary film\nDepicted in black and white flicks grainy\n\nGeronimo\nI'm at Guantanamo Bay taking pic in a Captain Morgan pose\nWith my left foot on a pile of detainees screaming\n\"We Are Renegades, fuck you pay, me\"\n\nI be riding 'round with a stripper slash burlesque model\nI make it pop like my cock in a Durex condom\nI'm a opposite artist, I find irony, In going from being\nLike a stone in grass to rocking the Garden\n\nThe same irony as going from fully automatic in the backyard\nTo having the whole machine behind me\n\nI take my Australian bitch and show her some other things\nShe know my stroke is deadly so she gave me bloody brain\nDon't try to get familiar if I don't feel you in person\nI'll flip the script and I accidentally kill you on purpose\n\nThe bat is what I'm flailing, I got so many furs\nPETA gon' paint splash me when they see me\nNo matter what I'm wearing\nYour bitch about to open up, sniff some blow off my dick\nGuess you can say she on my coke and nuts\n\nI'm on point like Chris Paul\nYou on point like and an Atlantic City hooker that licks balls\nI'm 'bout to flip in this bitch like Dominique Dawes\nAnd shuts shit down like a car when it stalls\n\nI am the deadliest rapper, you claiming that you flow like water\nBut really y'all niggas Evian backwards\nMarshall hit the jackpot with this flow that I got\nI'm knowing I'm hot, it's my show to stop holding my crotch\n\nMy whip cleaner that Amish men and honest inns\nTwo dimes with me like I'm a twin 'cause I'm a 10\nOkay, I'm in","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Assassins\n  artist: Pharoahe Monch feat. Jean Grae and Royce da 5′9″\n  album: W.A.R. (We Are Renegades)\n  duration_ms: 272000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  In 2013 the world government placed sanctions\n  Against free thinking individuals\n  In order to force people to adhere to one way of life\n  An independently organization called\n\n  Hired 100 assassins to infiltrate the headquarters\n  Where the files of the enslaved people were kept\n  Of these 100, 97 were captured, tortured and executed\n  Only three remained\n\n  The third of which was said to own an arsenal\n  That would rival and entire city's police force\n  The second was rumored to be able to move\n  Throughout space and time, and the first one\n\n  Fasten your seat belts for the last of the three assassins on earth\n  The first flashing her purse where the heat's stashed\n  They call me Jean McCoy, beast in thee employ, deploy deplorable\n  Through audible destructive actions, attractive decoy\n\n  Then pass it to Troy, after, I'm passing your life over\n  He'll deliver in through river Styx, Hades\n  I'm cold, deliberate, ladies, my foes limited\n  Pray me some praise, whisper it\n\n  Stay on your toes, villains, it's Grae and your day's whittling\n  Blistering lines packed in sick, stick to spine\n\n  Racked with a sick mind, trapped in thick bitch frame\n  Drug you with strychnine, in nine drinks\n  You drunk and it's my kidney, you dick-brain\n  I'm just itching to slit veins, stitch lines, Rick James\n\n  Fuck yo lives, sip brains, bitches\n  Niggas, kick rocks, or kick rhymes, it's to the pain\n  Liquor riddled liver, sieve in it, sipping it like Capri Sun\n  Ignint as ever, she's clever, equivalent be none\n\n  A ball breaker, call fakers out with passion\n  You got the gall, bastard, to brawl with the broad brashest?\n  The balls in your court, pass it but warning, fall faster\n  Than asses with age slack on the back of a Kardashian\n\n  The walls crash in, you all on the floor gasping\n  The gas pour in the corridor, racking your jaws, blacking out\n  Catch Grae backing out the back door cackling\n  Still make it back to the bar for last call, two\n\n  They ask me why I'm highly regarded as God body, probably\n  Monch is a mixture of Marcus Garvey, Miles Davis and Bob Marley\n  Radical, never skateboard slang like gnarly, more like\n  Weed in my whip on the way to get top like Charles Barkley\n\n  You are hardly prepared to spar with a marksman, spark me\n  I'm Gambit with the ace of spades, I'm mastering archery\n  Venculi, venicular, particularly the vernacular\n  Specifically to fit so when I spit, it's spectacular and accurate\n\n  When I attack, I'm more legend that Acura\n  Flip Bloomberg the bird bitch, more blood than Blackula\n  More crip that cryptic scriptures, encrypted with backwards vernacular\n  Plus sicker than most and Glen Close in fatal attraction\n\n  I am that nigga for real, per capita\n  Smacking the rapper that uses the term swagger after\n  These three assassins get the ass-whipping\n  Prepare for a professional ass-kicking\n\n  Shape shift, spit hollow tip clips, mainly sick, ain't he?\n  Mind Control, make you shoot your best friend in the face\n  Dick Cheney, my life is like a documentary film\n  Depicted in black and white flicks grainy\n\n  Geronimo\n  I'm at Guantanamo Bay taking pic in a Captain Morgan pose\n  With my left foot on a pile of detainees screaming\n  \"We Are Renegades, fuck you pay, me\"\n\n  I be riding 'round with a stripper slash burlesque model\n  I make it pop like my cock in a Durex condom\n  I'm a opposite artist, I find irony, In going from being\n  Like a stone in grass to rocking the Garden\n\n  The same irony as going from fully automatic in the backyard\n  To having the whole machine behind me\n\n  I take my Australian bitch and show her some other things\n  She know my stroke is deadly so she gave me bloody brain\n  Don't try to get familiar if I don't feel you in person\n  I'll flip the script and I accidentally kill you on purpose\n\n  The bat is what I'm flailing, I got so many furs\n  PETA gon' paint splash me when they see me\n  No matter what I'm wearing\n  Your bitch about to open up, sniff some blow off my dick\n  Guess you can say she on my coke and nuts\n\n  I'm on point like Chris Paul\n  You on point like and an Atlantic City hooker that licks balls\n  I'm 'bout to flip in this bitch like Dominique Dawes\n  And shuts shit down like a car when it stalls\n\n  I am the deadliest rapper, you claiming that you flow like water\n  But really y'all niggas Evian backwards\n  Marshall hit the jackpot with this flow that I got\n  I'm knowing I'm hot, it's my show to stop holding my crotch\n\n  My whip cleaner that Amish men and honest inns\n  Two dimes with me like I'm a twin 'cause I'm a 10\n  Okay, I'm in\n"}]