[{"id":19397516,"name":"Simon Says [Remix]","trackName":"Simon Says [Remix]","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch","albumName":"Simon Says","duration":376.1734144,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Get the fuck up!\nSimon says get the fuck up!\nThrow ya hands in the sky (Bo! Bo! Bo! Bo! Bo!)\nQueens is in the back sipping 'gnac, y'all wassup?\nGirls, rub on your titties (Yeah)\nYeah fuck it I said it rub on ya titties\nNew York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\nIn the midst of the calm, the witty\nYo shut the fuck up!\nLuck said shut the fuck up!\nBitches in the back, like crack get it cut up\nI speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\nAct like a man and get cocked, smacked or fucked up\nPull the truck up, Luck you know the name\nAss out in the bleachers stay shittin' on the game\nI suppose what you're spittin' is flames, cowards\nKnew your crew was vaginal, I could smell the dooch powder\nSummer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\nCome four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\nStay fly 'til you air sick, now that's ill\nTwo choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\nWhat the fuck's goin' on here, just a minute now, hold up\nSinister wit hit the time I diminish him finish him, roll up\nWhen I'm, in a, cinematography state of mind\nMy rap trip, rip, flip, clip, say the rhyme\nShit, I spectacular run hit spit bitches vernacular\nMiraculous rhyme flow, back track to the Immaculate\nBinaca blast nigga that's fast, son I'll out-box ya\nLadies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\nOwww! Fellas pull ya cock out\nOn the verge to splurge verbs for third round knock out\nUh I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\nDust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\nThe mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\nSeparate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behave\nNow, drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\nFigure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun salute\nThat's seven shots for 2pac\nSeven for Biggie Smalls\nSeven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\nHow's that, fat action packed rap remain tame\nPharoahe fuckin' Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\nYo yo get the fuck up!\nFunk Doctor Spock said get the fuck up!\nI got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\nI leave a nigga hangin' like ya mom's muffler\nSnuff her, then my boys follow up\nRespect like The Fonz, you see the collar up\nI spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\nI kamikaze ya town off a Arab bus\nKarat cut, yeah mami pull over\nI bend ya pussy like for years I knew yoga\nI'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\nOff Hennesy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\nI need fifty feet when my performance starts\nI push a armored car wit enormous hearts\nNineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\nDoc turnin' dark off a warning shot\nDrive off and pop, six in ya hood\n(Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods)\nYea-yeah my nigga, one rhyme and you fold over\nI'm hot-headed 'cause I walk with cold shoulders\nYeah get the fuck up!\nSimon says get the fuck up!\nThrow ya hands in the sky (Bo! Bo! Bo! Bo! Bo!)\nJersey in the back, jackin' cars, now wassup?\nGirls, rub on ya titties\n(Yeah) That's right I said it, rub on ya titties\nBrick City, gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\nIn the midst of the calm, the witty\nYo yo get the fuck up!\nYo yeah I said it, get the fuck up!\nWalk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\nSeek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\nYa know my name, and Pharoahe Monch, why we came what?\nWe off the chain, plus we plottin' on the game, what?\nKnow ya role, by the way tuck ya gold\nAnd you and your mic can ease on down the road\nAssholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\nShootin' in the sky tryin' to blast sun\nZero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\nFifty cent flashin' they hate us with a passion\nMashin', still fresh in three-day old fashion\nYour plaid, I'm stripes, together we be clashin'\nHere's a Tunnel banger\nWu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\nThis gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\nSlap ya like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\nJust so you can feel me\nThe same way I'mma feel this world when it kill me\nEven if time stands still, I'mma still be\nUnderground and filthy, gotta have our Way like the Milky\nInnocent until I'm proven guilty\nNever got caught in the game of tag\nMomma never kept a boyfriend with kids this bad\nNo justice, raider ruckus\nUnderground 'til we under ground\nBut y'all first motherfuckers\nMy thugs, throw up ya set\nAnd shorties rub on ya breasts\nGet the fuck up, outta that dress, I palm tits\nYou herbs get flipped like jeeps on mountain cliffs\nI'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talent tips\nDouble-S, double the threat, double your bet\nDouble up on that cash if you decide to invest\nYou sound like Big, you sound like Jay, you sound like D\nAnd I bet, when I go plat, you'll sound like me\nShabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet into delete\nY'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\nI stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay with the heat\nStay stickin' fools like you for the rocks that gleam\nSo toss that link, dummy, shoulda insured that link\nStraight to Canal I'll praise that link, then pawn that link\nYou froze up, Sahdeeq says shut the fuck up\nPunk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\nBusta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Duggan, been thuggin'\nLovin' the way we flood jewels for nothin'\nLay it over, another ambush we take over\nYo we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\nYou better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\nOr find your picture of your autoposy up on the web site\nYo if you ever violate my space\nFuck a fat lip, I'll leave you with a fuckin' fat face\nNigga, Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom and some\nLike the ghost of a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\nBitches, snitches comin' out and you know who's showin' it\nLike when British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\nY'all niggas is seemless blends of seemless friends\nLive on about the souls on a bunch of seamless ends\nCollosal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Moncho\nThe head honcho, gettin' this money like Leonardo (Do-Do-Do-Do)\nEnough substance in the roughness\nNow watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\nNow let me clear the smoke screen you blow fiend\nLive nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\nPledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\nLet us control and own the fuckin' area\nWildin' in your whip until you crash the whole truck up\nAnd if you know what's good for you nigga you better get the fuck up!","syncedLyrics":"[00:22.77] Get the fuck up!\n[00:24.76] Simon says get the fuck up!\n[00:26.18] Throw ya hands in the sky (Bo! Bo! Bo! Bo! Bo!)\n[00:28.70] Queens is in the back sipping 'gnac, y'all wassup?\n[00:32.37] Girls, rub on your titties (Yeah)\n[00:34.63] Yeah fuck it I said it rub on ya titties\n[00:36.41] New York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\n[00:39.78] In the midst of the calm, the witty\n[00:43.10] Yo shut the fuck up!\n[00:44.81] Luck said shut the fuck up!\n[00:47.13] Bitches in the back, like crack get it cut up\n[00:49.35] I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n[00:51.77] Act like a man and get cocked, smacked or fucked up\n[00:54.35] Pull the truck up, Luck you know the name\n[00:56.79] Ass out in the bleachers stay shittin' on the game\n[00:59.30] I suppose what you're spittin' is flames, cowards\n[01:01.94] Knew your crew was vaginal, I could smell the dooch powder\n[01:04.41] Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n[01:07.18] Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n[01:09.71] Stay fly 'til you air sick, now that's ill\n[01:12.56] Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n[01:14.87] What the fuck's goin' on here, just a minute now, hold up\n[01:17.80] Sinister wit hit the time I diminish him finish him, roll up\n[01:20.36] When I'm, in a, cinematography state of mind\n[01:22.93] My rap trip, rip, flip, clip, say the rhyme\n[01:25.47] Shit, I spectacular run hit spit bitches vernacular\n[01:27.56] Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the Immaculate\n[01:30.19] Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son I'll out-box ya\n[01:32.96] Ladies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n[01:35.89] Owww! Fellas pull ya cock out\n[01:38.10] On the verge to splurge verbs for third round knock out\n[01:40.53] Uh I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n[01:43.12] Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n[01:45.70] The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n[01:48.36] Separate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behave\n[01:50.88] Now, drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n[01:53.56] Figure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun salute\n[01:55.96] That's seven shots for 2pac\n[01:57.47] Seven for Biggie Smalls\n[01:58.84] Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n[02:01.02] How's that, fat action packed rap remain tame\n[02:03.91] Pharoahe fuckin' Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n[02:07.51] Yo yo get the fuck up!\n[02:09.25] Funk Doctor Spock said get the fuck up!\n[02:11.84] I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\n[02:14.21] I leave a nigga hangin' like ya mom's muffler\n[02:16.93] Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n[02:19.17] Respect like The Fonz, you see the collar up\n[02:21.87] I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n[02:24.45] I kamikaze ya town off a Arab bus\n[02:27.01] Karat cut, yeah mami pull over\n[02:29.67] I bend ya pussy like for years I knew yoga\n[02:32.03] I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\n[02:34.72] Off Hennesy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n[02:37.69] I need fifty feet when my performance starts\n[02:39.91] I push a armored car wit enormous hearts\n[02:42.67] Nineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\n[02:45.04] Doc turnin' dark off a warning shot\n[02:47.54] Drive off and pop, six in ya hood\n[02:50.07] (Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods)\n[02:52.92] Yea-yeah my nigga, one rhyme and you fold over\n[02:55.48] I'm hot-headed 'cause I walk with cold shoulders\n[02:58.92] Yeah get the fuck up!\n[03:01.55] Simon says get the fuck up!\n[03:03.66] Throw ya hands in the sky (Bo! Bo! Bo! Bo! Bo!)\n[03:05.79] Jersey in the back, jackin' cars, now wassup?\n[03:09.37] Girls, rub on ya titties\n[03:11.02] (Yeah) That's right I said it, rub on ya titties\n[03:13.50] Brick City, gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\n[03:16.62] In the midst of the calm, the witty\n[03:18.63] Yo yo get the fuck up!\n[03:21.49] Yo yeah I said it, get the fuck up!\n[03:23.98] Walk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\n[03:26.22] Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n[03:28.83] Ya know my name, and Pharoahe Monch, why we came what?\n[03:31.55] We off the chain, plus we plottin' on the game, what?\n[03:34.25] Know ya role, by the way tuck ya gold\n[03:36.69] And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n[03:38.97] Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n[03:42.11] Shootin' in the sky tryin' to blast sun\n[03:44.36] Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\n[03:47.02] Fifty cent flashin' they hate us with a passion\n[03:49.55] Mashin', still fresh in three-day old fashion\n[03:51.92] Your plaid, I'm stripes, together we be clashin'\n[03:54.40] Here's a Tunnel banger\n[03:55.98] Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n[03:58.48] This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n[04:01.19] Slap ya like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n[04:03.64] Just so you can feel me\n[04:04.99] The same way I'mma feel this world when it kill me\n[04:07.39] Even if time stands still, I'mma still be\n[04:10.10] Underground and filthy, gotta have our Way like the Milky\n[04:13.20] Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n[04:15.08] Never got caught in the game of tag\n[04:17.57] Momma never kept a boyfriend with kids this bad\n[04:20.00] No justice, raider ruckus\n[04:22.12] Underground 'til we under ground\n[04:24.18] But y'all first motherfuckers\n[04:25.37] My thugs, throw up ya set\n[04:26.62] And shorties rub on ya breasts\n[04:27.86] Get the fuck up, outta that dress, I palm tits\n[04:30.48] You herbs get flipped like jeeps on mountain cliffs\n[04:33.26] I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talent tips\n[04:35.56] Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n[04:38.39] Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n[04:40.58] You sound like Big, you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n[04:43.45] And I bet, when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n[04:46.02] Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet into delete\n[04:48.17] Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n[04:51.02] I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay with the heat\n[04:53.75] Stay stickin' fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n[04:56.36] So toss that link, dummy, shoulda insured that link\n[04:58.84] Straight to Canal I'll praise that link, then pawn that link\n[05:01.53] You froze up, Sahdeeq says shut the fuck up\n[05:04.03] Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n[05:06.42] Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Duggan, been thuggin'\n[05:09.39] Lovin' the way we flood jewels for nothin'\n[05:11.62] Lay it over, another ambush we take over\n[05:13.73] Yo we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n[05:16.92] You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n[05:19.84] Or find your picture of your autoposy up on the web site\n[05:22.19] Yo if you ever violate my space\n[05:24.58] Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you with a fuckin' fat face\n[05:27.05] Nigga, Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom and some\n[05:30.13] Like the ghost of a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n[05:32.81] Bitches, snitches comin' out and you know who's showin' it\n[05:35.17] Like when British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n[05:37.50] Y'all niggas is seemless blends of seemless friends\n[05:39.72] Live on about the souls on a bunch of seamless ends\n[05:42.88] Collosal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Moncho\n[05:45.54] The head honcho, gettin' this money like Leonardo (Do-Do-Do-Do)\n[05:48.99] Enough substance in the roughness\n[05:50.75] Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n[05:52.89] Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow fiend\n[05:55.59] Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n[05:57.88] Pledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\n[06:01.53] Let us control and own the fuckin' area\n[06:03.47] Wildin' in your whip until you crash the whole truck up\n[06:05.83] And if you know what's good for you nigga you better get the fuck up!","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Simon Says [Remix]\n artist: Pharoahe Monch\n album: Simon Says\n duration_ms: 376173\n instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Get the fuck up!\n start_ms: 22770\n end_ms: 24760\n- text: Simon says get the fuck up!\n start_ms: 24760\n end_ms: 26180\n- text: Throw ya hands in the sky (Bo! Bo! Bo! Bo! Bo!)\n start_ms: 26180\n end_ms: 28700\n- text: Queens is in the back sipping 'gnac, y'all wassup?\n start_ms: 28700\n end_ms: 32370\n- text: Girls, rub on your titties (Yeah)\n start_ms: 32370\n end_ms: 34630\n- text: Yeah fuck it I said it rub on ya titties\n start_ms: 34630\n end_ms: 36410\n- text: New York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\n start_ms: 36410\n end_ms: 39780\n- text: In the midst of the calm, the witty\n start_ms: 39780\n end_ms: 43100\n- text: Yo shut the fuck up!\n start_ms: 43100\n end_ms: 44810\n- text: Luck said shut the fuck up!\n start_ms: 44810\n end_ms: 47130\n- text: Bitches in the back, like crack get it cut up\n start_ms: 47130\n end_ms: 49350\n- text: I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n start_ms: 49350\n end_ms: 51770\n- text: Act like a man and get cocked, smacked or fucked up\n start_ms: 51770\n end_ms: 54350\n- text: Pull the truck up, Luck you know the name\n start_ms: 54350\n end_ms: 56790\n- text: Ass out in the bleachers stay shittin' on the game\n start_ms: 56790\n end_ms: 59300\n- text: I suppose what you're spittin' is flames, cowards\n start_ms: 59300\n end_ms: 61940\n- text: Knew your crew was vaginal, I could smell the dooch powder\n start_ms: 61940\n end_ms: 64410\n- text: Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n start_ms: 64410\n end_ms: 67180\n- text: Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n start_ms: 67180\n end_ms: 69710\n- text: Stay fly 'til you air sick, now that's ill\n start_ms: 69710\n end_ms: 72560\n- text: Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n start_ms: 72560\n end_ms: 74870\n- text: What the fuck's goin' on here, just a minute now, hold up\n start_ms: 74870\n end_ms: 77800\n- text: Sinister wit hit the time I diminish him finish him, roll up\n start_ms: 77800\n end_ms: 80360\n- text: When I'm, in a, cinematography state of mind\n start_ms: 80360\n end_ms: 82930\n- text: My rap trip, rip, flip, clip, say the rhyme\n start_ms: 82930\n end_ms: 85470\n- text: Shit, I spectacular run hit spit bitches vernacular\n start_ms: 85470\n end_ms: 87560\n- text: Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the Immaculate\n start_ms: 87560\n end_ms: 90190\n- text: Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son I'll out-box ya\n start_ms: 90190\n end_ms: 92960\n- text: Ladies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n start_ms: 92960\n end_ms: 95890\n- text: Owww! Fellas pull ya cock out\n start_ms: 95890\n end_ms: 98100\n- text: On the verge to splurge verbs for third round knock out\n start_ms: 98100\n end_ms: 100530\n- text: Uh I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n start_ms: 100530\n end_ms: 103120\n- text: Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n start_ms: 103120\n end_ms: 105700\n- text: The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n start_ms: 105700\n end_ms: 108360\n- text: Separate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behave\n start_ms: 108360\n end_ms: 110880\n- text: Now, drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n start_ms: 110880\n end_ms: 113560\n- text: Figure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun salute\n start_ms: 113560\n end_ms: 115960\n- text: That's seven shots for 2pac\n start_ms: 115960\n end_ms: 117470\n- text: Seven for Biggie Smalls\n start_ms: 117470\n end_ms: 118840\n- text: Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n start_ms: 118840\n end_ms: 121020\n- text: How's that, fat action packed rap remain tame\n start_ms: 121020\n end_ms: 123910\n- text: Pharoahe fuckin' Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n start_ms: 123910\n end_ms: 127510\n- text: Yo yo get the fuck up!\n start_ms: 127510\n end_ms: 129250\n- text: Funk Doctor Spock said get the fuck up!\n start_ms: 129250\n end_ms: 131840\n- text: I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\n start_ms: 131840\n end_ms: 134210\n- text: I leave a nigga hangin' like ya mom's muffler\n start_ms: 134210\n end_ms: 136930\n- text: Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n start_ms: 136930\n end_ms: 139170\n- text: Respect like The Fonz, you see the collar up\n start_ms: 139170\n end_ms: 141870\n- text: I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n start_ms: 141870\n end_ms: 144450\n- text: I kamikaze ya town off a Arab bus\n start_ms: 144450\n end_ms: 147010\n- text: Karat cut, yeah mami pull over\n start_ms: 147010\n end_ms: 149670\n- text: I bend ya pussy like for years I knew yoga\n start_ms: 149670\n end_ms: 152030\n- text: I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\n start_ms: 152030\n end_ms: 154720\n- text: Off Hennesy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n start_ms: 154720\n end_ms: 157690\n- text: I need fifty feet when my performance starts\n start_ms: 157690\n end_ms: 159910\n- text: I push a armored car wit enormous hearts\n start_ms: 159910\n end_ms: 162670\n- text: Nineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\n start_ms: 162670\n end_ms: 165040\n- text: Doc turnin' dark off a warning shot\n start_ms: 165040\n end_ms: 167540\n- text: Drive off and pop, six in ya hood\n start_ms: 167540\n end_ms: 170070\n- text: (Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods)\n start_ms: 170070\n end_ms: 172920\n- text: Yea-yeah my nigga, one rhyme and you fold over\n start_ms: 172920\n end_ms: 175480\n- text: I'm hot-headed 'cause I walk with cold shoulders\n start_ms: 175480\n end_ms: 178920\n- text: Yeah get the fuck up!\n start_ms: 178920\n end_ms: 181550\n- text: Simon says get the fuck up!\n start_ms: 181550\n end_ms: 183660\n- text: Throw ya hands in the sky (Bo! Bo! Bo! Bo! Bo!)\n start_ms: 183660\n end_ms: 185790\n- text: Jersey in the back, jackin' cars, now wassup?\n start_ms: 185790\n end_ms: 189370\n- text: Girls, rub on ya titties\n start_ms: 189370\n end_ms: 191020\n- text: (Yeah) That's right I said it, rub on ya titties\n start_ms: 191020\n end_ms: 193500\n- text: Brick City, gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\n start_ms: 193500\n end_ms: 196620\n- text: In the midst of the calm, the witty\n start_ms: 196620\n end_ms: 198630\n- text: Yo yo get the fuck up!\n start_ms: 198630\n end_ms: 201490\n- text: Yo yeah I said it, get the fuck up!\n start_ms: 201490\n end_ms: 203980\n- text: Walk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\n start_ms: 203980\n end_ms: 206220\n- text: Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n start_ms: 206220\n end_ms: 208830\n- text: Ya know my name, and Pharoahe Monch, why we came what?\n start_ms: 208830\n end_ms: 211550\n- text: We off the chain, plus we plottin' on the game, what?\n start_ms: 211550\n end_ms: 214250\n- text: Know ya role, by the way tuck ya gold\n start_ms: 214250\n end_ms: 216690\n- text: And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n start_ms: 216690\n end_ms: 218970\n- text: Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n start_ms: 218970\n end_ms: 222110\n- text: Shootin' in the sky tryin' to blast sun\n start_ms: 222110\n end_ms: 224360\n- text: Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\n start_ms: 224360\n end_ms: 227020\n- text: Fifty cent flashin' they hate us with a passion\n start_ms: 227020\n end_ms: 229550\n- text: Mashin', still fresh in three-day old fashion\n start_ms: 229550\n end_ms: 231920\n- text: Your plaid, I'm stripes, together we be clashin'\n start_ms: 231920\n end_ms: 234400\n- text: Here's a Tunnel banger\n start_ms: 234400\n end_ms: 235980\n- text: Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n start_ms: 235980\n end_ms: 238480\n- text: This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n start_ms: 238480\n end_ms: 241190\n- text: Slap ya like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n start_ms: 241190\n end_ms: 243640\n- text: Just so you can feel me\n start_ms: 243640\n end_ms: 244990\n- text: The same way I'mma feel this world when it kill me\n start_ms: 244990\n end_ms: 247390\n- text: Even if time stands still, I'mma still be\n start_ms: 247390\n end_ms: 250100\n- text: Underground and filthy, gotta have our Way like the Milky\n start_ms: 250100\n end_ms: 253200\n- text: Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n start_ms: 253200\n end_ms: 255080\n- text: Never got caught in the game of tag\n start_ms: 255080\n end_ms: 257570\n- text: Momma never kept a boyfriend with kids this bad\n start_ms: 257570\n end_ms: 260000\n- text: No justice, raider ruckus\n start_ms: 260000\n end_ms: 262120\n- text: Underground 'til we under ground\n start_ms: 262120\n end_ms: 264180\n- text: But y'all first motherfuckers\n start_ms: 264180\n end_ms: 265370\n- text: My thugs, throw up ya set\n start_ms: 265370\n end_ms: 266620\n- text: And shorties rub on ya breasts\n start_ms: 266620\n end_ms: 267860\n- text: Get the fuck up, outta that dress, I palm tits\n start_ms: 267860\n end_ms: 270480\n- text: You herbs get flipped like jeeps on mountain cliffs\n start_ms: 270480\n end_ms: 273260\n- text: I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talent tips\n start_ms: 273260\n end_ms: 275560\n- text: Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n start_ms: 275560\n end_ms: 278390\n- text: Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n start_ms: 278390\n end_ms: 280580\n- text: You sound like Big, you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n start_ms: 280580\n end_ms: 283450\n- text: And I bet, when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n start_ms: 283450\n end_ms: 286020\n- text: Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet into delete\n start_ms: 286020\n end_ms: 288170\n- text: Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n start_ms: 288170\n end_ms: 291020\n- text: I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay with the heat\n start_ms: 291020\n end_ms: 293750\n- text: Stay stickin' fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n start_ms: 293750\n end_ms: 296360\n- text: So toss that link, dummy, shoulda insured that link\n start_ms: 296360\n end_ms: 298840\n- text: Straight to Canal I'll praise that link, then pawn that link\n start_ms: 298840\n end_ms: 301530\n- text: You froze up, Sahdeeq says shut the fuck up\n start_ms: 301530\n end_ms: 304030\n- text: Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n start_ms: 304030\n end_ms: 306420\n- text: Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Duggan, been thuggin'\n start_ms: 306420\n end_ms: 309390\n- text: Lovin' the way we flood jewels for nothin'\n start_ms: 309390\n end_ms: 311620\n- text: Lay it over, another ambush we take over\n start_ms: 311620\n end_ms: 313730\n- text: Yo we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n start_ms: 313730\n end_ms: 316920\n- text: You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n start_ms: 316920\n end_ms: 319840\n- text: Or find your picture of your autoposy up on the web site\n start_ms: 319840\n end_ms: 322190\n- text: Yo if you ever violate my space\n start_ms: 322190\n end_ms: 324580\n- text: Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you with a fuckin' fat face\n start_ms: 324580\n end_ms: 327050\n- text: Nigga, Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom and some\n start_ms: 327050\n end_ms: 330130\n- text: Like the ghost of a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n start_ms: 330130\n end_ms: 332810\n- text: Bitches, snitches comin' out and you know who's showin' it\n start_ms: 332810\n end_ms: 335170\n- text: Like when British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n start_ms: 335170\n end_ms: 337500\n- text: Y'all niggas is seemless blends of seemless friends\n start_ms: 337500\n end_ms: 339720\n- text: Live on about the souls on a bunch of seamless ends\n start_ms: 339720\n end_ms: 342880\n- text: Collosal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Moncho\n start_ms: 342880\n end_ms: 345540\n- text: The head honcho, gettin' this money like Leonardo (Do-Do-Do-Do)\n start_ms: 345540\n end_ms: 348990\n- text: Enough substance in the roughness\n start_ms: 348990\n end_ms: 350750\n- text: Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n start_ms: 350750\n end_ms: 352890\n- text: Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow fiend\n start_ms: 352890\n end_ms: 355590\n- text: Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n start_ms: 355590\n end_ms: 357880\n- text: Pledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\n start_ms: 357880\n end_ms: 361530\n- text: Let us control and own the fuckin' area\n start_ms: 361530\n end_ms: 363470\n- text: Wildin' in your whip until you crash the whole truck up\n start_ms: 363470\n end_ms: 365830\n- text: And if you know what's good for you nigga you better get the fuck up!\n start_ms: 365830\nplain: |-\n Get the fuck up!\n Simon says get the fuck up!\n Throw ya hands in the sky (Bo! Bo! Bo! Bo! Bo!)\n Queens is in the back sipping 'gnac, y'all wassup?\n Girls, rub on your titties (Yeah)\n Yeah fuck it I said it rub on ya titties\n New York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\n In the midst of the calm, the witty\n Yo shut the fuck up!\n Luck said shut the fuck up!\n Bitches in the back, like crack get it cut up\n I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n Act like a man and get cocked, smacked or fucked up\n Pull the truck up, Luck you know the name\n Ass out in the bleachers stay shittin' on the game\n I suppose what you're spittin' is flames, cowards\n Knew your crew was vaginal, I could smell the dooch powder\n Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n Stay fly 'til you air sick, now that's ill\n Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n What the fuck's goin' on here, just a minute now, hold up\n Sinister wit hit the time I diminish him finish him, roll up\n When I'm, in a, cinematography state of mind\n My rap trip, rip, flip, clip, say the rhyme\n Shit, I spectacular run hit spit bitches vernacular\n Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the Immaculate\n Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son I'll out-box ya\n Ladies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n Owww! Fellas pull ya cock out\n On the verge to splurge verbs for third round knock out\n Uh I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n Separate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behave\n Now, drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n Figure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun salute\n That's seven shots for 2pac\n Seven for Biggie Smalls\n Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n How's that, fat action packed rap remain tame\n Pharoahe fuckin' Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n Yo yo get the fuck up!\n Funk Doctor Spock said get the fuck up!\n I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\n I leave a nigga hangin' like ya mom's muffler\n Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n Respect like The Fonz, you see the collar up\n I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n I kamikaze ya town off a Arab bus\n Karat cut, yeah mami pull over\n I bend ya pussy like for years I knew yoga\n I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\n Off Hennesy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n I need fifty feet when my performance starts\n I push a armored car wit enormous hearts\n Nineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\n Doc turnin' dark off a warning shot\n Drive off and pop, six in ya hood\n (Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods)\n Yea-yeah my nigga, one rhyme and you fold over\n I'm hot-headed 'cause I walk with cold shoulders\n Yeah get the fuck up!\n Simon says get the fuck up!\n Throw ya hands in the sky (Bo! Bo! Bo! Bo! Bo!)\n Jersey in the back, jackin' cars, now wassup?\n Girls, rub on ya titties\n (Yeah) That's right I said it, rub on ya titties\n Brick City, gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\n In the midst of the calm, the witty\n Yo yo get the fuck up!\n Yo yeah I said it, get the fuck up!\n Walk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\n Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n Ya know my name, and Pharoahe Monch, why we came what?\n We off the chain, plus we plottin' on the game, what?\n Know ya role, by the way tuck ya gold\n And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n Shootin' in the sky tryin' to blast sun\n Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\n Fifty cent flashin' they hate us with a passion\n Mashin', still fresh in three-day old fashion\n Your plaid, I'm stripes, together we be clashin'\n Here's a Tunnel banger\n Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n Slap ya like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n Just so you can feel me\n The same way I'mma feel this world when it kill me\n Even if time stands still, I'mma still be\n Underground and filthy, gotta have our Way like the Milky\n Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n Never got caught in the game of tag\n Momma never kept a boyfriend with kids this bad\n No justice, raider ruckus\n Underground 'til we under ground\n But y'all first motherfuckers\n My thugs, throw up ya set\n And shorties rub on ya breasts\n Get the fuck up, outta that dress, I palm tits\n You herbs get flipped like jeeps on mountain cliffs\n I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talent tips\n Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n You sound like Big, you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n And I bet, when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet into delete\n Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay with the heat\n Stay stickin' fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n So toss that link, dummy, shoulda insured that link\n Straight to Canal I'll praise that link, then pawn that link\n You froze up, Sahdeeq says shut the fuck up\n Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Duggan, been thuggin'\n Lovin' the way we flood jewels for nothin'\n Lay it over, another ambush we take over\n Yo we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n Or find your picture of your autoposy up on the web site\n Yo if you ever violate my space\n Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you with a fuckin' fat face\n Nigga, Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom and some\n Like the ghost of a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n Bitches, snitches comin' out and you know who's showin' it\n Like when British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n Y'all niggas is seemless blends of seemless friends\n Live on about the souls on a bunch of seamless ends\n Collosal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Moncho\n The head honcho, gettin' this money like Leonardo (Do-Do-Do-Do)\n Enough substance in the roughness\n Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow fiend\n Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n Pledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\n Let us control and own the fuckin' area\n Wildin' in your whip until you crash the whole truck up\n And if you know what's good for you nigga you better get the fuck up!\n"},{"id":24425057,"name":"Simon Says [Remix]","trackName":"Simon Says [Remix]","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch","albumName":"Simon Says Get the **** up","duration":219.985125,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"GET THE FUCK UP!\nSimon says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\nThrow ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\nQueens is in the back sippin 'Gnac, y'all wassup?\nGirls, rub on your titties (yeah)\nYeah fuck it I said it rub on ya titties\nNew York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\nIn the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n(Lady Luck)\nYo SHUT THE FUCK UP!\nLuck said \"SHUT THE FUCK UP!\"\nBitches in the back, like crack get it cut up\nI speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\nAct like a man and get cocked, smacked or fucked up\nPull the truck up, Luck you know the name\nAssed out in the bleachers stay shittin on the game\nI suppose what you're spittin is flames, cowards\nKnow your crew was vaginal, I could smell the dooch powder\nSummer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\nCome four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\nStay fly till you air sick, now that's ill\nTwo choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n\n(Pharoahe Monch)\nWHAT THE FUCK'S goin on here, just a minute now, hold up\nSinister wit hit the time I diminish him finish him, roll up\nWhen I'm,? cinematography state of mind\nMy rap trip, rip, clip, say the rhyme\nShit, I spectacular run hit spit bitches venacular\nMiraculous rhyme flow, back track to the Immaculate\nBinaca blast nigga that's fast, son I'll box ya\nLadies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\nOWWW! Fellas pull ya cock out\nOn the verge to splurge verbs for third round knock out\nUh I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\nDust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\nThe mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\nSeparate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behave\nNow, drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\nFigure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun salute\nThat's seven shots for Tupac\nSeven for Biggie Smalls\nSeven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\nHow's that, fat action packed rap remain tame\nPharoahe fuckin Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n\n(Redman)\nYo yo get the fuck up\nFunk Doctor Spot said \"Get the fuck up\"\nI got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\nI leave a nigga hangin like ya mom's muffler\nSnuff her, then my boys follow up\nRespect like the Fonze, you see the collar up\nI spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\nI kamikaze ya town off a Arab bus\nKarat cut, yeah mami pull over\nI bend ya pussy like for years I knew yoga\nI'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\nOff Hennesy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\nI need fifty feet when my performance starts\nI push a armored car wit? Lauren Harts?\nNineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\nDoc turnin dark off a warning shot\nDrive off and pop, six in ya hood\n(Monch) Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\nYea-yeah my nigga, one rhyme you fold over\nI'm hot-headed cuz I walk wit cold shoulders\nYeah GET THE FUCK UP!\n\n(Pharoahe Monch)\nSimon Says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\nThrow ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n\n(Redman)\nJersey in the back jackin cars now wassup!\nGirls, rub on ya titties\n(Yeah) That's right I said it, rub on ya titties\nBrick City gritty committee\nPity the fool that act shitty, in the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n(Method Man)\nYo yo get the fuck up\nYo yeah I said it, get the fuck up\nWalk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\nSeek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\nYa know my name, and Pharoahe Moch, why we came what?\nWe off the chain, plus we plottin on the chain, what?\nKnow ya role, by the way tuck ya gold\nAnd you and your mic can ease on down the road\nAssholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\nShootin in the sky tryin to blast sun\nZero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\nFifty cent flashin they hate us wit a passion\nMashin, still fresh in three-day old fashion\nYour plaid, I'm stripes, together we be flashin\nHere's a Tunnel banger\nWu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\nThis gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\nSlap ya like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\nJust so you can feel me\nThe same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\nEven if time stands still, I'ma still be\nUnderground and filthy, gotta have our Way like the Milky\nInnocent until I'm proven guilty\nNever got caught in the game of tag\nMomma never kept a boyfriend wit kids this bad\nNo justice, RAIDER RUCKUS!\nUnderground till we under ground\nBut y'all first MOTHAFUCKERS!\n\n(Shabaam Sahdeeq)\nMy thugs, throw up ya set\nAnd shorties rub on ya breasts\nGET THE FUCK UP, outta that dress, I palm tits\nYou herbs get flipped like jeeps on mountain cliffs\nI'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talent tips\nDouble-S, double the threat, double your bet\nDouble up on that cash if you decide to invest\nYou sound like Big, you sound like Jay, you sound like D\nAnd I bet, when I go plat, you'll sound like me\nShabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet into delete\nY'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\nI stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay wit the heat\nStay stickin fools like you for the rocks that gleam\nSo toss that link, dummy, shoulda insured that link\nStraight to Canal I'll praise that link, then pawn that link\nYou froze up, Sahdeeq says \"Shut the fuck up!\"\nPunk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n\n(Busta Rhymes)\nBusta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Dugan\nBeen thuggin, lovin the way we flood jewels for nothin\nLay it over, another ambush we take over\nYo we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\nYou better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\nOr find your picture of your autoposy up on the web site\nYo if you ever violate my space\nFuck a fat lip, I'll leave you wit a fuckin fat face\nNigga, Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom ansom\nLike the ghost in a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\nBitches, snitches comin out and you know who's showin it\nLike when British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\nY'all niggas is seemless blends of seemless friends\nLive on about? on a bunch of seamless ends\nCollosal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Moncho\nThe head honcho, gettin this money like Leonardo (do do do)\nEnough substance in the roughness\nNow watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\nNow let me clear the smoke screen you blow fiend\nLive nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\nPledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\nLet us control and own the fuckin area\nWildin in your whip until your crash the whole truck up\nAnd if you know what's good for you nigga you better GET THE FUCK UP!\nHehehe","syncedLyrics":"[00:23.14] GET THE FUCK UP!\n[00:24.82] Simon says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n[00:26.67] Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n[00:29.11] Queens is in the back sippin 'Gnac, y'all wassup?\n[00:32.03] Girls, rub on your titties (yeah)\n[00:35.12] Yeah fuck it I said it rub on ya titties\n[00:37.23] New York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\n[00:39.41] In the midst of the calm, the witty\n[00:42.74] (Lady Luck)\n[00:44.98] Yo SHUT THE FUCK UP!\n[00:45.70] Luck said \"SHUT THE FUCK UP!\"\n[00:47.18] Bitches in the back, like crack get it cut up\n[00:49.78] I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n[00:52.35] Act like a man and get cocked, smacked or fucked up\n[00:54.94] Pull the truck up, Luck you know the name\n[00:57.49] Assed out in the bleachers stay shittin on the game\n[00:59.84] I suppose what you're spittin is flames, cowards\n[01:02.31] Know your crew was vaginal, I could smell the dooch powder\n[01:05.09] Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n[01:07.65] Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n[01:10.32] Stay fly till you air sick, now that's ill\n[01:12.82] Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n[01:15.24] (Pharoahe Monch)\n[01:16.08] WHAT THE FUCK'S goin on here, just a minute now, hold up\n[01:18.14] Sinister wit hit the time I diminish him finish him, roll up\n[01:20.58] When I'm,? cinematography state of mind\n[01:24.04] My rap trip, rip, clip, say the rhyme\n[01:26.44] Shit, I spectacular run hit spit bitches venacular\n[01:28.49] Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the Immaculate\n[01:30.99] Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son I'll box ya\n[01:33.75] Ladies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n[01:36.84] OWWW! Fellas pull ya cock out\n[01:38.71] On the verge to splurge verbs for third round knock out\n[01:41.53] Uh I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n[01:43.96] Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n[01:46.45] The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n[01:49.05] Separate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behave\n[01:51.30] Now, drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n[01:54.26] Figure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun salute\n[01:56.60] That's seven shots for Tupac\n[01:58.29] Seven for Biggie Smalls\n[01:59.26] Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n[02:01.88] How's that, fat action packed rap remain tame\n[02:04.17] Pharoahe fuckin Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n[02:07.02] (Redman)\n[02:08.32] Yo yo get the fuck up\n[02:10.07] Funk Doctor Spot said \"Get the fuck up\"\n[02:12.16] I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\n[02:14.94] I leave a nigga hangin like ya mom's muffler\n[02:17.56] Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n[02:19.91] Respect like the Fonze, you see the collar up\n[02:22.56] I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n[02:25.08] I kamikaze ya town off a Arab bus\n[02:27.56] Karat cut, yeah mami pull over\n[02:29.95] I bend ya pussy like for years I knew yoga\n[02:32.43] I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\n[02:34.94] Off Hennesy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n[02:37.90] I need fifty feet when my performance starts\n[02:40.38] I push a armored car wit? Lauren Harts?\n[02:43.04] Nineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\n[02:45.49] Doc turnin dark off a warning shot\n[02:48.23] Drive off and pop, six in ya hood\n[02:50.78] (Monch) Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\n[02:53.31] Yea-yeah my nigga, one rhyme you fold over\n[02:55.76] I'm hot-headed cuz I walk wit cold shoulders\n[02:58.55] Yeah GET THE FUCK UP!\n[03:01.26] (Pharoahe Monch)\n[03:02.02] Simon Says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n[03:03.75] Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n[03:05.83] (Redman)\n[03:06.42] Jersey in the back jackin cars now wassup!\n[03:08.74] Girls, rub on ya titties\n[03:11.70] (Yeah) That's right I said it, rub on ya titties\n[03:13.80] Brick City gritty committee\n[03:15.61] Pity the fool that act shitty, in the midst of the calm, the witty\n[03:19.02] (Method Man)\n[03:19.63] Yo yo get the fuck up\n[03:21.59] Yo yeah I said it, get the fuck up\n[03:24.08] Walk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\n[03:26.87] Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n[03:29.45] Ya know my name, and Pharoahe Moch, why we came what?\n[03:32.00] We off the chain, plus we plottin on the chain, what?\n[03:34.83] Know ya role, by the way tuck ya gold\n[03:37.24] And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n[03:39.56] Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n[03:42.89] Shootin in the sky tryin to blast sun\n[03:45.08] Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\n[03:47.40] Fifty cent flashin they hate us wit a passion\n[03:50.09] Mashin, still fresh in three-day old fashion\n[03:52.36] Your plaid, I'm stripes, together we be flashin\n[03:55.04] Here's a Tunnel banger\n[03:56.79] Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n[03:58.69] This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n[04:01.83] Slap ya like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n[04:04.30] Just so you can feel me\n[04:05.86] The same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\n[04:08.09] Even if time stands still, I'ma still be\n[04:10.67] Underground and filthy, gotta have our Way like the Milky\n[04:13.79] Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n[04:15.84] Never got caught in the game of tag\n[04:18.20] Momma never kept a boyfriend wit kids this bad\n[04:20.51] No justice, RAIDER RUCKUS!\n[04:22.79] Underground till we under ground\n[04:24.31] But y'all first MOTHAFUCKERS!\n[04:25.82] (Shabaam Sahdeeq)\n[04:26.30] My thugs, throw up ya set\n[04:27.43] And shorties rub on ya breasts\n[04:28.75] GET THE FUCK UP, outta that dress, I palm tits\n[04:31.00] You herbs get flipped like jeeps on mountain cliffs\n[04:33.62] I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talent tips\n[04:36.12] Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n[04:38.65] Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n[04:41.52] You sound like Big, you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n[04:44.66] And I bet, when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n[04:46.30] Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet into delete\n[04:48.99] Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n[04:51.55] I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay wit the heat\n[04:54.18] Stay stickin fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n[04:57.09] So toss that link, dummy, shoulda insured that link\n[04:59.45] Straight to Canal I'll praise that link, then pawn that link\n[05:01.64] You froze up, Sahdeeq says \"Shut the fuck up!\"\n[05:04.64] Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n[05:06.84] (Busta Rhymes)\n[05:07.34] Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Dugan\n[05:09.28] Been thuggin, lovin the way we flood jewels for nothin\n[05:12.24] Lay it over, another ambush we take over\n[05:14.71] Yo we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n[05:17.77] You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n[05:20.12] Or find your picture of your autoposy up on the web site\n[05:22.82] Yo if you ever violate my space\n[05:25.14] Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you wit a fuckin fat face\n[05:27.96] Nigga, Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom ansom\n[05:30.57] Like the ghost in a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n[05:33.39] Bitches, snitches comin out and you know who's showin it\n[05:35.98] Like when British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n[05:38.02] Y'all niggas is seemless blends of seemless friends\n[05:40.52] Live on about? on a bunch of seamless ends\n[05:43.18] Collosal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Moncho\n[05:45.78] The head honcho, gettin this money like Leonardo (do do do)\n[05:49.00] Enough substance in the roughness\n[05:51.20] Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n[05:53.96] Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow fiend\n[05:56.13] Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n[05:58.76] Pledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\n[06:02.02] Let us control and own the fuckin area\n[06:03.95] Wildin in your whip until your crash the whole truck up\n[06:06.65] And if you know what's good for you nigga you better GET THE FUCK UP!\n[06:09.28] Hehehe\n[06:11.47] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Simon Says [Remix]\n artist: Pharoahe Monch\n album: Simon Says Get the **** up\n duration_ms: 219985\n instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: GET THE FUCK UP!\n start_ms: 23140\n end_ms: 24820\n- text: Simon says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n start_ms: 24820\n end_ms: 26670\n- text: Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n start_ms: 26670\n end_ms: 29110\n- text: Queens is in the back sippin 'Gnac, y'all wassup?\n start_ms: 29110\n end_ms: 32030\n- text: Girls, rub on your titties (yeah)\n start_ms: 32030\n end_ms: 35120\n- text: Yeah fuck it I said it rub on ya titties\n start_ms: 35120\n end_ms: 37230\n- text: New York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\n start_ms: 37230\n end_ms: 39410\n- text: In the midst of the calm, the witty\n start_ms: 39410\n end_ms: 42740\n- text: (Lady Luck)\n start_ms: 42740\n end_ms: 44980\n- text: Yo SHUT THE FUCK UP!\n start_ms: 44980\n end_ms: 45700\n- text: Luck said \"SHUT THE FUCK UP!\"\n start_ms: 45700\n end_ms: 47180\n- text: Bitches in the back, like crack get it cut up\n start_ms: 47180\n end_ms: 49780\n- text: I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n start_ms: 49780\n end_ms: 52350\n- text: Act like a man and get cocked, smacked or fucked up\n start_ms: 52350\n end_ms: 54940\n- text: Pull the truck up, Luck you know the name\n start_ms: 54940\n end_ms: 57490\n- text: Assed out in the bleachers stay shittin on the game\n start_ms: 57490\n end_ms: 59840\n- text: I suppose what you're spittin is flames, cowards\n start_ms: 59840\n end_ms: 62310\n- text: Know your crew was vaginal, I could smell the dooch powder\n start_ms: 62310\n end_ms: 65090\n- text: Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n start_ms: 65090\n end_ms: 67650\n- text: Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n start_ms: 67650\n end_ms: 70320\n- text: Stay fly till you air sick, now that's ill\n start_ms: 70320\n end_ms: 72820\n- text: Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n start_ms: 72820\n end_ms: 75240\n- text: (Pharoahe Monch)\n start_ms: 75240\n end_ms: 76080\n- text: WHAT THE FUCK'S goin on here, just a minute now, hold up\n start_ms: 76080\n end_ms: 78140\n- text: Sinister wit hit the time I diminish him finish him, roll up\n start_ms: 78140\n end_ms: 80580\n- text: When I'm,? cinematography state of mind\n start_ms: 80580\n end_ms: 84040\n- text: My rap trip, rip, clip, say the rhyme\n start_ms: 84040\n end_ms: 86440\n- text: Shit, I spectacular run hit spit bitches venacular\n start_ms: 86440\n end_ms: 88490\n- text: Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the Immaculate\n start_ms: 88490\n end_ms: 90990\n- text: Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son I'll box ya\n start_ms: 90990\n end_ms: 93750\n- text: Ladies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n start_ms: 93750\n end_ms: 96840\n- text: OWWW! Fellas pull ya cock out\n start_ms: 96840\n end_ms: 98710\n- text: On the verge to splurge verbs for third round knock out\n start_ms: 98710\n end_ms: 101530\n- text: Uh I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n start_ms: 101530\n end_ms: 103960\n- text: Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n start_ms: 103960\n end_ms: 106450\n- text: The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n start_ms: 106450\n end_ms: 109050\n- text: Separate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behave\n start_ms: 109050\n end_ms: 111300\n- text: Now, drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n start_ms: 111300\n end_ms: 114260\n- text: Figure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun salute\n start_ms: 114260\n end_ms: 116600\n- text: That's seven shots for Tupac\n start_ms: 116600\n end_ms: 118290\n- text: Seven for Biggie Smalls\n start_ms: 118290\n end_ms: 119260\n- text: Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n start_ms: 119260\n end_ms: 121880\n- text: How's that, fat action packed rap remain tame\n start_ms: 121880\n end_ms: 124170\n- text: Pharoahe fuckin Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n start_ms: 124170\n end_ms: 127020\n- text: (Redman)\n start_ms: 127020\n end_ms: 128320\n- text: Yo yo get the fuck up\n start_ms: 128320\n end_ms: 130070\n- text: Funk Doctor Spot said \"Get the fuck up\"\n start_ms: 130070\n end_ms: 132160\n- text: I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\n start_ms: 132160\n end_ms: 134940\n- text: I leave a nigga hangin like ya mom's muffler\n start_ms: 134940\n end_ms: 137560\n- text: Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n start_ms: 137560\n end_ms: 139910\n- text: Respect like the Fonze, you see the collar up\n start_ms: 139910\n end_ms: 142560\n- text: I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n start_ms: 142560\n end_ms: 145080\n- text: I kamikaze ya town off a Arab bus\n start_ms: 145080\n end_ms: 147560\n- text: Karat cut, yeah mami pull over\n start_ms: 147560\n end_ms: 149950\n- text: I bend ya pussy like for years I knew yoga\n start_ms: 149950\n end_ms: 152430\n- text: I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\n start_ms: 152430\n end_ms: 154940\n- text: Off Hennesy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n start_ms: 154940\n end_ms: 157900\n- text: I need fifty feet when my performance starts\n start_ms: 157900\n end_ms: 160380\n- text: I push a armored car wit? Lauren Harts?\n start_ms: 160380\n end_ms: 163040\n- text: Nineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\n start_ms: 163040\n end_ms: 165490\n- text: Doc turnin dark off a warning shot\n start_ms: 165490\n end_ms: 168230\n- text: Drive off and pop, six in ya hood\n start_ms: 168230\n end_ms: 170780\n- text: (Monch) Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\n start_ms: 170780\n end_ms: 173310\n- text: Yea-yeah my nigga, one rhyme you fold over\n start_ms: 173310\n end_ms: 175760\n- text: I'm hot-headed cuz I walk wit cold shoulders\n start_ms: 175760\n end_ms: 178550\n- text: Yeah GET THE FUCK UP!\n start_ms: 178550\n end_ms: 181260\n- text: (Pharoahe Monch)\n start_ms: 181260\n end_ms: 182020\n- text: Simon Says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n start_ms: 182020\n end_ms: 183750\n- text: Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n start_ms: 183750\n end_ms: 185830\n- text: (Redman)\n start_ms: 185830\n end_ms: 186420\n- text: Jersey in the back jackin cars now wassup!\n start_ms: 186420\n end_ms: 188740\n- text: Girls, rub on ya titties\n start_ms: 188740\n end_ms: 191700\n- text: (Yeah) That's right I said it, rub on ya titties\n start_ms: 191700\n end_ms: 193800\n- text: Brick City gritty committee\n start_ms: 193800\n end_ms: 195610\n- text: Pity the fool that act shitty, in the midst of the calm, the witty\n start_ms: 195610\n end_ms: 199020\n- text: (Method Man)\n start_ms: 199020\n end_ms: 199630\n- text: Yo yo get the fuck up\n start_ms: 199630\n end_ms: 201590\n- text: Yo yeah I said it, get the fuck up\n start_ms: 201590\n end_ms: 204080\n- text: Walk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\n start_ms: 204080\n end_ms: 206870\n- text: Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n start_ms: 206870\n end_ms: 209450\n- text: Ya know my name, and Pharoahe Moch, why we came what?\n start_ms: 209450\n end_ms: 212000\n- text: We off the chain, plus we plottin on the chain, what?\n start_ms: 212000\n end_ms: 214830\n- text: Know ya role, by the way tuck ya gold\n start_ms: 214830\n end_ms: 217240\n- text: And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n start_ms: 217240\n end_ms: 219560\n- text: Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n start_ms: 219560\n end_ms: 222890\n- text: Shootin in the sky tryin to blast sun\n start_ms: 222890\n end_ms: 225080\n- text: Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\n start_ms: 225080\n end_ms: 227400\n- text: Fifty cent flashin they hate us wit a passion\n start_ms: 227400\n end_ms: 230090\n- text: Mashin, still fresh in three-day old fashion\n start_ms: 230090\n end_ms: 232360\n- text: Your plaid, I'm stripes, together we be flashin\n start_ms: 232360\n end_ms: 235040\n- text: Here's a Tunnel banger\n start_ms: 235040\n end_ms: 236790\n- text: Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n start_ms: 236790\n end_ms: 238690\n- text: This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n start_ms: 238690\n end_ms: 241830\n- text: Slap ya like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n start_ms: 241830\n end_ms: 244300\n- text: Just so you can feel me\n start_ms: 244300\n end_ms: 245860\n- text: The same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\n start_ms: 245860\n end_ms: 248090\n- text: Even if time stands still, I'ma still be\n start_ms: 248090\n end_ms: 250670\n- text: Underground and filthy, gotta have our Way like the Milky\n start_ms: 250670\n end_ms: 253790\n- text: Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n start_ms: 253790\n end_ms: 255840\n- text: Never got caught in the game of tag\n start_ms: 255840\n end_ms: 258200\n- text: Momma never kept a boyfriend wit kids this bad\n start_ms: 258200\n end_ms: 260510\n- text: No justice, RAIDER RUCKUS!\n start_ms: 260510\n end_ms: 262790\n- text: Underground till we under ground\n start_ms: 262790\n end_ms: 264310\n- text: But y'all first MOTHAFUCKERS!\n start_ms: 264310\n end_ms: 265820\n- text: (Shabaam Sahdeeq)\n start_ms: 265820\n end_ms: 266300\n- text: My thugs, throw up ya set\n start_ms: 266300\n end_ms: 267430\n- text: And shorties rub on ya breasts\n start_ms: 267430\n end_ms: 268750\n- text: GET THE FUCK UP, outta that dress, I palm tits\n start_ms: 268750\n end_ms: 271000\n- text: You herbs get flipped like jeeps on mountain cliffs\n start_ms: 271000\n end_ms: 273620\n- text: I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talent tips\n start_ms: 273620\n end_ms: 276120\n- text: Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n start_ms: 276120\n end_ms: 278650\n- text: Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n start_ms: 278650\n end_ms: 281520\n- text: You sound like Big, you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n start_ms: 281520\n end_ms: 284660\n- text: And I bet, when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n start_ms: 284660\n end_ms: 286300\n- text: Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet into delete\n start_ms: 286300\n end_ms: 288990\n- text: Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n start_ms: 288990\n end_ms: 291550\n- text: I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay wit the heat\n start_ms: 291550\n end_ms: 294180\n- text: Stay stickin fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n start_ms: 294180\n end_ms: 297090\n- text: So toss that link, dummy, shoulda insured that link\n start_ms: 297090\n end_ms: 299450\n- text: Straight to Canal I'll praise that link, then pawn that link\n start_ms: 299450\n end_ms: 301640\n- text: You froze up, Sahdeeq says \"Shut the fuck up!\"\n start_ms: 301640\n end_ms: 304640\n- text: Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n start_ms: 304640\n end_ms: 306840\n- text: (Busta Rhymes)\n start_ms: 306840\n end_ms: 307340\n- text: Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Dugan\n start_ms: 307340\n end_ms: 309280\n- text: Been thuggin, lovin the way we flood jewels for nothin\n start_ms: 309280\n end_ms: 312240\n- text: Lay it over, another ambush we take over\n start_ms: 312240\n end_ms: 314710\n- text: Yo we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n start_ms: 314710\n end_ms: 317770\n- text: You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n start_ms: 317770\n end_ms: 320120\n- text: Or find your picture of your autoposy up on the web site\n start_ms: 320120\n end_ms: 322820\n- text: Yo if you ever violate my space\n start_ms: 322820\n end_ms: 325140\n- text: Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you wit a fuckin fat face\n start_ms: 325140\n end_ms: 327960\n- text: Nigga, Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom ansom\n start_ms: 327960\n end_ms: 330570\n- text: Like the ghost in a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n start_ms: 330570\n end_ms: 333390\n- text: Bitches, snitches comin out and you know who's showin it\n start_ms: 333390\n end_ms: 335980\n- text: Like when British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n start_ms: 335980\n end_ms: 338020\n- text: Y'all niggas is seemless blends of seemless friends\n start_ms: 338020\n end_ms: 340520\n- text: Live on about? on a bunch of seamless ends\n start_ms: 340520\n end_ms: 343180\n- text: Collosal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Moncho\n start_ms: 343180\n end_ms: 345780\n- text: The head honcho, gettin this money like Leonardo (do do do)\n start_ms: 345780\n end_ms: 349000\n- text: Enough substance in the roughness\n start_ms: 349000\n end_ms: 351200\n- text: Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n start_ms: 351200\n end_ms: 353960\n- text: Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow fiend\n start_ms: 353960\n end_ms: 356130\n- text: Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n start_ms: 356130\n end_ms: 358760\n- text: Pledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\n start_ms: 358760\n end_ms: 362020\n- text: Let us control and own the fuckin area\n start_ms: 362020\n end_ms: 363950\n- text: Wildin in your whip until your crash the whole truck up\n start_ms: 363950\n end_ms: 366650\n- text: And if you know what's good for you nigga you better GET THE FUCK UP!\n start_ms: 366650\n end_ms: 369280\n- text: Hehehe\n start_ms: 369280\n end_ms: 371470\n- text: ''\n start_ms: 371470\nplain: |-\n GET THE FUCK UP!\n Simon says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n Queens is in the back sippin 'Gnac, y'all wassup?\n Girls, rub on your titties (yeah)\n Yeah fuck it I said it rub on ya titties\n New York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\n In the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n (Lady Luck)\n Yo SHUT THE FUCK UP!\n Luck said \"SHUT THE FUCK UP!\"\n Bitches in the back, like crack get it cut up\n I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n Act like a man and get cocked, smacked or fucked up\n Pull the truck up, Luck you know the name\n Assed out in the bleachers stay shittin on the game\n I suppose what you're spittin is flames, cowards\n Know your crew was vaginal, I could smell the dooch powder\n Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n Stay fly till you air sick, now that's ill\n Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n\n (Pharoahe Monch)\n WHAT THE FUCK'S goin on here, just a minute now, hold up\n Sinister wit hit the time I diminish him finish him, roll up\n When I'm,? cinematography state of mind\n My rap trip, rip, clip, say the rhyme\n Shit, I spectacular run hit spit bitches venacular\n Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the Immaculate\n Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son I'll box ya\n Ladies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n OWWW! Fellas pull ya cock out\n On the verge to splurge verbs for third round knock out\n Uh I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n Separate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behave\n Now, drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n Figure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun salute\n That's seven shots for Tupac\n Seven for Biggie Smalls\n Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n How's that, fat action packed rap remain tame\n Pharoahe fuckin Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n\n (Redman)\n Yo yo get the fuck up\n Funk Doctor Spot said \"Get the fuck up\"\n I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\n I leave a nigga hangin like ya mom's muffler\n Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n Respect like the Fonze, you see the collar up\n I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n I kamikaze ya town off a Arab bus\n Karat cut, yeah mami pull over\n I bend ya pussy like for years I knew yoga\n I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\n Off Hennesy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n I need fifty feet when my performance starts\n I push a armored car wit? Lauren Harts?\n Nineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\n Doc turnin dark off a warning shot\n Drive off and pop, six in ya hood\n (Monch) Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\n Yea-yeah my nigga, one rhyme you fold over\n I'm hot-headed cuz I walk wit cold shoulders\n Yeah GET THE FUCK UP!\n\n (Pharoahe Monch)\n Simon Says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n\n (Redman)\n Jersey in the back jackin cars now wassup!\n Girls, rub on ya titties\n (Yeah) That's right I said it, rub on ya titties\n Brick City gritty committee\n Pity the fool that act shitty, in the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n (Method Man)\n Yo yo get the fuck up\n Yo yeah I said it, get the fuck up\n Walk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\n Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n Ya know my name, and Pharoahe Moch, why we came what?\n We off the chain, plus we plottin on the chain, what?\n Know ya role, by the way tuck ya gold\n And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n Shootin in the sky tryin to blast sun\n Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\n Fifty cent flashin they hate us wit a passion\n Mashin, still fresh in three-day old fashion\n Your plaid, I'm stripes, together we be flashin\n Here's a Tunnel banger\n Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n Slap ya like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n Just so you can feel me\n The same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\n Even if time stands still, I'ma still be\n Underground and filthy, gotta have our Way like the Milky\n Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n Never got caught in the game of tag\n Momma never kept a boyfriend wit kids this bad\n No justice, RAIDER RUCKUS!\n Underground till we under ground\n But y'all first MOTHAFUCKERS!\n\n (Shabaam Sahdeeq)\n My thugs, throw up ya set\n And shorties rub on ya breasts\n GET THE FUCK UP, outta that dress, I palm tits\n You herbs get flipped like jeeps on mountain cliffs\n I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talent tips\n Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n You sound like Big, you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n And I bet, when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet into delete\n Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay wit the heat\n Stay stickin fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n So toss that link, dummy, shoulda insured that link\n Straight to Canal I'll praise that link, then pawn that link\n You froze up, Sahdeeq says \"Shut the fuck up!\"\n Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n\n (Busta Rhymes)\n Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Dugan\n Been thuggin, lovin the way we flood jewels for nothin\n Lay it over, another ambush we take over\n Yo we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n Or find your picture of your autoposy up on the web site\n Yo if you ever violate my space\n Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you wit a fuckin fat face\n Nigga, Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom ansom\n Like the ghost in a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n Bitches, snitches comin out and you know who's showin it\n Like when British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n Y'all niggas is seemless blends of seemless friends\n Live on about? on a bunch of seamless ends\n Collosal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Moncho\n The head honcho, gettin this money like Leonardo (do do do)\n Enough substance in the roughness\n Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow fiend\n Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n Pledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\n Let us control and own the fuckin area\n Wildin in your whip until your crash the whole truck up\n And if you know what's good for you nigga you better GET THE FUCK UP!\n Hehehe\n"},{"id":2296946,"name":"Simon Says (Roni Size and DJ Die remix)","trackName":"Simon Says (Roni Size and DJ Die remix)","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch","albumName":"Simon Says","duration":220.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Get the fuck up, Simon says get the fuck up\nThrow your hands in the sky\nQueens is in the back sippin'\nYak y'all what's up?\nGirls, rub on your titties\nYeah, I said it, rub on your titties\nNew York City gritty committee, pity the fool that\nAct shitty in the midst of the calm, the witty\nY'all know the name\nPharoahe-fuckin'-Monch, ain't a damn thang changed\nYou all up in the Range, then your shit's inebriated\nPhased from your original plan, you deviated\nI alleviated the pain with a long-term goal\nTook my underground loot without the gold\nYou sold platinum round the world, I sold wood in the hood\nBut when I'm in the street, then shit it's all good\nI'm soon to motivate the room, control the game like Tomb Raider\nRoc-clock dollars flip, tips like a waiter\nStyle's greater, let my lyrics anoint\nIf you holdin' up the wall, then you missin' the point\nGet the fuck up\nSimon says get the fuck up\nPut your hands to the sky\nBrooklyn in the back shootin' craps now what's up?\nGirlies, rub on your titties\nFuck it I said, rub on your titties\nNew York City gritty committee, pity the fool that\nAct shitty in the midst of the calm, the witty\n(Yo, where you at?)\nUptown let me see 'em\nNotorious for the six-fives and the BM's\nHeads give you beef, you put 'em in the mausoleum\nAnd the shit don't start pumpin' 'til after 12 p.m.\nIgnorant minds, I free 'em\nIf you tired of the same old everyday you will agree\nI'm the most obligated, hard and R-Rated\nStated to be the best, I must confess the star made it\nSome might even say this song is sexist-es\n'Cause I asked the girls to rub on their breast-eses\nWhether you're ridin' the train or in Lexus-es\nThis is for either or Rollies or Timex-eses\nWicked like Exorcist, this is the joint\nYou holdin' up the wall\nThen you missin' the point\nGet the fuck up\nSimon says get the fuck up\nThrow your hands in the sky\nThe Bronx is in the back shootin' craps, now what's up?\nGirlies, rub on your titties\nI said, rub on your titties\nNew York City gritty committee, pity the fool that\nAct shitty in the midst of the calm, the witty\nNew Jeru, get the fuck up\nShaolin, get the fuck up\nLong Isle, get the fuck up\nWorldwide, get the fuck up","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Simon Says (Roni Size and DJ Die remix)\n artist: Pharoahe Monch\n album: Simon Says\n duration_ms: 220000\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n Get the fuck up, Simon says get the fuck up\n Throw your hands in the sky\n Queens is in the back sippin'\n Yak y'all what's up?\n Girls, rub on your titties\n Yeah, I said it, rub on your titties\n New York City gritty committee, pity the fool that\n Act shitty in the midst of the calm, the witty\n Y'all know the name\n Pharoahe-fuckin'-Monch, ain't a damn thang changed\n You all up in the Range, then your shit's inebriated\n Phased from your original plan, you deviated\n I alleviated the pain with a long-term goal\n Took my underground loot without the gold\n You sold platinum round the world, I sold wood in the hood\n But when I'm in the street, then shit it's all good\n I'm soon to motivate the room, control the game like Tomb Raider\n Roc-clock dollars flip, tips like a waiter\n Style's greater, let my lyrics anoint\n If you holdin' up the wall, then you missin' the point\n Get the fuck up\n Simon says get the fuck up\n Put your hands to the sky\n Brooklyn in the back shootin' craps now what's up?\n Girlies, rub on your titties\n Fuck it I said, rub on your titties\n New York City gritty committee, pity the fool that\n Act shitty in the midst of the calm, the witty\n (Yo, where you at?)\n Uptown let me see 'em\n Notorious for the six-fives and the BM's\n Heads give you beef, you put 'em in the mausoleum\n And the shit don't start pumpin' 'til after 12 p.m.\n Ignorant minds, I free 'em\n If you tired of the same old everyday you will agree\n I'm the most obligated, hard and R-Rated\n Stated to be the best, I must confess the star made it\n Some might even say this song is sexist-es\n 'Cause I asked the girls to rub on their breast-eses\n Whether you're ridin' the train or in Lexus-es\n This is for either or Rollies or Timex-eses\n Wicked like Exorcist, this is the joint\n You holdin' up the wall\n Then you missin' the point\n Get the fuck up\n Simon says get the fuck up\n Throw your hands in the sky\n The Bronx is in the back shootin' craps, now what's up?\n Girlies, rub on your titties\n I said, rub on your titties\n New York City gritty committee, pity the fool that\n Act shitty in the midst of the calm, the witty\n New Jeru, get the fuck up\n Shaolin, get the fuck up\n Long Isle, get the fuck up\n Worldwide, get the fuck up\n"},{"id":35640593,"name":"Simon Says [Remix] (feat. Busta Rhymes, Lady Luck, Method Man & Redman)","trackName":"Simon Says [Remix] (feat. Busta Rhymes, Lady Luck, Method Man & Redman)","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch","albumName":"Simon Says","duration":376.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Get the fuck up\nSimon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\nThrow your hands in the sky\nQueens is in the back sipping 'gnac, y'all, what's up?\nGirls, rub on your titties (yeah)\nYeah, fuck it, I said it, rub on your titties\nNew York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\nIn the midst of the calm, the witty\n\nYo, shut the fuck up\nLuck said, \"Shut the fuck up\"\nBitches in the back like crack, get it cut up\nI speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\nAct like a man and get cocked, smacked the fuck up\nPull the truck up, Luck, you know the name\nAss out in the bleachers, stay shitting on the game\nI suppose what you're spitting is flames, cowards\n\nKnew your crew was vaginal, I could smell the douche powder\nSummer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\nCome four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\nStay fly 'til you get airsick, now that's I'll\nTwo choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n\nWhat the fuck's going on here? Just a minute now, hold up\nSinister with it, the time, I diminish him, finish him, roll up\nWhen I'm in a cinematography state of mind\nMy rap trip, rip, flip, clip, say the rhyme\nShit, I spectacular run, hit spit bitches vernacular\nMiraculous rhyme flow, backtrack to the immaculate\nBinaca blast, nigga, that's fast, son, I'll box you\nLadies rub the ta-tas, bras, titties, and knockers on the floor\nOww!\n\nFellas, pull your cock out\nOn the verge to splurge verbs for third-round knockout\nUh, I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\nDust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\nThe mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\nSeparate him from his fam, he don't know how to behave now\nDrag his ass, bag dun for his loot\nFigure me to give a nigga-y 21 gun salute\n\nThat's seven shots for 2Pac, seven for Biggie Smalls\nSeven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\nHow's that? Fat action-packed rap remain tame (come on Monch)\nPharoahe fuckin' Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n\nYo, yo, get the fuck up\nFunk Doctor Spock said, \"Get the fuck up\"\nI got a bitch named Nina, and I tuck her\nI leave a nigga hanging like your mom's muffler\nSnuff her, then my boys follow up\nRespect like The Fonz, you see the collar up (aye)\nI spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\nI kamikaze your town off a Arab bus\n\nKarat cut, yeah, mami, pull over\nI bend your pussy like for years I knew yoga\nI'm too smoked up, I can't remember me (uh-huh)\nOff Hennessy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\nI need 50 feet when my performance starts\nI push an armored car with Lowenharts\n19 inches, I'm not on the charts\nDoc turning dark off a warning shot\n\nDrive off and pop, six in your hood\nFuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\nYeah, yeah, my nigga, one rhyme and you fold over\nI'm hot-headed 'cause I walk with cold shoulders\n\nYeah, get the fuck up\nSimon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\nThrow ya hands in the sky\nJersey in the back, jacking cars, now what's up?\nGirls, rub on your titties (yeah)\nThat's right, I said it, rub on your titties\nBrick City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\nIn the midst of the calm, the witty\n\nYo, yo, get the fuck up\nYo, yeah, I said it, \"Get the fuck up\"\nWalk through Shaolin' after dark, you get stuck up\nSeek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\nYou know my name and Pharoahe Monch, why we came, what?\nWe off the chain, plus we plotting on the game, what?\nKnow your role, by the way, tuck your gold\nAnd you and your mic can ease on down the road\n\nAssholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\nShooting in the sky trying to blast sun\nZero to 60 in a second, pull a fast one\n50 cent flashin', they hate us with a passion\nMashin', still fresh in three-day old fashion\nYou're plaid, I'm stripes, together we be clashin'\nHere's a Tunnel banger\nWu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n\nThis gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\nSlap you like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\nJust so you can feel me the same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\nEven if time stands still, I'ma still be\nUnderground and filthy, gotta have our way like the Milky\n\nInnocent until I'm proven guilty\nNever got caught in the game of tag\nMomma never kept a boyfriend with kids this bad\nNo justice, raider ruckus\nUnderground 'til we under ground\nBut y'all first, motherfuckers\n\nMy thugs, throw up your set\nAnd shorties rub on your breasts\nGet the fuck up out of that dress, I palm tits\nYou herbs get flipped like Jeeps on mountain cliffs\nI'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talon tips\nDouble-S, double the threat, double your bet\nDouble up on that cash if you decide to invest\nYou sound like B.I.G., you sound like Jay, you sound like D\nAnd I bet when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n\nShabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet, instant delete\nY'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\nI stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay with the heat\nStay sticking fools like you for the rocks that gleam\nSo, toss that link, dummy, should've insured that link\nStraight to Canal, appraise that link, then pawn that link\nYou froze up, Sahdeeq says, \"Shut the fuck up\"\nPunk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n\nBusta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Duggan\nBeen thuggin', lovin' the way we flood jewels for nothin'\nLay it over, another ambush, and take over\nYo, we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\nYou better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\nOr find your picture of your autopsy up on the website\nYo, if you ever violate my space\nFuck a fat lip, I'll leave you with a fucking fat face, nigga\n\nBusta Rhymes, the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom and some\nLike the ghost of a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\nBitches, snitches coming out, and you know who's showing it\nLike when the British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\nY'all niggas is seamless blends of seamless friends\nLip on about the results of a bunch of seamless ends\nColossal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Monch-o\nThe head honchos, getting this money like Leonardo (do-do-do-do)\n\nEnough substance in the roughness\nNow watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\nNow let me clear the smoke screen you blow, fiend\nLive nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\nPledge allegiance to the flag of United Live Niggas of America\nLet us control and own the fucking area\nWild in your whip until you crash the whole truck up\nAnd if you know what's good for you, nigga\nYou better get the fuck up!","syncedLyrics":"[00:22.88] Get the fuck up\n[00:24.56] Simon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\n[00:26.52] Throw your hands in the sky\n[00:28.97] Queens is in the back sipping 'gnac, y'all, what's up?\n[00:32.52] Girls, rub on your titties (yeah)\n[00:34.56] Yeah, fuck it, I said it, rub on your titties\n[00:36.70] New York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\n[00:40.07] In the midst of the calm, the witty\n[00:43.03] Yo, shut the fuck up\n[00:45.46] Luck said, \"Shut the fuck up\"\n[00:46.96] Bitches in the back like crack, get it cut up\n[00:49.61] I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n[00:52.29] Act like a man and get cocked, smacked the fuck up\n[00:54.83] Pull the truck up, Luck, you know the name\n[00:57.12] Ass out in the bleachers, stay shitting on the game\n[00:59.77] I suppose what you're spitting is flames, cowards\n[01:02.12] Knew your crew was vaginal, I could smell the douche powder\n[01:05.43] Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n[01:07.45] Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n[01:10.03] Stay fly 'til you get airsick, now that's I'll\n[01:12.59] Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n[01:15.50] What the fuck's going on here? Just a minute now, hold up\n[01:17.99] Sinister with it, the time, I diminish him, finish him, roll up\n[01:20.96] When I'm in a cinematography state of mind\n[01:23.56] My rap trip, rip, flip, clip, say the rhyme\n[01:25.53] Shit, I spectacular run, hit spit bitches vernacular\n[01:28.14] Miraculous rhyme flow, backtrack to the immaculate\n[01:30.84] Binaca blast, nigga, that's fast, son, I'll box you\n[01:33.42] Ladies rub the ta-tas, bras, titties, and knockers on the floor\n[01:36.27] Oww!\n[01:37.28] Fellas, pull your cock out\n[01:38.30] On the verge to splurge verbs for third-round knockout\n[01:40.94] Uh, I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n[01:43.70] Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n[01:46.37] The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n[01:48.76] Separate him from his fam, he don't know how to behave now\n[01:51.87] Drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n[01:54.17] Figure me to give a nigga-y 21 gun salute\n[01:56.23] That's seven shots for 2Pac, seven for Biggie Smalls\n[01:59.10] Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n[02:01.43] How's that? Fat action-packed rap remain tame (come on Monch)\n[02:04.60] Pharoahe fuckin' Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n[02:07.42] Yo, yo, get the fuck up\n[02:09.93] Funk Doctor Spock said, \"Get the fuck up\"\n[02:12.14] I got a bitch named Nina, and I tuck her\n[02:14.84] I leave a nigga hanging like your mom's muffler\n[02:17.51] Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n[02:19.66] Respect like The Fonz, you see the collar up (aye)\n[02:22.28] I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n[02:24.86] I kamikaze your town off a Arab bus\n[02:27.79] Karat cut, yeah, mami, pull over\n[02:29.97] I bend your pussy like for years I knew yoga\n[02:32.95] I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me (uh-huh)\n[02:34.98] Off Hennessy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n[02:37.74] I need 50 feet when my performance starts\n[02:40.32] I push an armored car with Lowenharts\n[02:42.93] 19 inches, I'm not on the charts\n[02:45.58] Doc turning dark off a warning shot\n[02:48.17] Drive off and pop, six in your hood\n[02:50.34] Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\n[02:52.86] Yeah, yeah, my nigga, one rhyme and you fold over\n[02:55.65] I'm hot-headed 'cause I walk with cold shoulders\n[02:59.14] Yeah, get the fuck up\n[03:01.60] Simon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\n[03:03.46] Throw ya hands in the sky\n[03:06.01] Jersey in the back, jacking cars, now what's up?\n[03:09.67] Girls, rub on your titties (yeah)\n[03:11.43] That's right, I said it, rub on your titties\n[03:13.98] Brick City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\n[03:17.21] In the midst of the calm, the witty\n[03:19.24] Yo, yo, get the fuck up\n[03:21.92] Yo, yeah, I said it, \"Get the fuck up\"\n[03:24.21] Walk through Shaolin' after dark, you get stuck up\n[03:26.86] Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n[03:29.46] You know my name and Pharoahe Monch, why we came, what?\n[03:32.05] We off the chain, plus we plotting on the game, what?\n[03:34.71] Know your role, by the way, tuck your gold\n[03:37.07] And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n[03:39.72] Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n[03:42.89] Shooting in the sky trying to blast sun\n[03:44.83] Zero to 60 in a second, pull a fast one\n[03:47.42] 50 cent flashin', they hate us with a passion\n[03:50.07] Mashin', still fresh in three-day old fashion\n[03:52.49] You're plaid, I'm stripes, together we be clashin'\n[03:55.10] Here's a Tunnel banger\n[03:56.41] Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n[03:59.22] This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n[04:01.42] Slap you like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n[04:04.10] Just so you can feel me the same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\n[04:07.99] Even if time stands still, I'ma still be\n[04:10.56] Underground and filthy, gotta have our way like the Milky\n[04:13.56] Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n[04:15.84] Never got caught in the game of tag\n[04:17.71] Momma never kept a boyfriend with kids this bad\n[04:20.67] No justice, raider ruckus\n[04:22.51] Underground 'til we under ground\n[04:24.33] But y'all first, motherfuckers\n[04:25.75] My thugs, throw up your set\n[04:26.95] And shorties rub on your breasts\n[04:28.12] Get the fuck up out of that dress, I palm tits\n[04:30.86] You herbs get flipped like Jeeps on mountain cliffs\n[04:33.48] I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talon tips\n[04:36.04] Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n[04:38.57] Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n[04:40.95] You sound like B.I.G., you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n[04:44.49] And I bet when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n[04:46.22] Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet, instant delete\n[04:48.77] Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n[04:51.47] I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay with the heat\n[04:54.16] Stay sticking fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n[04:56.36] So, toss that link, dummy, should've insured that link\n[04:59.40] Straight to Canal, appraise that link, then pawn that link\n[05:02.08] You froze up, Sahdeeq says, \"Shut the fuck up\"\n[05:04.33] Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n[05:06.80] Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Duggan\n[05:09.37] Been thuggin', lovin' the way we flood jewels for nothin'\n[05:11.85] Lay it over, another ambush, and take over\n[05:14.32] Yo, we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n[05:17.70] You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n[05:19.95] Or find your picture of your autopsy up on the website\n[05:23.02] Yo, if you ever violate my space\n[05:24.97] Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you with a fucking fat face, nigga\n[05:28.21] Busta Rhymes, the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom and some\n[05:30.56] Like the ghost of a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n[05:33.08] Bitches, snitches coming out, and you know who's showing it\n[05:35.49] Like when the British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n[05:37.97] Y'all niggas is seamless blends of seamless friends\n[05:40.40] Lip on about the results of a bunch of seamless ends\n[05:43.13] Colossal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Monch-o\n[05:45.61] The head honchos, getting this money like Leonardo (do-do-do-do)\n[05:49.31] Enough substance in the roughness\n[05:51.08] Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n[05:53.40] Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow, fiend\n[05:56.05] Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n[05:58.65] Pledge allegiance to the flag of United Live Niggas of America\n[06:01.75] Let us control and own the fucking area\n[06:04.05] Wild in your whip until you crash the whole truck up\n[06:05.98] And if you know what's good for you, nigga\n[06:07.42] You better get the fuck up!\n[06:09.42] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Simon Says [Remix] (feat. Busta Rhymes, Lady Luck, Method Man & Redman)\n artist: Pharoahe Monch\n album: Simon Says\n duration_ms: 376000\n instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Get the fuck up\n start_ms: 22880\n end_ms: 24560\n- text: Simon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\n start_ms: 24560\n end_ms: 26520\n- text: Throw your hands in the sky\n start_ms: 26520\n end_ms: 28970\n- text: Queens is in the back sipping 'gnac, y'all, what's up?\n start_ms: 28970\n end_ms: 32520\n- text: Girls, rub on your titties (yeah)\n start_ms: 32520\n end_ms: 34560\n- text: Yeah, fuck it, I said it, rub on your titties\n start_ms: 34560\n end_ms: 36700\n- text: New York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\n start_ms: 36700\n end_ms: 40070\n- text: In the midst of the calm, the witty\n start_ms: 40070\n end_ms: 43030\n- text: Yo, shut the fuck up\n start_ms: 43030\n end_ms: 45460\n- text: Luck said, \"Shut the fuck up\"\n start_ms: 45460\n end_ms: 46960\n- text: Bitches in the back like crack, get it cut up\n start_ms: 46960\n end_ms: 49610\n- text: I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n start_ms: 49610\n end_ms: 52290\n- text: Act like a man and get cocked, smacked the fuck up\n start_ms: 52290\n end_ms: 54830\n- text: Pull the truck up, Luck, you know the name\n start_ms: 54830\n end_ms: 57120\n- text: Ass out in the bleachers, stay shitting on the game\n start_ms: 57120\n end_ms: 59770\n- text: I suppose what you're spitting is flames, cowards\n start_ms: 59770\n end_ms: 62120\n- text: Knew your crew was vaginal, I could smell the douche powder\n start_ms: 62120\n end_ms: 65430\n- text: Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n start_ms: 65430\n end_ms: 67450\n- text: Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n start_ms: 67450\n end_ms: 70030\n- text: Stay fly 'til you get airsick, now that's I'll\n start_ms: 70030\n end_ms: 72590\n- text: Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n start_ms: 72590\n end_ms: 75500\n- text: What the fuck's going on here? Just a minute now, hold up\n start_ms: 75500\n end_ms: 77990\n- text: Sinister with it, the time, I diminish him, finish him, roll up\n start_ms: 77990\n end_ms: 80960\n- text: When I'm in a cinematography state of mind\n start_ms: 80960\n end_ms: 83560\n- text: My rap trip, rip, flip, clip, say the rhyme\n start_ms: 83560\n end_ms: 85530\n- text: Shit, I spectacular run, hit spit bitches vernacular\n start_ms: 85530\n end_ms: 88140\n- text: Miraculous rhyme flow, backtrack to the immaculate\n start_ms: 88140\n end_ms: 90840\n- text: Binaca blast, nigga, that's fast, son, I'll box you\n start_ms: 90840\n end_ms: 93420\n- text: Ladies rub the ta-tas, bras, titties, and knockers on the floor\n start_ms: 93420\n end_ms: 96270\n- text: Oww!\n start_ms: 96270\n end_ms: 97280\n- text: Fellas, pull your cock out\n start_ms: 97280\n end_ms: 98300\n- text: On the verge to splurge verbs for third-round knockout\n start_ms: 98300\n end_ms: 100940\n- text: Uh, I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n start_ms: 100940\n end_ms: 103700\n- text: Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n start_ms: 103700\n end_ms: 106370\n- text: The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n start_ms: 106370\n end_ms: 108760\n- text: Separate him from his fam, he don't know how to behave now\n start_ms: 108760\n end_ms: 111870\n- text: Drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n start_ms: 111870\n end_ms: 114170\n- text: Figure me to give a nigga-y 21 gun salute\n start_ms: 114170\n end_ms: 116230\n- text: That's seven shots for 2Pac, seven for Biggie Smalls\n start_ms: 116230\n end_ms: 119100\n- text: Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n start_ms: 119100\n end_ms: 121430\n- text: How's that? Fat action-packed rap remain tame (come on Monch)\n start_ms: 121430\n end_ms: 124600\n- text: Pharoahe fuckin' Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n start_ms: 124600\n end_ms: 127420\n- text: Yo, yo, get the fuck up\n start_ms: 127420\n end_ms: 129930\n- text: Funk Doctor Spock said, \"Get the fuck up\"\n start_ms: 129930\n end_ms: 132140\n- text: I got a bitch named Nina, and I tuck her\n start_ms: 132140\n end_ms: 134840\n- text: I leave a nigga hanging like your mom's muffler\n start_ms: 134840\n end_ms: 137510\n- text: Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n start_ms: 137510\n end_ms: 139660\n- text: Respect like The Fonz, you see the collar up (aye)\n start_ms: 139660\n end_ms: 142280\n- text: I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n start_ms: 142280\n end_ms: 144860\n- text: I kamikaze your town off a Arab bus\n start_ms: 144860\n end_ms: 147790\n- text: Karat cut, yeah, mami, pull over\n start_ms: 147790\n end_ms: 149970\n- text: I bend your pussy like for years I knew yoga\n start_ms: 149970\n end_ms: 152950\n- text: I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me (uh-huh)\n start_ms: 152950\n end_ms: 154980\n- text: Off Hennessy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n start_ms: 154980\n end_ms: 157740\n- text: I need 50 feet when my performance starts\n start_ms: 157740\n end_ms: 160320\n- text: I push an armored car with Lowenharts\n start_ms: 160320\n end_ms: 162930\n- text: 19 inches, I'm not on the charts\n start_ms: 162930\n end_ms: 165580\n- text: Doc turning dark off a warning shot\n start_ms: 165580\n end_ms: 168170\n- text: Drive off and pop, six in your hood\n start_ms: 168170\n end_ms: 170340\n- text: Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\n start_ms: 170340\n end_ms: 172860\n- text: Yeah, yeah, my nigga, one rhyme and you fold over\n start_ms: 172860\n end_ms: 175650\n- text: I'm hot-headed 'cause I walk with cold shoulders\n start_ms: 175650\n end_ms: 179140\n- text: Yeah, get the fuck up\n start_ms: 179140\n end_ms: 181600\n- text: Simon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\n start_ms: 181600\n end_ms: 183460\n- text: Throw ya hands in the sky\n start_ms: 183460\n end_ms: 186010\n- text: Jersey in the back, jacking cars, now what's up?\n start_ms: 186010\n end_ms: 189670\n- text: Girls, rub on your titties (yeah)\n start_ms: 189670\n end_ms: 191430\n- text: That's right, I said it, rub on your titties\n start_ms: 191430\n end_ms: 193980\n- text: Brick City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\n start_ms: 193980\n end_ms: 197210\n- text: In the midst of the calm, the witty\n start_ms: 197210\n end_ms: 199240\n- text: Yo, yo, get the fuck up\n start_ms: 199240\n end_ms: 201920\n- text: Yo, yeah, I said it, \"Get the fuck up\"\n start_ms: 201920\n end_ms: 204210\n- text: Walk through Shaolin' after dark, you get stuck up\n start_ms: 204210\n end_ms: 206860\n- text: Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n start_ms: 206860\n end_ms: 209460\n- text: You know my name and Pharoahe Monch, why we came, what?\n start_ms: 209460\n end_ms: 212050\n- text: We off the chain, plus we plotting on the game, what?\n start_ms: 212050\n end_ms: 214710\n- text: Know your role, by the way, tuck your gold\n start_ms: 214710\n end_ms: 217070\n- text: And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n start_ms: 217070\n end_ms: 219720\n- text: Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n start_ms: 219720\n end_ms: 222890\n- text: Shooting in the sky trying to blast sun\n start_ms: 222890\n end_ms: 224830\n- text: Zero to 60 in a second, pull a fast one\n start_ms: 224830\n end_ms: 227420\n- text: 50 cent flashin', they hate us with a passion\n start_ms: 227420\n end_ms: 230070\n- text: Mashin', still fresh in three-day old fashion\n start_ms: 230070\n end_ms: 232490\n- text: You're plaid, I'm stripes, together we be clashin'\n start_ms: 232490\n end_ms: 235100\n- text: Here's a Tunnel banger\n start_ms: 235100\n end_ms: 236410\n- text: Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n start_ms: 236410\n end_ms: 239220\n- text: This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n start_ms: 239220\n end_ms: 241420\n- text: Slap you like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n start_ms: 241420\n end_ms: 244100\n- text: Just so you can feel me the same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\n start_ms: 244100\n end_ms: 247990\n- text: Even if time stands still, I'ma still be\n start_ms: 247990\n end_ms: 250560\n- text: Underground and filthy, gotta have our way like the Milky\n start_ms: 250560\n end_ms: 253560\n- text: Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n start_ms: 253560\n end_ms: 255840\n- text: Never got caught in the game of tag\n start_ms: 255840\n end_ms: 257710\n- text: Momma never kept a boyfriend with kids this bad\n start_ms: 257710\n end_ms: 260670\n- text: No justice, raider ruckus\n start_ms: 260670\n end_ms: 262510\n- text: Underground 'til we under ground\n start_ms: 262510\n end_ms: 264330\n- text: But y'all first, motherfuckers\n start_ms: 264330\n end_ms: 265750\n- text: My thugs, throw up your set\n start_ms: 265750\n end_ms: 266950\n- text: And shorties rub on your breasts\n start_ms: 266950\n end_ms: 268120\n- text: Get the fuck up out of that dress, I palm tits\n start_ms: 268120\n end_ms: 270860\n- text: You herbs get flipped like Jeeps on mountain cliffs\n start_ms: 270860\n end_ms: 273480\n- text: I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talon tips\n start_ms: 273480\n end_ms: 276040\n- text: Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n start_ms: 276040\n end_ms: 278570\n- text: Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n start_ms: 278570\n end_ms: 280950\n- text: You sound like B.I.G., you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n start_ms: 280950\n end_ms: 284490\n- text: And I bet when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n start_ms: 284490\n end_ms: 286220\n- text: Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet, instant delete\n start_ms: 286220\n end_ms: 288770\n- text: Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n start_ms: 288770\n end_ms: 291470\n- text: I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay with the heat\n start_ms: 291470\n end_ms: 294160\n- text: Stay sticking fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n start_ms: 294160\n end_ms: 296360\n- text: So, toss that link, dummy, should've insured that link\n start_ms: 296360\n end_ms: 299400\n- text: Straight to Canal, appraise that link, then pawn that link\n start_ms: 299400\n end_ms: 302080\n- text: You froze up, Sahdeeq says, \"Shut the fuck up\"\n start_ms: 302080\n end_ms: 304330\n- text: Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n start_ms: 304330\n end_ms: 306800\n- text: Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Duggan\n start_ms: 306800\n end_ms: 309370\n- text: Been thuggin', lovin' the way we flood jewels for nothin'\n start_ms: 309370\n end_ms: 311850\n- text: Lay it over, another ambush, and take over\n start_ms: 311850\n end_ms: 314320\n- text: Yo, we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n start_ms: 314320\n end_ms: 317700\n- text: You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n start_ms: 317700\n end_ms: 319950\n- text: Or find your picture of your autopsy up on the website\n start_ms: 319950\n end_ms: 323020\n- text: Yo, if you ever violate my space\n start_ms: 323020\n end_ms: 324970\n- text: Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you with a fucking fat face, nigga\n start_ms: 324970\n end_ms: 328210\n- text: Busta Rhymes, the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom and some\n start_ms: 328210\n end_ms: 330560\n- text: Like the ghost of a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n start_ms: 330560\n end_ms: 333080\n- text: Bitches, snitches coming out, and you know who's showing it\n start_ms: 333080\n end_ms: 335490\n- text: Like when the British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n start_ms: 335490\n end_ms: 337970\n- text: Y'all niggas is seamless blends of seamless friends\n start_ms: 337970\n end_ms: 340400\n- text: Lip on about the results of a bunch of seamless ends\n start_ms: 340400\n end_ms: 343130\n- text: Colossal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Monch-o\n start_ms: 343130\n end_ms: 345610\n- text: The head honchos, getting this money like Leonardo (do-do-do-do)\n start_ms: 345610\n end_ms: 349310\n- text: Enough substance in the roughness\n start_ms: 349310\n end_ms: 351080\n- text: Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n start_ms: 351080\n end_ms: 353400\n- text: Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow, fiend\n start_ms: 353400\n end_ms: 356050\n- text: Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n start_ms: 356050\n end_ms: 358650\n- text: Pledge allegiance to the flag of United Live Niggas of America\n start_ms: 358650\n end_ms: 361750\n- text: Let us control and own the fucking area\n start_ms: 361750\n end_ms: 364050\n- text: Wild in your whip until you crash the whole truck up\n start_ms: 364050\n end_ms: 365980\n- text: And if you know what's good for you, nigga\n start_ms: 365980\n end_ms: 367420\n- text: You better get the fuck up!\n start_ms: 367420\n end_ms: 369420\n- text: ''\n start_ms: 369420\nplain: |-\n Get the fuck up\n Simon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\n Throw your hands in the sky\n Queens is in the back sipping 'gnac, y'all, what's up?\n Girls, rub on your titties (yeah)\n Yeah, fuck it, I said it, rub on your titties\n New York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\n In the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n Yo, shut the fuck up\n Luck said, \"Shut the fuck up\"\n Bitches in the back like crack, get it cut up\n I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n Act like a man and get cocked, smacked the fuck up\n Pull the truck up, Luck, you know the name\n Ass out in the bleachers, stay shitting on the game\n I suppose what you're spitting is flames, cowards\n\n Knew your crew was vaginal, I could smell the douche powder\n Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n Stay fly 'til you get airsick, now that's I'll\n Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n\n What the fuck's going on here? Just a minute now, hold up\n Sinister with it, the time, I diminish him, finish him, roll up\n When I'm in a cinematography state of mind\n My rap trip, rip, flip, clip, say the rhyme\n Shit, I spectacular run, hit spit bitches vernacular\n Miraculous rhyme flow, backtrack to the immaculate\n Binaca blast, nigga, that's fast, son, I'll box you\n Ladies rub the ta-tas, bras, titties, and knockers on the floor\n Oww!\n\n Fellas, pull your cock out\n On the verge to splurge verbs for third-round knockout\n Uh, I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n Separate him from his fam, he don't know how to behave now\n Drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n Figure me to give a nigga-y 21 gun salute\n\n That's seven shots for 2Pac, seven for Biggie Smalls\n Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n How's that? Fat action-packed rap remain tame (come on Monch)\n Pharoahe fuckin' Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n\n Yo, yo, get the fuck up\n Funk Doctor Spock said, \"Get the fuck up\"\n I got a bitch named Nina, and I tuck her\n I leave a nigga hanging like your mom's muffler\n Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n Respect like The Fonz, you see the collar up (aye)\n I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n I kamikaze your town off a Arab bus\n\n Karat cut, yeah, mami, pull over\n I bend your pussy like for years I knew yoga\n I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me (uh-huh)\n Off Hennessy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n I need 50 feet when my performance starts\n I push an armored car with Lowenharts\n 19 inches, I'm not on the charts\n Doc turning dark off a warning shot\n\n Drive off and pop, six in your hood\n Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\n Yeah, yeah, my nigga, one rhyme and you fold over\n I'm hot-headed 'cause I walk with cold shoulders\n\n Yeah, get the fuck up\n Simon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\n Throw ya hands in the sky\n Jersey in the back, jacking cars, now what's up?\n Girls, rub on your titties (yeah)\n That's right, I said it, rub on your titties\n Brick City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\n In the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n Yo, yo, get the fuck up\n Yo, yeah, I said it, \"Get the fuck up\"\n Walk through Shaolin' after dark, you get stuck up\n Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n You know my name and Pharoahe Monch, why we came, what?\n We off the chain, plus we plotting on the game, what?\n Know your role, by the way, tuck your gold\n And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n\n Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n Shooting in the sky trying to blast sun\n Zero to 60 in a second, pull a fast one\n 50 cent flashin', they hate us with a passion\n Mashin', still fresh in three-day old fashion\n You're plaid, I'm stripes, together we be clashin'\n Here's a Tunnel banger\n Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n\n This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n Slap you like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n Just so you can feel me the same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\n Even if time stands still, I'ma still be\n Underground and filthy, gotta have our way like the Milky\n\n Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n Never got caught in the game of tag\n Momma never kept a boyfriend with kids this bad\n No justice, raider ruckus\n Underground 'til we under ground\n But y'all first, motherfuckers\n\n My thugs, throw up your set\n And shorties rub on your breasts\n Get the fuck up out of that dress, I palm tits\n You herbs get flipped like Jeeps on mountain cliffs\n I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talon tips\n Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n You sound like B.I.G., you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n And I bet when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n\n Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet, instant delete\n Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay with the heat\n Stay sticking fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n So, toss that link, dummy, should've insured that link\n Straight to Canal, appraise that link, then pawn that link\n You froze up, Sahdeeq says, \"Shut the fuck up\"\n Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n\n Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Duggan\n Been thuggin', lovin' the way we flood jewels for nothin'\n Lay it over, another ambush, and take over\n Yo, we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n Or find your picture of your autopsy up on the website\n Yo, if you ever violate my space\n Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you with a fucking fat face, nigga\n\n Busta Rhymes, the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom and some\n Like the ghost of a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n Bitches, snitches coming out, and you know who's showing it\n Like when the British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n Y'all niggas is seamless blends of seamless friends\n Lip on about the results of a bunch of seamless ends\n Colossal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Monch-o\n The head honchos, getting this money like Leonardo (do-do-do-do)\n\n Enough substance in the roughness\n Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow, fiend\n Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n Pledge allegiance to the flag of United Live Niggas of America\n Let us control and own the fucking area\n Wild in your whip until you crash the whole truck up\n And if you know what's good for you, nigga\n You better get the fuck up!\n"},{"id":29364369,"name":"Simon Says (remix)","trackName":"Simon Says (remix)","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch ft. Lady Luck, Method Man, Redman, Shabaam Sahdeeq, Busta Rhymes","albumName":"Simon Says","duration":376.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Get the fuck up\nSimon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\nThrow your hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\nQueens is in the back sipping 'gnac, y'all, what's up?\nGirls, rub on your titties\nYeah, fuck it, I said it rub on your titties\nNew York City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\nIn the midst of the calm, the witty\n\nYo, shut the fuck up\nLuck said, \"Shut the fuck up\"\nBitches in the back like crack, get it cut up\nI speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\nAct like a man and get cocked, smacked the fuck up\nPull the truck up, Luck, you know the name\nAss out in the bleachers stay shitting on the game\nI suppose what you're spitting is flames, cowards\nKnew your crew was vaginal, I could smell the douche powder\nSummer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\nCome four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\nStay fly till you get airsick, now that's ill\nTwo choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n\nWhat the fuck's going on here? Just a minute now, hold up\nSinister with it, the time, I diminish him, finish him, roll up\nWhen I'm in a cinematography state of mind\nMy rap trip, rip, flip, clip, say the rhyme\nShit, I spectacular run, hit spit bitches vernacular\nMiraculous rhyme flow, back track to the immaculate\nBinaca blast nigga that's fast, son, I'll box you\nLadies rub the ta-tas, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n(Oww!)\nFellas, pull your cock out\nOn the verge to splurge verbs for third-round knockout\nUh, I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\nDust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\nThe mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\nSeparate him from his fam\nHe don't know how to behave now\nDrag his ass, bag dun for his loot\nFigure me to give a nigga-y twenty-one gun salute\nThat's seven shots for 2Pac, seven for Biggie Smalls\nSeven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\nHow's that? Fat action packed rap remain tame\nPharoahe fuckin' Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n\nYo, yo, get the fuck up\nFunk Doctor Spock said, \"Get the fuck up\"\nI got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\nI leave a nigga hanging like your mom's muffler\nSnuff her, then my boys follow up\nRespect like The Fonz, you see the collar up (Ayeeee)\nI spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\nI kamikaze your town off a Arab bus\nKarat cut, yeah mami, pull over\nI bend your pussy like for years I knew yoga\nI'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\nOff Hennessy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\nI need fifty feet when my performance starts\nI push an armored car with Lowenharts\nNineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\nDoc turning dark off a warning shot\nDrive off and pop, six in your hood\nFuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\nYeah, yeah, my nigga, one rhyme and you fold over\nI'm hot-headed 'cause I walk with cold shoulders\n\nYeah, get the fuck up\nSimon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\nThrow ya hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\nJersey in the back, jacking cars, now what's up?\nGirls, rub on your titties (Yeah)\nThat's right, I said it, rub on your titties\nBrick City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\nIn the midst of the calm, the witty\n\nYo, yo, get the fuck up\nYo, yeah, I said it, \"Get the fuck up\"\nWalk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\nSeek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\nYou know my name and Pharoahe Monch, why we came, what?\nWe off the chain, plus we plotting on the game, what?\nKnow your role, by the way, tuck your gold\nAnd you and your mic can ease on down the road\nAssholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\nShooting in the sky trying to blast sun\nZero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\nFifty cent flashin', they hate us with a passion\nMashin', still fresh in three-day old fashion\nYou're plaid, I'm stripes, together we be clashin'\nHere's a Tunnel banger\nWu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\nThis gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\nSlap you like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\nJust so you can feel me the same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\nEven if time stands still, I'mma still be\nUnderground and filthy, gotta have our way like the Milky\nInnocent until I'm proven guilty\nNever got caught in the game of tag\nMomma never kept a boyfriend with kids this bad\nNo justice, raider ruckus\nUnderground 'til we under ground\nBut y'all first, motherfuckers\n\nMy thugs, throw up your set\nAnd shorties rub on your breasts\nGet the fuck up out of that dress, I palm tits\nYou herbs get flipped like Jeeps on mountain cliffs\nI'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talon tips\nDouble-S, double the threat, double your bet\nDouble up on that cash if you decide to invest\nYou sound like B.I.G., you sound like Jay, you sound like D\nAnd I bet when I go plat, you'll sound like me\nShabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet, instant delete\nY'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\nI stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay with the heat\nStay sticking fools like you for the rocks that gleam\nSo toss that link, dummy, should've insured that link\nStraight to Canal, appraise that link, then pawn that link\nYou froze up, Sahdeeq says, \"Shut the fuck up\"\nPunk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n\nBusta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Duggan\nBeen thuggin', lovin' the way we flood jewels for nothin'\nLay it over, another ambush and take over\nYo, we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\nYou better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\nOr find your picture of your autopsy up on the website\nYo, if you ever violate my space\nFuck a fat lip, I'll leave you with a fucking fat face, nigga\nBusta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom and some\nLike the ghost of a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\nBitches, snitches coming out and you know who's showing it\nLike when the British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\nY'all niggas is seamless blends of seamless friends\nLip on about the results of a bunch of seamless ends\nColossal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Monch-o\nThe head honchos, getting this money like Leonardo (Do-do-do-do)\nEnough substance in the roughness\nNow watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\nNow let me clear the smoke screen you blow, fiend\nLive nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\nPledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\nLet us control and own the fucking area\nWild in your whip until you crash the whole truck up\nAnd if you know what's good for you, nigga\nYou better get the fuck up","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Simon Says (remix)\n artist: Pharoahe Monch ft. Lady Luck, Method Man, Redman, Shabaam Sahdeeq, Busta Rhymes\n album: Simon Says\n duration_ms: 376000\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n Get the fuck up\n Simon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\n Throw your hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\n Queens is in the back sipping 'gnac, y'all, what's up?\n Girls, rub on your titties\n Yeah, fuck it, I said it rub on your titties\n New York City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\n In the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n Yo, shut the fuck up\n Luck said, \"Shut the fuck up\"\n Bitches in the back like crack, get it cut up\n I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n Act like a man and get cocked, smacked the fuck up\n Pull the truck up, Luck, you know the name\n Ass out in the bleachers stay shitting on the game\n I suppose what you're spitting is flames, cowards\n Knew your crew was vaginal, I could smell the douche powder\n Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n Stay fly till you get airsick, now that's ill\n Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n\n What the fuck's going on here? Just a minute now, hold up\n Sinister with it, the time, I diminish him, finish him, roll up\n When I'm in a cinematography state of mind\n My rap trip, rip, flip, clip, say the rhyme\n Shit, I spectacular run, hit spit bitches vernacular\n Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the immaculate\n Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son, I'll box you\n Ladies rub the ta-tas, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n (Oww!)\n Fellas, pull your cock out\n On the verge to splurge verbs for third-round knockout\n Uh, I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n Separate him from his fam\n He don't know how to behave now\n Drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n Figure me to give a nigga-y twenty-one gun salute\n That's seven shots for 2Pac, seven for Biggie Smalls\n Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n How's that? Fat action packed rap remain tame\n Pharoahe fuckin' Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n\n Yo, yo, get the fuck up\n Funk Doctor Spock said, \"Get the fuck up\"\n I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\n I leave a nigga hanging like your mom's muffler\n Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n Respect like The Fonz, you see the collar up (Ayeeee)\n I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n I kamikaze your town off a Arab bus\n Karat cut, yeah mami, pull over\n I bend your pussy like for years I knew yoga\n I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\n Off Hennessy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n I need fifty feet when my performance starts\n I push an armored car with Lowenharts\n Nineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\n Doc turning dark off a warning shot\n Drive off and pop, six in your hood\n Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\n Yeah, yeah, my nigga, one rhyme and you fold over\n I'm hot-headed 'cause I walk with cold shoulders\n\n Yeah, get the fuck up\n Simon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\n Throw ya hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\n Jersey in the back, jacking cars, now what's up?\n Girls, rub on your titties (Yeah)\n That's right, I said it, rub on your titties\n Brick City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\n In the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n Yo, yo, get the fuck up\n Yo, yeah, I said it, \"Get the fuck up\"\n Walk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\n Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n You know my name and Pharoahe Monch, why we came, what?\n We off the chain, plus we plotting on the game, what?\n Know your role, by the way, tuck your gold\n And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n Shooting in the sky trying to blast sun\n Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\n Fifty cent flashin', they hate us with a passion\n Mashin', still fresh in three-day old fashion\n You're plaid, I'm stripes, together we be clashin'\n Here's a Tunnel banger\n Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n Slap you like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n Just so you can feel me the same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\n Even if time stands still, I'mma still be\n Underground and filthy, gotta have our way like the Milky\n Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n Never got caught in the game of tag\n Momma never kept a boyfriend with kids this bad\n No justice, raider ruckus\n Underground 'til we under ground\n But y'all first, motherfuckers\n\n My thugs, throw up your set\n And shorties rub on your breasts\n Get the fuck up out of that dress, I palm tits\n You herbs get flipped like Jeeps on mountain cliffs\n I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talon tips\n Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n You sound like B.I.G., you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n And I bet when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet, instant delete\n Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay with the heat\n Stay sticking fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n So toss that link, dummy, should've insured that link\n Straight to Canal, appraise that link, then pawn that link\n You froze up, Sahdeeq says, \"Shut the fuck up\"\n Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n\n Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Duggan\n Been thuggin', lovin' the way we flood jewels for nothin'\n Lay it over, another ambush and take over\n Yo, we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n Or find your picture of your autopsy up on the website\n Yo, if you ever violate my space\n Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you with a fucking fat face, nigga\n Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom and some\n Like the ghost of a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n Bitches, snitches coming out and you know who's showing it\n Like when the British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n Y'all niggas is seamless blends of seamless friends\n Lip on about the results of a bunch of seamless ends\n Colossal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Monch-o\n The head honchos, getting this money like Leonardo (Do-do-do-do)\n Enough substance in the roughness\n Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow, fiend\n Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n Pledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\n Let us control and own the fucking area\n Wild in your whip until you crash the whole truck up\n And if you know what's good for you, nigga\n You better get the fuck up\n"},{"id":1629183,"name":"Simon Says (remix)","trackName":"Simon Says (remix)","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch","albumName":"Y'all Know the Name","duration":0.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"GET THE FUCK UP!\nSimon says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\nThrow ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\nQueens is in the back sippin 'Gnac, y'all wassup?\nGirls, rub on your titties (yeah)\nYeah fuck it I said it rub on ya titties\nNew York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\nIn the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n(Lady Luck)\nYo SHUT THE FUCK UP!\nLuck said \"SHUT THE FUCK UP!\"\nBitches in the back, like crack get it cut up\nI speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\nAct like a man and get cocked, smacked or fucked up\nPull the truck up, Luck you know the name\nAssed out in the bleachers stay shittin on the game\nI suppose what you're spittin is flames, cowards\nKnow your crew was vaginal, I could smell the dooch powder\nSummer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\nCome four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\nStay fly till you air sick, now that's ill\nTwo choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n\n(Pharoahe Monch)\nWHAT THE FUCK'S goin on here, just a minute now, hold up\nSinister wit hit the time I diminish him finish him, roll up\nWhen I'm,? cinematography state of mind\nMy rap trip, rip, clip, say the rhyme\nShit, I spectacular run hit spit bitches venacular\nMiraculous rhyme flow, back track to the Immaculate\nBinaca blast nigga that's fast, son I'll box ya\nLadies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\nOWWW! Fellas pull ya cock out\nOn the verge to splurge verbs for third round knock out\nUh I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\nDust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\nThe mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\nSeparate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behave\nNow, drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\nFigure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun salute\nThat's seven shots for Tupac\nSeven for Biggie Smalls\nSeven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\nHow's that, fat action packed rap remain tame\nPharoahe fuckin Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n\n(Redman)\nYo yo get the fuck up\nFunk Doctor Spot said \"Get the fuck up\"\nI got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\nI leave a nigga hangin like ya mom's muffler\nSnuff her, then my boys follow up\nRespect like the Fonze, you see the collar up\nI spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\nI kamikaze ya town off a Arab bus\nKarat cut, yeah mami pull over\nI bend ya pussy like for years I knew yoga\nI'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\nOff Hennesy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\nI need fifty feet when my performance starts\nI push a armored car wit? Lauren Harts?\nNineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\nDoc turnin dark off a warning shot\nDrive off and pop, six in ya hood\n(Monch) Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\nYea-yeah my nigga, one rhyme you fold over\nI'm hot-headed cuz I walk wit cold shoulders\nYeah GET THE FUCK UP!\n\n(Pharoahe Monch)\nSimon Says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\nThrow ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n\n(Redman)\nJersey in the back jackin cars now wassup!\nGirls, rub on ya titties\n(Yeah) That's right I said it, rub on ya titties\nBrick City gritty committee\nPity the fool that act shitty, in the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n(Method Man)\nYo yo get the fuck up\nYo yeah I said it, get the fuck up\nWalk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\nSeek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\nYa know my name, and Pharoahe Moch, why we came what?\nWe off the chain, plus we plottin on the chain, what?\nKnow ya role, by the way tuck ya gold\nAnd you and your mic can ease on down the road\nAssholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\nShootin in the sky tryin to blast sun\nZero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\nFifty cent flashin they hate us wit a passion\nMashin, still fresh in three-day old fashion\nYour plaid, I'm stripes, together we be flashin\nHere's a Tunnel banger\nWu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\nThis gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\nSlap ya like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\nJust so you can feel me\nThe same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\nEven if time stands still, I'ma still be\nUnderground and filthy, gotta have our Way like the Milky\nInnocent until I'm proven guilty\nNever got caught in the game of tag\nMomma never kept a boyfriend wit kids this bad\nNo justice, RAIDER RUCKUS!\nUnderground till we under ground\nBut y'all first MOTHAFUCKERS!\n\n(Shabaam Sahdeeq)\nMy thugs, throw up ya set\nAnd shorties rub on ya breasts\nGET THE FUCK UP, outta that dress, I palm tits\nYou herbs get flipped like jeeps on mountain cliffs\nI'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talent tips\nDouble-S, double the threat, double your bet\nDouble up on that cash if you decide to invest\nYou sound like Big, you sound like Jay, you sound like D\nAnd I bet, when I go plat, you'll sound like me\nShabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet into delete\nY'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\nI stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay wit the heat\nStay stickin fools like you for the rocks that gleam\nSo toss that link, dummy, shoulda insured that link\nStraight to Canal I'll praise that link, then pawn that link\nYou froze up, Sahdeeq says \"Shut the fuck up!\"\nPunk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n\n(Busta Rhymes)\nBusta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Dugan\nBeen thuggin, lovin the way we flood jewels for nothin\nLay it over, another ambush we take over\nYo we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\nYou better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\nOr find your picture of your autoposy up on the web site\nYo if you ever violate my space\nFuck a fat lip, I'll leave you wit a fuckin fat face\nNigga, Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom ansom\nLike the ghost in a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\nBitches, snitches comin out and you know who's showin it\nLike when British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\nY'all niggas is seemless blends of seemless friends\nLive on about? on a bunch of seamless ends\nCollosal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Moncho\nThe head honcho, gettin this money like Leonardo (do do do)\nEnough substance in the roughness\nNow watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\nNow let me clear the smoke screen you blow fiend\nLive nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\nPledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\nLet us control and own the fuckin area\nWildin in your whip until your crash the whole truck up\nAnd if you know what's good for you nigga you better GET THE FUCK UP!\nHehehe","syncedLyrics":"[00:23.14] GET THE FUCK UP!\n[00:24.82] Simon says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n[00:26.67] Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n[00:29.11] Queens is in the back sippin 'Gnac, y'all wassup?\n[00:32.03] Girls, rub on your titties (yeah)\n[00:35.12] Yeah fuck it I said it rub on ya titties\n[00:37.23] New York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\n[00:39.41] In the midst of the calm, the witty\n[00:42.74] (Lady Luck)\n[00:44.98] Yo SHUT THE FUCK UP!\n[00:45.70] Luck said \"SHUT THE FUCK UP!\"\n[00:47.18] Bitches in the back, like crack get it cut up\n[00:49.78] I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n[00:52.35] Act like a man and get cocked, smacked or fucked up\n[00:54.94] Pull the truck up, Luck you know the name\n[00:57.49] Assed out in the bleachers stay shittin on the game\n[00:59.84] I suppose what you're spittin is flames, cowards\n[01:02.31] Know your crew was vaginal, I could smell the dooch powder\n[01:05.09] Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n[01:07.65] Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n[01:10.32] Stay fly till you air sick, now that's ill\n[01:12.82] Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n[01:15.24] (Pharoahe Monch)\n[01:16.08] WHAT THE FUCK'S goin on here, just a minute now, hold up\n[01:18.14] Sinister wit hit the time I diminish him finish him, roll up\n[01:20.58] When I'm,? cinematography state of mind\n[01:24.04] My rap trip, rip, clip, say the rhyme\n[01:26.44] Shit, I spectacular run hit spit bitches venacular\n[01:28.49] Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the Immaculate\n[01:30.99] Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son I'll box ya\n[01:33.75] Ladies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n[01:36.84] OWWW! Fellas pull ya cock out\n[01:38.71] On the verge to splurge verbs for third round knock out\n[01:41.53] Uh I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n[01:43.96] Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n[01:46.45] The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n[01:49.05] Separate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behave\n[01:51.30] Now, drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n[01:54.26] Figure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun salute\n[01:56.60] That's seven shots for Tupac\n[01:58.29] Seven for Biggie Smalls\n[01:59.26] Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n[02:01.88] How's that, fat action packed rap remain tame\n[02:04.17] Pharoahe fuckin Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n[02:07.02] (Redman)\n[02:08.32] Yo yo get the fuck up\n[02:10.07] Funk Doctor Spot said \"Get the fuck up\"\n[02:12.16] I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\n[02:14.94] I leave a nigga hangin like ya mom's muffler\n[02:17.56] Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n[02:19.91] Respect like the Fonze, you see the collar up\n[02:22.56] I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n[02:25.08] I kamikaze ya town off a Arab bus\n[02:27.56] Karat cut, yeah mami pull over\n[02:29.95] I bend ya pussy like for years I knew yoga\n[02:32.43] I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\n[02:34.94] Off Hennesy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n[02:37.90] I need fifty feet when my performance starts\n[02:40.38] I push a armored car wit? Lauren Harts?\n[02:43.04] Nineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\n[02:45.49] Doc turnin dark off a warning shot\n[02:48.23] Drive off and pop, six in ya hood\n[02:50.78] (Monch) Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\n[02:53.31] Yea-yeah my nigga, one rhyme you fold over\n[02:55.76] I'm hot-headed cuz I walk wit cold shoulders\n[02:58.55] Yeah GET THE FUCK UP!\n[03:01.26] (Pharoahe Monch)\n[03:02.02] Simon Says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n[03:03.75] Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n[03:05.83] (Redman)\n[03:06.42] Jersey in the back jackin cars now wassup!\n[03:08.74] Girls, rub on ya titties\n[03:11.70] (Yeah) That's right I said it, rub on ya titties\n[03:13.80] Brick City gritty committee\n[03:15.61] Pity the fool that act shitty, in the midst of the calm, the witty\n[03:19.02] (Method Man)\n[03:19.63] Yo yo get the fuck up\n[03:21.59] Yo yeah I said it, get the fuck up\n[03:24.08] Walk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\n[03:26.87] Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n[03:29.45] Ya know my name, and Pharoahe Moch, why we came what?\n[03:32.00] We off the chain, plus we plottin on the chain, what?\n[03:34.83] Know ya role, by the way tuck ya gold\n[03:37.24] And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n[03:39.56] Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n[03:42.89] Shootin in the sky tryin to blast sun\n[03:45.08] Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\n[03:47.40] Fifty cent flashin they hate us wit a passion\n[03:50.09] Mashin, still fresh in three-day old fashion\n[03:52.36] Your plaid, I'm stripes, together we be flashin\n[03:55.04] Here's a Tunnel banger\n[03:56.79] Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n[03:58.69] This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n[04:01.83] Slap ya like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n[04:04.30] Just so you can feel me\n[04:05.86] The same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\n[04:08.09] Even if time stands still, I'ma still be\n[04:10.67] Underground and filthy, gotta have our Way like the Milky\n[04:13.79] Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n[04:15.84] Never got caught in the game of tag\n[04:18.20] Momma never kept a boyfriend wit kids this bad\n[04:20.51] No justice, RAIDER RUCKUS!\n[04:22.79] Underground till we under ground\n[04:24.31] But y'all first MOTHAFUCKERS!\n[04:25.82] (Shabaam Sahdeeq)\n[04:26.30] My thugs, throw up ya set\n[04:27.43] And shorties rub on ya breasts\n[04:28.75] GET THE FUCK UP, outta that dress, I palm tits\n[04:31.00] You herbs get flipped like jeeps on mountain cliffs\n[04:33.62] I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talent tips\n[04:36.12] Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n[04:38.65] Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n[04:41.52] You sound like Big, you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n[04:44.66] And I bet, when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n[04:46.30] Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet into delete\n[04:48.99] Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n[04:51.55] I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay wit the heat\n[04:54.18] Stay stickin fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n[04:57.09] So toss that link, dummy, shoulda insured that link\n[04:59.45] Straight to Canal I'll praise that link, then pawn that link\n[05:01.64] You froze up, Sahdeeq says \"Shut the fuck up!\"\n[05:04.64] Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n[05:06.84] (Busta Rhymes)\n[05:07.34] Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Dugan\n[05:09.28] Been thuggin, lovin the way we flood jewels for nothin\n[05:12.24] Lay it over, another ambush we take over\n[05:14.71] Yo we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n[05:17.77] You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n[05:20.12] Or find your picture of your autoposy up on the web site\n[05:22.82] Yo if you ever violate my space\n[05:25.14] Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you wit a fuckin fat face\n[05:27.96] Nigga, Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom ansom\n[05:30.57] Like the ghost in a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n[05:33.39] Bitches, snitches comin out and you know who's showin it\n[05:35.98] Like when British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n[05:38.02] Y'all niggas is seemless blends of seemless friends\n[05:40.52] Live on about? on a bunch of seamless ends\n[05:43.18] Collosal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Moncho\n[05:45.78] The head honcho, gettin this money like Leonardo (do do do)\n[05:49.00] Enough substance in the roughness\n[05:51.20] Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n[05:53.96] Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow fiend\n[05:56.13] Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n[05:58.76] Pledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\n[06:02.02] Let us control and own the fuckin area\n[06:03.95] Wildin in your whip until your crash the whole truck up\n[06:06.65] And if you know what's good for you nigga you better GET THE FUCK UP!\n[06:09.28] Hehehe\n[06:11.47] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Simon Says (remix)\n artist: Pharoahe Monch\n album: Y'all Know the Name\n instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: GET THE FUCK UP!\n start_ms: 23140\n end_ms: 24820\n- text: Simon says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n start_ms: 24820\n end_ms: 26670\n- text: Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n start_ms: 26670\n end_ms: 29110\n- text: Queens is in the back sippin 'Gnac, y'all wassup?\n start_ms: 29110\n end_ms: 32030\n- text: Girls, rub on your titties (yeah)\n start_ms: 32030\n end_ms: 35120\n- text: Yeah fuck it I said it rub on ya titties\n start_ms: 35120\n end_ms: 37230\n- text: New York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\n start_ms: 37230\n end_ms: 39410\n- text: In the midst of the calm, the witty\n start_ms: 39410\n end_ms: 42740\n- text: (Lady Luck)\n start_ms: 42740\n end_ms: 44980\n- text: Yo SHUT THE FUCK UP!\n start_ms: 44980\n end_ms: 45700\n- text: Luck said \"SHUT THE FUCK UP!\"\n start_ms: 45700\n end_ms: 47180\n- text: Bitches in the back, like crack get it cut up\n start_ms: 47180\n end_ms: 49780\n- text: I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n start_ms: 49780\n end_ms: 52350\n- text: Act like a man and get cocked, smacked or fucked up\n start_ms: 52350\n end_ms: 54940\n- text: Pull the truck up, Luck you know the name\n start_ms: 54940\n end_ms: 57490\n- text: Assed out in the bleachers stay shittin on the game\n start_ms: 57490\n end_ms: 59840\n- text: I suppose what you're spittin is flames, cowards\n start_ms: 59840\n end_ms: 62310\n- text: Know your crew was vaginal, I could smell the dooch powder\n start_ms: 62310\n end_ms: 65090\n- text: Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n start_ms: 65090\n end_ms: 67650\n- text: Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n start_ms: 67650\n end_ms: 70320\n- text: Stay fly till you air sick, now that's ill\n start_ms: 70320\n end_ms: 72820\n- text: Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n start_ms: 72820\n end_ms: 75240\n- text: (Pharoahe Monch)\n start_ms: 75240\n end_ms: 76080\n- text: WHAT THE FUCK'S goin on here, just a minute now, hold up\n start_ms: 76080\n end_ms: 78140\n- text: Sinister wit hit the time I diminish him finish him, roll up\n start_ms: 78140\n end_ms: 80580\n- text: When I'm,? cinematography state of mind\n start_ms: 80580\n end_ms: 84040\n- text: My rap trip, rip, clip, say the rhyme\n start_ms: 84040\n end_ms: 86440\n- text: Shit, I spectacular run hit spit bitches venacular\n start_ms: 86440\n end_ms: 88490\n- text: Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the Immaculate\n start_ms: 88490\n end_ms: 90990\n- text: Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son I'll box ya\n start_ms: 90990\n end_ms: 93750\n- text: Ladies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n start_ms: 93750\n end_ms: 96840\n- text: OWWW! Fellas pull ya cock out\n start_ms: 96840\n end_ms: 98710\n- text: On the verge to splurge verbs for third round knock out\n start_ms: 98710\n end_ms: 101530\n- text: Uh I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n start_ms: 101530\n end_ms: 103960\n- text: Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n start_ms: 103960\n end_ms: 106450\n- text: The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n start_ms: 106450\n end_ms: 109050\n- text: Separate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behave\n start_ms: 109050\n end_ms: 111300\n- text: Now, drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n start_ms: 111300\n end_ms: 114260\n- text: Figure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun salute\n start_ms: 114260\n end_ms: 116600\n- text: That's seven shots for Tupac\n start_ms: 116600\n end_ms: 118290\n- text: Seven for Biggie Smalls\n start_ms: 118290\n end_ms: 119260\n- text: Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n start_ms: 119260\n end_ms: 121880\n- text: How's that, fat action packed rap remain tame\n start_ms: 121880\n end_ms: 124170\n- text: Pharoahe fuckin Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n start_ms: 124170\n end_ms: 127020\n- text: (Redman)\n start_ms: 127020\n end_ms: 128320\n- text: Yo yo get the fuck up\n start_ms: 128320\n end_ms: 130070\n- text: Funk Doctor Spot said \"Get the fuck up\"\n start_ms: 130070\n end_ms: 132160\n- text: I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\n start_ms: 132160\n end_ms: 134940\n- text: I leave a nigga hangin like ya mom's muffler\n start_ms: 134940\n end_ms: 137560\n- text: Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n start_ms: 137560\n end_ms: 139910\n- text: Respect like the Fonze, you see the collar up\n start_ms: 139910\n end_ms: 142560\n- text: I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n start_ms: 142560\n end_ms: 145080\n- text: I kamikaze ya town off a Arab bus\n start_ms: 145080\n end_ms: 147560\n- text: Karat cut, yeah mami pull over\n start_ms: 147560\n end_ms: 149950\n- text: I bend ya pussy like for years I knew yoga\n start_ms: 149950\n end_ms: 152430\n- text: I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\n start_ms: 152430\n end_ms: 154940\n- text: Off Hennesy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n start_ms: 154940\n end_ms: 157900\n- text: I need fifty feet when my performance starts\n start_ms: 157900\n end_ms: 160380\n- text: I push a armored car wit? Lauren Harts?\n start_ms: 160380\n end_ms: 163040\n- text: Nineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\n start_ms: 163040\n end_ms: 165490\n- text: Doc turnin dark off a warning shot\n start_ms: 165490\n end_ms: 168230\n- text: Drive off and pop, six in ya hood\n start_ms: 168230\n end_ms: 170780\n- text: (Monch) Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\n start_ms: 170780\n end_ms: 173310\n- text: Yea-yeah my nigga, one rhyme you fold over\n start_ms: 173310\n end_ms: 175760\n- text: I'm hot-headed cuz I walk wit cold shoulders\n start_ms: 175760\n end_ms: 178550\n- text: Yeah GET THE FUCK UP!\n start_ms: 178550\n end_ms: 181260\n- text: (Pharoahe Monch)\n start_ms: 181260\n end_ms: 182020\n- text: Simon Says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n start_ms: 182020\n end_ms: 183750\n- text: Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n start_ms: 183750\n end_ms: 185830\n- text: (Redman)\n start_ms: 185830\n end_ms: 186420\n- text: Jersey in the back jackin cars now wassup!\n start_ms: 186420\n end_ms: 188740\n- text: Girls, rub on ya titties\n start_ms: 188740\n end_ms: 191700\n- text: (Yeah) That's right I said it, rub on ya titties\n start_ms: 191700\n end_ms: 193800\n- text: Brick City gritty committee\n start_ms: 193800\n end_ms: 195610\n- text: Pity the fool that act shitty, in the midst of the calm, the witty\n start_ms: 195610\n end_ms: 199020\n- text: (Method Man)\n start_ms: 199020\n end_ms: 199630\n- text: Yo yo get the fuck up\n start_ms: 199630\n end_ms: 201590\n- text: Yo yeah I said it, get the fuck up\n start_ms: 201590\n end_ms: 204080\n- text: Walk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\n start_ms: 204080\n end_ms: 206870\n- text: Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n start_ms: 206870\n end_ms: 209450\n- text: Ya know my name, and Pharoahe Moch, why we came what?\n start_ms: 209450\n end_ms: 212000\n- text: We off the chain, plus we plottin on the chain, what?\n start_ms: 212000\n end_ms: 214830\n- text: Know ya role, by the way tuck ya gold\n start_ms: 214830\n end_ms: 217240\n- text: And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n start_ms: 217240\n end_ms: 219560\n- text: Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n start_ms: 219560\n end_ms: 222890\n- text: Shootin in the sky tryin to blast sun\n start_ms: 222890\n end_ms: 225080\n- text: Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\n start_ms: 225080\n end_ms: 227400\n- text: Fifty cent flashin they hate us wit a passion\n start_ms: 227400\n end_ms: 230090\n- text: Mashin, still fresh in three-day old fashion\n start_ms: 230090\n end_ms: 232360\n- text: Your plaid, I'm stripes, together we be flashin\n start_ms: 232360\n end_ms: 235040\n- text: Here's a Tunnel banger\n start_ms: 235040\n end_ms: 236790\n- text: Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n start_ms: 236790\n end_ms: 238690\n- text: This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n start_ms: 238690\n end_ms: 241830\n- text: Slap ya like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n start_ms: 241830\n end_ms: 244300\n- text: Just so you can feel me\n start_ms: 244300\n end_ms: 245860\n- text: The same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\n start_ms: 245860\n end_ms: 248090\n- text: Even if time stands still, I'ma still be\n start_ms: 248090\n end_ms: 250670\n- text: Underground and filthy, gotta have our Way like the Milky\n start_ms: 250670\n end_ms: 253790\n- text: Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n start_ms: 253790\n end_ms: 255840\n- text: Never got caught in the game of tag\n start_ms: 255840\n end_ms: 258200\n- text: Momma never kept a boyfriend wit kids this bad\n start_ms: 258200\n end_ms: 260510\n- text: No justice, RAIDER RUCKUS!\n start_ms: 260510\n end_ms: 262790\n- text: Underground till we under ground\n start_ms: 262790\n end_ms: 264310\n- text: But y'all first MOTHAFUCKERS!\n start_ms: 264310\n end_ms: 265820\n- text: (Shabaam Sahdeeq)\n start_ms: 265820\n end_ms: 266300\n- text: My thugs, throw up ya set\n start_ms: 266300\n end_ms: 267430\n- text: And shorties rub on ya breasts\n start_ms: 267430\n end_ms: 268750\n- text: GET THE FUCK UP, outta that dress, I palm tits\n start_ms: 268750\n end_ms: 271000\n- text: You herbs get flipped like jeeps on mountain cliffs\n start_ms: 271000\n end_ms: 273620\n- text: I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talent tips\n start_ms: 273620\n end_ms: 276120\n- text: Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n start_ms: 276120\n end_ms: 278650\n- text: Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n start_ms: 278650\n end_ms: 281520\n- text: You sound like Big, you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n start_ms: 281520\n end_ms: 284660\n- text: And I bet, when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n start_ms: 284660\n end_ms: 286300\n- text: Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet into delete\n start_ms: 286300\n end_ms: 288990\n- text: Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n start_ms: 288990\n end_ms: 291550\n- text: I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay wit the heat\n start_ms: 291550\n end_ms: 294180\n- text: Stay stickin fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n start_ms: 294180\n end_ms: 297090\n- text: So toss that link, dummy, shoulda insured that link\n start_ms: 297090\n end_ms: 299450\n- text: Straight to Canal I'll praise that link, then pawn that link\n start_ms: 299450\n end_ms: 301640\n- text: You froze up, Sahdeeq says \"Shut the fuck up!\"\n start_ms: 301640\n end_ms: 304640\n- text: Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n start_ms: 304640\n end_ms: 306840\n- text: (Busta Rhymes)\n start_ms: 306840\n end_ms: 307340\n- text: Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Dugan\n start_ms: 307340\n end_ms: 309280\n- text: Been thuggin, lovin the way we flood jewels for nothin\n start_ms: 309280\n end_ms: 312240\n- text: Lay it over, another ambush we take over\n start_ms: 312240\n end_ms: 314710\n- text: Yo we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n start_ms: 314710\n end_ms: 317770\n- text: You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n start_ms: 317770\n end_ms: 320120\n- text: Or find your picture of your autoposy up on the web site\n start_ms: 320120\n end_ms: 322820\n- text: Yo if you ever violate my space\n start_ms: 322820\n end_ms: 325140\n- text: Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you wit a fuckin fat face\n start_ms: 325140\n end_ms: 327960\n- text: Nigga, Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom ansom\n start_ms: 327960\n end_ms: 330570\n- text: Like the ghost in a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n start_ms: 330570\n end_ms: 333390\n- text: Bitches, snitches comin out and you know who's showin it\n start_ms: 333390\n end_ms: 335980\n- text: Like when British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n start_ms: 335980\n end_ms: 338020\n- text: Y'all niggas is seemless blends of seemless friends\n start_ms: 338020\n end_ms: 340520\n- text: Live on about? on a bunch of seamless ends\n start_ms: 340520\n end_ms: 343180\n- text: Collosal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Moncho\n start_ms: 343180\n end_ms: 345780\n- text: The head honcho, gettin this money like Leonardo (do do do)\n start_ms: 345780\n end_ms: 349000\n- text: Enough substance in the roughness\n start_ms: 349000\n end_ms: 351200\n- text: Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n start_ms: 351200\n end_ms: 353960\n- text: Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow fiend\n start_ms: 353960\n end_ms: 356130\n- text: Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n start_ms: 356130\n end_ms: 358760\n- text: Pledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\n start_ms: 358760\n end_ms: 362020\n- text: Let us control and own the fuckin area\n start_ms: 362020\n end_ms: 363950\n- text: Wildin in your whip until your crash the whole truck up\n start_ms: 363950\n end_ms: 366650\n- text: And if you know what's good for you nigga you better GET THE FUCK UP!\n start_ms: 366650\n end_ms: 369280\n- text: Hehehe\n start_ms: 369280\n end_ms: 371470\n- text: ''\n start_ms: 371470\nplain: |-\n GET THE FUCK UP!\n Simon says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n Queens is in the back sippin 'Gnac, y'all wassup?\n Girls, rub on your titties (yeah)\n Yeah fuck it I said it rub on ya titties\n New York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\n In the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n (Lady Luck)\n Yo SHUT THE FUCK UP!\n Luck said \"SHUT THE FUCK UP!\"\n Bitches in the back, like crack get it cut up\n I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n Act like a man and get cocked, smacked or fucked up\n Pull the truck up, Luck you know the name\n Assed out in the bleachers stay shittin on the game\n I suppose what you're spittin is flames, cowards\n Know your crew was vaginal, I could smell the dooch powder\n Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n Stay fly till you air sick, now that's ill\n Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n\n (Pharoahe Monch)\n WHAT THE FUCK'S goin on here, just a minute now, hold up\n Sinister wit hit the time I diminish him finish him, roll up\n When I'm,? cinematography state of mind\n My rap trip, rip, clip, say the rhyme\n Shit, I spectacular run hit spit bitches venacular\n Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the Immaculate\n Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son I'll box ya\n Ladies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n OWWW! Fellas pull ya cock out\n On the verge to splurge verbs for third round knock out\n Uh I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n Separate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behave\n Now, drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n Figure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun salute\n That's seven shots for Tupac\n Seven for Biggie Smalls\n Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n How's that, fat action packed rap remain tame\n Pharoahe fuckin Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n\n (Redman)\n Yo yo get the fuck up\n Funk Doctor Spot said \"Get the fuck up\"\n I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\n I leave a nigga hangin like ya mom's muffler\n Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n Respect like the Fonze, you see the collar up\n I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n I kamikaze ya town off a Arab bus\n Karat cut, yeah mami pull over\n I bend ya pussy like for years I knew yoga\n I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\n Off Hennesy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n I need fifty feet when my performance starts\n I push a armored car wit? Lauren Harts?\n Nineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\n Doc turnin dark off a warning shot\n Drive off and pop, six in ya hood\n (Monch) Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\n Yea-yeah my nigga, one rhyme you fold over\n I'm hot-headed cuz I walk wit cold shoulders\n Yeah GET THE FUCK UP!\n\n (Pharoahe Monch)\n Simon Says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n\n (Redman)\n Jersey in the back jackin cars now wassup!\n Girls, rub on ya titties\n (Yeah) That's right I said it, rub on ya titties\n Brick City gritty committee\n Pity the fool that act shitty, in the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n (Method Man)\n Yo yo get the fuck up\n Yo yeah I said it, get the fuck up\n Walk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\n Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n Ya know my name, and Pharoahe Moch, why we came what?\n We off the chain, plus we plottin on the chain, what?\n Know ya role, by the way tuck ya gold\n And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n Shootin in the sky tryin to blast sun\n Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\n Fifty cent flashin they hate us wit a passion\n Mashin, still fresh in three-day old fashion\n Your plaid, I'm stripes, together we be flashin\n Here's a Tunnel banger\n Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n Slap ya like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n Just so you can feel me\n The same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\n Even if time stands still, I'ma still be\n Underground and filthy, gotta have our Way like the Milky\n Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n Never got caught in the game of tag\n Momma never kept a boyfriend wit kids this bad\n No justice, RAIDER RUCKUS!\n Underground till we under ground\n But y'all first MOTHAFUCKERS!\n\n (Shabaam Sahdeeq)\n My thugs, throw up ya set\n And shorties rub on ya breasts\n GET THE FUCK UP, outta that dress, I palm tits\n You herbs get flipped like jeeps on mountain cliffs\n I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talent tips\n Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n You sound like Big, you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n And I bet, when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet into delete\n Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay wit the heat\n Stay stickin fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n So toss that link, dummy, shoulda insured that link\n Straight to Canal I'll praise that link, then pawn that link\n You froze up, Sahdeeq says \"Shut the fuck up!\"\n Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n\n (Busta Rhymes)\n Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Dugan\n Been thuggin, lovin the way we flood jewels for nothin\n Lay it over, another ambush we take over\n Yo we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n Or find your picture of your autoposy up on the web site\n Yo if you ever violate my space\n Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you wit a fuckin fat face\n Nigga, Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom ansom\n Like the ghost in a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n Bitches, snitches comin out and you know who's showin it\n Like when British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n Y'all niggas is seemless blends of seemless friends\n Live on about? on a bunch of seamless ends\n Collosal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Moncho\n The head honcho, gettin this money like Leonardo (do do do)\n Enough substance in the roughness\n Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow fiend\n Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n Pledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\n Let us control and own the fuckin area\n Wildin in your whip until your crash the whole truck up\n And if you know what's good for you nigga you better GET THE FUCK UP!\n Hehehe\n"},{"id":1629184,"name":"Simon Says (remix)","trackName":"Simon Says (remix)","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch","albumName":"Internal Affairs","duration":0.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"GET THE FUCK UP!\nSimon says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\nThrow ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\nQueens is in the back sippin 'Gnac, y'all wassup?\nGirls, rub on your titties (yeah)\nYeah fuck it I said it rub on ya titties\nNew York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\nIn the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n(Lady Luck)\nYo SHUT THE FUCK UP!\nLuck said \"SHUT THE FUCK UP!\"\nBitches in the back, like crack get it cut up\nI speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\nAct like a man and get cocked, smacked or fucked up\nPull the truck up, Luck you know the name\nAssed out in the bleachers stay shittin on the game\nI suppose what you're spittin is flames, cowards\nKnow your crew was vaginal, I could smell the dooch powder\nSummer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\nCome four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\nStay fly till you air sick, now that's ill\nTwo choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n\n(Pharoahe Monch)\nWHAT THE FUCK'S goin on here, just a minute now, hold up\nSinister wit hit the time I diminish him finish him, roll up\nWhen I'm,? cinematography state of mind\nMy rap trip, rip, clip, say the rhyme\nShit, I spectacular run hit spit bitches venacular\nMiraculous rhyme flow, back track to the Immaculate\nBinaca blast nigga that's fast, son I'll box ya\nLadies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\nOWWW! Fellas pull ya cock out\nOn the verge to splurge verbs for third round knock out\nUh I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\nDust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\nThe mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\nSeparate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behave\nNow, drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\nFigure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun salute\nThat's seven shots for Tupac\nSeven for Biggie Smalls\nSeven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\nHow's that, fat action packed rap remain tame\nPharoahe fuckin Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n\n(Redman)\nYo yo get the fuck up\nFunk Doctor Spot said \"Get the fuck up\"\nI got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\nI leave a nigga hangin like ya mom's muffler\nSnuff her, then my boys follow up\nRespect like the Fonze, you see the collar up\nI spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\nI kamikaze ya town off a Arab bus\nKarat cut, yeah mami pull over\nI bend ya pussy like for years I knew yoga\nI'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\nOff Hennesy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\nI need fifty feet when my performance starts\nI push a armored car wit? Lauren Harts?\nNineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\nDoc turnin dark off a warning shot\nDrive off and pop, six in ya hood\n(Monch) Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\nYea-yeah my nigga, one rhyme you fold over\nI'm hot-headed cuz I walk wit cold shoulders\nYeah GET THE FUCK UP!\n\n(Pharoahe Monch)\nSimon Says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\nThrow ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n\n(Redman)\nJersey in the back jackin cars now wassup!\nGirls, rub on ya titties\n(Yeah) That's right I said it, rub on ya titties\nBrick City gritty committee\nPity the fool that act shitty, in the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n(Method Man)\nYo yo get the fuck up\nYo yeah I said it, get the fuck up\nWalk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\nSeek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\nYa know my name, and Pharoahe Moch, why we came what?\nWe off the chain, plus we plottin on the chain, what?\nKnow ya role, by the way tuck ya gold\nAnd you and your mic can ease on down the road\nAssholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\nShootin in the sky tryin to blast sun\nZero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\nFifty cent flashin they hate us wit a passion\nMashin, still fresh in three-day old fashion\nYour plaid, I'm stripes, together we be flashin\nHere's a Tunnel banger\nWu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\nThis gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\nSlap ya like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\nJust so you can feel me\nThe same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\nEven if time stands still, I'ma still be\nUnderground and filthy, gotta have our Way like the Milky\nInnocent until I'm proven guilty\nNever got caught in the game of tag\nMomma never kept a boyfriend wit kids this bad\nNo justice, RAIDER RUCKUS!\nUnderground till we under ground\nBut y'all first MOTHAFUCKERS!\n\n(Shabaam Sahdeeq)\nMy thugs, throw up ya set\nAnd shorties rub on ya breasts\nGET THE FUCK UP, outta that dress, I palm tits\nYou herbs get flipped like jeeps on mountain cliffs\nI'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talent tips\nDouble-S, double the threat, double your bet\nDouble up on that cash if you decide to invest\nYou sound like Big, you sound like Jay, you sound like D\nAnd I bet, when I go plat, you'll sound like me\nShabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet into delete\nY'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\nI stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay wit the heat\nStay stickin fools like you for the rocks that gleam\nSo toss that link, dummy, shoulda insured that link\nStraight to Canal I'll praise that link, then pawn that link\nYou froze up, Sahdeeq says \"Shut the fuck up!\"\nPunk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n\n(Busta Rhymes)\nBusta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Dugan\nBeen thuggin, lovin the way we flood jewels for nothin\nLay it over, another ambush we take over\nYo we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\nYou better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\nOr find your picture of your autoposy up on the web site\nYo if you ever violate my space\nFuck a fat lip, I'll leave you wit a fuckin fat face\nNigga, Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom ansom\nLike the ghost in a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\nBitches, snitches comin out and you know who's showin it\nLike when British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\nY'all niggas is seemless blends of seemless friends\nLive on about? on a bunch of seamless ends\nCollosal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Moncho\nThe head honcho, gettin this money like Leonardo (do do do)\nEnough substance in the roughness\nNow watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\nNow let me clear the smoke screen you blow fiend\nLive nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\nPledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\nLet us control and own the fuckin area\nWildin in your whip until your crash the whole truck up\nAnd if you know what's good for you nigga you better GET THE FUCK UP!\nHehehe","syncedLyrics":"[00:23.14] GET THE FUCK UP!\n[00:24.82] Simon says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n[00:26.67] Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n[00:29.11] Queens is in the back sippin 'Gnac, y'all wassup?\n[00:32.03] Girls, rub on your titties (yeah)\n[00:35.12] Yeah fuck it I said it rub on ya titties\n[00:37.23] New York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\n[00:39.41] In the midst of the calm, the witty\n[00:42.74] (Lady Luck)\n[00:44.98] Yo SHUT THE FUCK UP!\n[00:45.70] Luck said \"SHUT THE FUCK UP!\"\n[00:47.18] Bitches in the back, like crack get it cut up\n[00:49.78] I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n[00:52.35] Act like a man and get cocked, smacked or fucked up\n[00:54.94] Pull the truck up, Luck you know the name\n[00:57.49] Assed out in the bleachers stay shittin on the game\n[00:59.84] I suppose what you're spittin is flames, cowards\n[01:02.31] Know your crew was vaginal, I could smell the dooch powder\n[01:05.09] Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n[01:07.65] Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n[01:10.32] Stay fly till you air sick, now that's ill\n[01:12.82] Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n[01:15.24] (Pharoahe Monch)\n[01:16.08] WHAT THE FUCK'S goin on here, just a minute now, hold up\n[01:18.14] Sinister wit hit the time I diminish him finish him, roll up\n[01:20.58] When I'm,? cinematography state of mind\n[01:24.04] My rap trip, rip, clip, say the rhyme\n[01:26.44] Shit, I spectacular run hit spit bitches venacular\n[01:28.49] Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the Immaculate\n[01:30.99] Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son I'll box ya\n[01:33.75] Ladies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n[01:36.84] OWWW! Fellas pull ya cock out\n[01:38.71] On the verge to splurge verbs for third round knock out\n[01:41.53] Uh I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n[01:43.96] Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n[01:46.45] The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n[01:49.05] Separate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behave\n[01:51.30] Now, drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n[01:54.26] Figure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun salute\n[01:56.60] That's seven shots for Tupac\n[01:58.29] Seven for Biggie Smalls\n[01:59.26] Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n[02:01.88] How's that, fat action packed rap remain tame\n[02:04.17] Pharoahe fuckin Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n[02:07.02] (Redman)\n[02:08.32] Yo yo get the fuck up\n[02:10.07] Funk Doctor Spot said \"Get the fuck up\"\n[02:12.16] I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\n[02:14.94] I leave a nigga hangin like ya mom's muffler\n[02:17.56] Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n[02:19.91] Respect like the Fonze, you see the collar up\n[02:22.56] I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n[02:25.08] I kamikaze ya town off a Arab bus\n[02:27.56] Karat cut, yeah mami pull over\n[02:29.95] I bend ya pussy like for years I knew yoga\n[02:32.43] I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\n[02:34.94] Off Hennesy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n[02:37.90] I need fifty feet when my performance starts\n[02:40.38] I push a armored car wit? Lauren Harts?\n[02:43.04] Nineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\n[02:45.49] Doc turnin dark off a warning shot\n[02:48.23] Drive off and pop, six in ya hood\n[02:50.78] (Monch) Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\n[02:53.31] Yea-yeah my nigga, one rhyme you fold over\n[02:55.76] I'm hot-headed cuz I walk wit cold shoulders\n[02:58.55] Yeah GET THE FUCK UP!\n[03:01.26] (Pharoahe Monch)\n[03:02.02] Simon Says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n[03:03.75] Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n[03:05.83] (Redman)\n[03:06.42] Jersey in the back jackin cars now wassup!\n[03:08.74] Girls, rub on ya titties\n[03:11.70] (Yeah) That's right I said it, rub on ya titties\n[03:13.80] Brick City gritty committee\n[03:15.61] Pity the fool that act shitty, in the midst of the calm, the witty\n[03:19.02] (Method Man)\n[03:19.63] Yo yo get the fuck up\n[03:21.59] Yo yeah I said it, get the fuck up\n[03:24.08] Walk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\n[03:26.87] Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n[03:29.45] Ya know my name, and Pharoahe Moch, why we came what?\n[03:32.00] We off the chain, plus we plottin on the chain, what?\n[03:34.83] Know ya role, by the way tuck ya gold\n[03:37.24] And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n[03:39.56] Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n[03:42.89] Shootin in the sky tryin to blast sun\n[03:45.08] Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\n[03:47.40] Fifty cent flashin they hate us wit a passion\n[03:50.09] Mashin, still fresh in three-day old fashion\n[03:52.36] Your plaid, I'm stripes, together we be flashin\n[03:55.04] Here's a Tunnel banger\n[03:56.79] Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n[03:58.69] This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n[04:01.83] Slap ya like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n[04:04.30] Just so you can feel me\n[04:05.86] The same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\n[04:08.09] Even if time stands still, I'ma still be\n[04:10.67] Underground and filthy, gotta have our Way like the Milky\n[04:13.79] Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n[04:15.84] Never got caught in the game of tag\n[04:18.20] Momma never kept a boyfriend wit kids this bad\n[04:20.51] No justice, RAIDER RUCKUS!\n[04:22.79] Underground till we under ground\n[04:24.31] But y'all first MOTHAFUCKERS!\n[04:25.82] (Shabaam Sahdeeq)\n[04:26.30] My thugs, throw up ya set\n[04:27.43] And shorties rub on ya breasts\n[04:28.75] GET THE FUCK UP, outta that dress, I palm tits\n[04:31.00] You herbs get flipped like jeeps on mountain cliffs\n[04:33.62] I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talent tips\n[04:36.12] Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n[04:38.65] Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n[04:41.52] You sound like Big, you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n[04:44.66] And I bet, when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n[04:46.30] Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet into delete\n[04:48.99] Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n[04:51.55] I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay wit the heat\n[04:54.18] Stay stickin fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n[04:57.09] So toss that link, dummy, shoulda insured that link\n[04:59.45] Straight to Canal I'll praise that link, then pawn that link\n[05:01.64] You froze up, Sahdeeq says \"Shut the fuck up!\"\n[05:04.64] Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n[05:06.84] (Busta Rhymes)\n[05:07.34] Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Dugan\n[05:09.28] Been thuggin, lovin the way we flood jewels for nothin\n[05:12.24] Lay it over, another ambush we take over\n[05:14.71] Yo we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n[05:17.77] You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n[05:20.12] Or find your picture of your autoposy up on the web site\n[05:22.82] Yo if you ever violate my space\n[05:25.14] Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you wit a fuckin fat face\n[05:27.96] Nigga, Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom ansom\n[05:30.57] Like the ghost in a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n[05:33.39] Bitches, snitches comin out and you know who's showin it\n[05:35.98] Like when British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n[05:38.02] Y'all niggas is seemless blends of seemless friends\n[05:40.52] Live on about? on a bunch of seamless ends\n[05:43.18] Collosal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Moncho\n[05:45.78] The head honcho, gettin this money like Leonardo (do do do)\n[05:49.00] Enough substance in the roughness\n[05:51.20] Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n[05:53.96] Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow fiend\n[05:56.13] Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n[05:58.76] Pledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\n[06:02.02] Let us control and own the fuckin area\n[06:03.95] Wildin in your whip until your crash the whole truck up\n[06:06.65] And if you know what's good for you nigga you better GET THE FUCK UP!\n[06:09.28] Hehehe\n[06:11.47] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Simon Says (remix)\n artist: Pharoahe Monch\n album: Internal Affairs\n instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: GET THE FUCK UP!\n start_ms: 23140\n end_ms: 24820\n- text: Simon says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n start_ms: 24820\n end_ms: 26670\n- text: Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n start_ms: 26670\n end_ms: 29110\n- text: Queens is in the back sippin 'Gnac, y'all wassup?\n start_ms: 29110\n end_ms: 32030\n- text: Girls, rub on your titties (yeah)\n start_ms: 32030\n end_ms: 35120\n- text: Yeah fuck it I said it rub on ya titties\n start_ms: 35120\n end_ms: 37230\n- text: New York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\n start_ms: 37230\n end_ms: 39410\n- text: In the midst of the calm, the witty\n start_ms: 39410\n end_ms: 42740\n- text: (Lady Luck)\n start_ms: 42740\n end_ms: 44980\n- text: Yo SHUT THE FUCK UP!\n start_ms: 44980\n end_ms: 45700\n- text: Luck said \"SHUT THE FUCK UP!\"\n start_ms: 45700\n end_ms: 47180\n- text: Bitches in the back, like crack get it cut up\n start_ms: 47180\n end_ms: 49780\n- text: I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n start_ms: 49780\n end_ms: 52350\n- text: Act like a man and get cocked, smacked or fucked up\n start_ms: 52350\n end_ms: 54940\n- text: Pull the truck up, Luck you know the name\n start_ms: 54940\n end_ms: 57490\n- text: Assed out in the bleachers stay shittin on the game\n start_ms: 57490\n end_ms: 59840\n- text: I suppose what you're spittin is flames, cowards\n start_ms: 59840\n end_ms: 62310\n- text: Know your crew was vaginal, I could smell the dooch powder\n start_ms: 62310\n end_ms: 65090\n- text: Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n start_ms: 65090\n end_ms: 67650\n- text: Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n start_ms: 67650\n end_ms: 70320\n- text: Stay fly till you air sick, now that's ill\n start_ms: 70320\n end_ms: 72820\n- text: Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n start_ms: 72820\n end_ms: 75240\n- text: (Pharoahe Monch)\n start_ms: 75240\n end_ms: 76080\n- text: WHAT THE FUCK'S goin on here, just a minute now, hold up\n start_ms: 76080\n end_ms: 78140\n- text: Sinister wit hit the time I diminish him finish him, roll up\n start_ms: 78140\n end_ms: 80580\n- text: When I'm,? cinematography state of mind\n start_ms: 80580\n end_ms: 84040\n- text: My rap trip, rip, clip, say the rhyme\n start_ms: 84040\n end_ms: 86440\n- text: Shit, I spectacular run hit spit bitches venacular\n start_ms: 86440\n end_ms: 88490\n- text: Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the Immaculate\n start_ms: 88490\n end_ms: 90990\n- text: Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son I'll box ya\n start_ms: 90990\n end_ms: 93750\n- text: Ladies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n start_ms: 93750\n end_ms: 96840\n- text: OWWW! Fellas pull ya cock out\n start_ms: 96840\n end_ms: 98710\n- text: On the verge to splurge verbs for third round knock out\n start_ms: 98710\n end_ms: 101530\n- text: Uh I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n start_ms: 101530\n end_ms: 103960\n- text: Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n start_ms: 103960\n end_ms: 106450\n- text: The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n start_ms: 106450\n end_ms: 109050\n- text: Separate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behave\n start_ms: 109050\n end_ms: 111300\n- text: Now, drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n start_ms: 111300\n end_ms: 114260\n- text: Figure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun salute\n start_ms: 114260\n end_ms: 116600\n- text: That's seven shots for Tupac\n start_ms: 116600\n end_ms: 118290\n- text: Seven for Biggie Smalls\n start_ms: 118290\n end_ms: 119260\n- text: Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n start_ms: 119260\n end_ms: 121880\n- text: How's that, fat action packed rap remain tame\n start_ms: 121880\n end_ms: 124170\n- text: Pharoahe fuckin Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n start_ms: 124170\n end_ms: 127020\n- text: (Redman)\n start_ms: 127020\n end_ms: 128320\n- text: Yo yo get the fuck up\n start_ms: 128320\n end_ms: 130070\n- text: Funk Doctor Spot said \"Get the fuck up\"\n start_ms: 130070\n end_ms: 132160\n- text: I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\n start_ms: 132160\n end_ms: 134940\n- text: I leave a nigga hangin like ya mom's muffler\n start_ms: 134940\n end_ms: 137560\n- text: Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n start_ms: 137560\n end_ms: 139910\n- text: Respect like the Fonze, you see the collar up\n start_ms: 139910\n end_ms: 142560\n- text: I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n start_ms: 142560\n end_ms: 145080\n- text: I kamikaze ya town off a Arab bus\n start_ms: 145080\n end_ms: 147560\n- text: Karat cut, yeah mami pull over\n start_ms: 147560\n end_ms: 149950\n- text: I bend ya pussy like for years I knew yoga\n start_ms: 149950\n end_ms: 152430\n- text: I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\n start_ms: 152430\n end_ms: 154940\n- text: Off Hennesy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n start_ms: 154940\n end_ms: 157900\n- text: I need fifty feet when my performance starts\n start_ms: 157900\n end_ms: 160380\n- text: I push a armored car wit? Lauren Harts?\n start_ms: 160380\n end_ms: 163040\n- text: Nineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\n start_ms: 163040\n end_ms: 165490\n- text: Doc turnin dark off a warning shot\n start_ms: 165490\n end_ms: 168230\n- text: Drive off and pop, six in ya hood\n start_ms: 168230\n end_ms: 170780\n- text: (Monch) Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\n start_ms: 170780\n end_ms: 173310\n- text: Yea-yeah my nigga, one rhyme you fold over\n start_ms: 173310\n end_ms: 175760\n- text: I'm hot-headed cuz I walk wit cold shoulders\n start_ms: 175760\n end_ms: 178550\n- text: Yeah GET THE FUCK UP!\n start_ms: 178550\n end_ms: 181260\n- text: (Pharoahe Monch)\n start_ms: 181260\n end_ms: 182020\n- text: Simon Says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n start_ms: 182020\n end_ms: 183750\n- text: Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n start_ms: 183750\n end_ms: 185830\n- text: (Redman)\n start_ms: 185830\n end_ms: 186420\n- text: Jersey in the back jackin cars now wassup!\n start_ms: 186420\n end_ms: 188740\n- text: Girls, rub on ya titties\n start_ms: 188740\n end_ms: 191700\n- text: (Yeah) That's right I said it, rub on ya titties\n start_ms: 191700\n end_ms: 193800\n- text: Brick City gritty committee\n start_ms: 193800\n end_ms: 195610\n- text: Pity the fool that act shitty, in the midst of the calm, the witty\n start_ms: 195610\n end_ms: 199020\n- text: (Method Man)\n start_ms: 199020\n end_ms: 199630\n- text: Yo yo get the fuck up\n start_ms: 199630\n end_ms: 201590\n- text: Yo yeah I said it, get the fuck up\n start_ms: 201590\n end_ms: 204080\n- text: Walk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\n start_ms: 204080\n end_ms: 206870\n- text: Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n start_ms: 206870\n end_ms: 209450\n- text: Ya know my name, and Pharoahe Moch, why we came what?\n start_ms: 209450\n end_ms: 212000\n- text: We off the chain, plus we plottin on the chain, what?\n start_ms: 212000\n end_ms: 214830\n- text: Know ya role, by the way tuck ya gold\n start_ms: 214830\n end_ms: 217240\n- text: And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n start_ms: 217240\n end_ms: 219560\n- text: Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n start_ms: 219560\n end_ms: 222890\n- text: Shootin in the sky tryin to blast sun\n start_ms: 222890\n end_ms: 225080\n- text: Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\n start_ms: 225080\n end_ms: 227400\n- text: Fifty cent flashin they hate us wit a passion\n start_ms: 227400\n end_ms: 230090\n- text: Mashin, still fresh in three-day old fashion\n start_ms: 230090\n end_ms: 232360\n- text: Your plaid, I'm stripes, together we be flashin\n start_ms: 232360\n end_ms: 235040\n- text: Here's a Tunnel banger\n start_ms: 235040\n end_ms: 236790\n- text: Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n start_ms: 236790\n end_ms: 238690\n- text: This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n start_ms: 238690\n end_ms: 241830\n- text: Slap ya like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n start_ms: 241830\n end_ms: 244300\n- text: Just so you can feel me\n start_ms: 244300\n end_ms: 245860\n- text: The same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\n start_ms: 245860\n end_ms: 248090\n- text: Even if time stands still, I'ma still be\n start_ms: 248090\n end_ms: 250670\n- text: Underground and filthy, gotta have our Way like the Milky\n start_ms: 250670\n end_ms: 253790\n- text: Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n start_ms: 253790\n end_ms: 255840\n- text: Never got caught in the game of tag\n start_ms: 255840\n end_ms: 258200\n- text: Momma never kept a boyfriend wit kids this bad\n start_ms: 258200\n end_ms: 260510\n- text: No justice, RAIDER RUCKUS!\n start_ms: 260510\n end_ms: 262790\n- text: Underground till we under ground\n start_ms: 262790\n end_ms: 264310\n- text: But y'all first MOTHAFUCKERS!\n start_ms: 264310\n end_ms: 265820\n- text: (Shabaam Sahdeeq)\n start_ms: 265820\n end_ms: 266300\n- text: My thugs, throw up ya set\n start_ms: 266300\n end_ms: 267430\n- text: And shorties rub on ya breasts\n start_ms: 267430\n end_ms: 268750\n- text: GET THE FUCK UP, outta that dress, I palm tits\n start_ms: 268750\n end_ms: 271000\n- text: You herbs get flipped like jeeps on mountain cliffs\n start_ms: 271000\n end_ms: 273620\n- text: I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talent tips\n start_ms: 273620\n end_ms: 276120\n- text: Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n start_ms: 276120\n end_ms: 278650\n- text: Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n start_ms: 278650\n end_ms: 281520\n- text: You sound like Big, you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n start_ms: 281520\n end_ms: 284660\n- text: And I bet, when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n start_ms: 284660\n end_ms: 286300\n- text: Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet into delete\n start_ms: 286300\n end_ms: 288990\n- text: Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n start_ms: 288990\n end_ms: 291550\n- text: I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay wit the heat\n start_ms: 291550\n end_ms: 294180\n- text: Stay stickin fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n start_ms: 294180\n end_ms: 297090\n- text: So toss that link, dummy, shoulda insured that link\n start_ms: 297090\n end_ms: 299450\n- text: Straight to Canal I'll praise that link, then pawn that link\n start_ms: 299450\n end_ms: 301640\n- text: You froze up, Sahdeeq says \"Shut the fuck up!\"\n start_ms: 301640\n end_ms: 304640\n- text: Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n start_ms: 304640\n end_ms: 306840\n- text: (Busta Rhymes)\n start_ms: 306840\n end_ms: 307340\n- text: Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Dugan\n start_ms: 307340\n end_ms: 309280\n- text: Been thuggin, lovin the way we flood jewels for nothin\n start_ms: 309280\n end_ms: 312240\n- text: Lay it over, another ambush we take over\n start_ms: 312240\n end_ms: 314710\n- text: Yo we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n start_ms: 314710\n end_ms: 317770\n- text: You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n start_ms: 317770\n end_ms: 320120\n- text: Or find your picture of your autoposy up on the web site\n start_ms: 320120\n end_ms: 322820\n- text: Yo if you ever violate my space\n start_ms: 322820\n end_ms: 325140\n- text: Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you wit a fuckin fat face\n start_ms: 325140\n end_ms: 327960\n- text: Nigga, Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom ansom\n start_ms: 327960\n end_ms: 330570\n- text: Like the ghost in a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n start_ms: 330570\n end_ms: 333390\n- text: Bitches, snitches comin out and you know who's showin it\n start_ms: 333390\n end_ms: 335980\n- text: Like when British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n start_ms: 335980\n end_ms: 338020\n- text: Y'all niggas is seemless blends of seemless friends\n start_ms: 338020\n end_ms: 340520\n- text: Live on about? on a bunch of seamless ends\n start_ms: 340520\n end_ms: 343180\n- text: Collosal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Moncho\n start_ms: 343180\n end_ms: 345780\n- text: The head honcho, gettin this money like Leonardo (do do do)\n start_ms: 345780\n end_ms: 349000\n- text: Enough substance in the roughness\n start_ms: 349000\n end_ms: 351200\n- text: Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n start_ms: 351200\n end_ms: 353960\n- text: Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow fiend\n start_ms: 353960\n end_ms: 356130\n- text: Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n start_ms: 356130\n end_ms: 358760\n- text: Pledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\n start_ms: 358760\n end_ms: 362020\n- text: Let us control and own the fuckin area\n start_ms: 362020\n end_ms: 363950\n- text: Wildin in your whip until your crash the whole truck up\n start_ms: 363950\n end_ms: 366650\n- text: And if you know what's good for you nigga you better GET THE FUCK UP!\n start_ms: 366650\n end_ms: 369280\n- text: Hehehe\n start_ms: 369280\n end_ms: 371470\n- text: ''\n start_ms: 371470\nplain: |-\n GET THE FUCK UP!\n Simon says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n Queens is in the back sippin 'Gnac, y'all wassup?\n Girls, rub on your titties (yeah)\n Yeah fuck it I said it rub on ya titties\n New York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\n In the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n (Lady Luck)\n Yo SHUT THE FUCK UP!\n Luck said \"SHUT THE FUCK UP!\"\n Bitches in the back, like crack get it cut up\n I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n Act like a man and get cocked, smacked or fucked up\n Pull the truck up, Luck you know the name\n Assed out in the bleachers stay shittin on the game\n I suppose what you're spittin is flames, cowards\n Know your crew was vaginal, I could smell the dooch powder\n Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n Stay fly till you air sick, now that's ill\n Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n\n (Pharoahe Monch)\n WHAT THE FUCK'S goin on here, just a minute now, hold up\n Sinister wit hit the time I diminish him finish him, roll up\n When I'm,? cinematography state of mind\n My rap trip, rip, clip, say the rhyme\n Shit, I spectacular run hit spit bitches venacular\n Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the Immaculate\n Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son I'll box ya\n Ladies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n OWWW! Fellas pull ya cock out\n On the verge to splurge verbs for third round knock out\n Uh I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n Separate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behave\n Now, drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n Figure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun salute\n That's seven shots for Tupac\n Seven for Biggie Smalls\n Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n How's that, fat action packed rap remain tame\n Pharoahe fuckin Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n\n (Redman)\n Yo yo get the fuck up\n Funk Doctor Spot said \"Get the fuck up\"\n I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\n I leave a nigga hangin like ya mom's muffler\n Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n Respect like the Fonze, you see the collar up\n I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n I kamikaze ya town off a Arab bus\n Karat cut, yeah mami pull over\n I bend ya pussy like for years I knew yoga\n I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\n Off Hennesy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n I need fifty feet when my performance starts\n I push a armored car wit? Lauren Harts?\n Nineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\n Doc turnin dark off a warning shot\n Drive off and pop, six in ya hood\n (Monch) Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\n Yea-yeah my nigga, one rhyme you fold over\n I'm hot-headed cuz I walk wit cold shoulders\n Yeah GET THE FUCK UP!\n\n (Pharoahe Monch)\n Simon Says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n\n (Redman)\n Jersey in the back jackin cars now wassup!\n Girls, rub on ya titties\n (Yeah) That's right I said it, rub on ya titties\n Brick City gritty committee\n Pity the fool that act shitty, in the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n (Method Man)\n Yo yo get the fuck up\n Yo yeah I said it, get the fuck up\n Walk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\n Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n Ya know my name, and Pharoahe Moch, why we came what?\n We off the chain, plus we plottin on the chain, what?\n Know ya role, by the way tuck ya gold\n And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n Shootin in the sky tryin to blast sun\n Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\n Fifty cent flashin they hate us wit a passion\n Mashin, still fresh in three-day old fashion\n Your plaid, I'm stripes, together we be flashin\n Here's a Tunnel banger\n Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n Slap ya like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n Just so you can feel me\n The same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\n Even if time stands still, I'ma still be\n Underground and filthy, gotta have our Way like the Milky\n Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n Never got caught in the game of tag\n Momma never kept a boyfriend wit kids this bad\n No justice, RAIDER RUCKUS!\n Underground till we under ground\n But y'all first MOTHAFUCKERS!\n\n (Shabaam Sahdeeq)\n My thugs, throw up ya set\n And shorties rub on ya breasts\n GET THE FUCK UP, outta that dress, I palm tits\n You herbs get flipped like jeeps on mountain cliffs\n I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talent tips\n Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n You sound like Big, you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n And I bet, when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet into delete\n Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay wit the heat\n Stay stickin fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n So toss that link, dummy, shoulda insured that link\n Straight to Canal I'll praise that link, then pawn that link\n You froze up, Sahdeeq says \"Shut the fuck up!\"\n Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n\n (Busta Rhymes)\n Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Dugan\n Been thuggin, lovin the way we flood jewels for nothin\n Lay it over, another ambush we take over\n Yo we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n Or find your picture of your autoposy up on the web site\n Yo if you ever violate my space\n Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you wit a fuckin fat face\n Nigga, Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom ansom\n Like the ghost in a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n Bitches, snitches comin out and you know who's showin it\n Like when British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n Y'all niggas is seemless blends of seemless friends\n Live on about? on a bunch of seamless ends\n Collosal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Moncho\n The head honcho, gettin this money like Leonardo (do do do)\n Enough substance in the roughness\n Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow fiend\n Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n Pledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\n Let us control and own the fuckin area\n Wildin in your whip until your crash the whole truck up\n And if you know what's good for you nigga you better GET THE FUCK UP!\n Hehehe\n"},{"id":19892383,"name":"Simon Says (Remix)","trackName":"Simon Says (Remix)","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch","albumName":"Y'all Know The Name (Mixtape)","duration":375.356675,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"GET THE FUCK UP!\nSimon says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\nThrow ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\nQueens is in the back sippin 'Gnac, y'all wassup?\nGirls, rub on your titties (yeah)\nYeah fuck it I said it rub on ya titties\nNew York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\nIn the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n(Lady Luck)\nYo SHUT THE FUCK UP!\nLuck said \"SHUT THE FUCK UP!\"\nBitches in the back, like crack get it cut up\nI speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\nAct like a man and get cocked, smacked or fucked up\nPull the truck up, Luck you know the name\nAssed out in the bleachers stay shittin on the game\nI suppose what you're spittin is flames, cowards\nKnow your crew was vaginal, I could smell the dooch powder\nSummer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\nCome four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\nStay fly till you air sick, now that's ill\nTwo choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n\n(Pharoahe Monch)\nWHAT THE FUCK'S goin on here, just a minute now, hold up\nSinister wit hit the time I diminish him finish him, roll up\nWhen I'm,? cinematography state of mind\nMy rap trip, rip, clip, say the rhyme\nShit, I spectacular run hit spit bitches venacular\nMiraculous rhyme flow, back track to the Immaculate\nBinaca blast nigga that's fast, son I'll box ya\nLadies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\nOWWW! Fellas pull ya cock out\nOn the verge to splurge verbs for third round knock out\nUh I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\nDust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\nThe mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\nSeparate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behave\nNow, drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\nFigure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun salute\nThat's seven shots for Tupac\nSeven for Biggie Smalls\nSeven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\nHow's that, fat action packed rap remain tame\nPharoahe fuckin Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n\n(Redman)\nYo yo get the fuck up\nFunk Doctor Spot said \"Get the fuck up\"\nI got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\nI leave a nigga hangin like ya mom's muffler\nSnuff her, then my boys follow up\nRespect like the Fonze, you see the collar up\nI spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\nI kamikaze ya town off a Arab bus\nKarat cut, yeah mami pull over\nI bend ya pussy like for years I knew yoga\nI'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\nOff Hennesy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\nI need fifty feet when my performance starts\nI push a armored car wit? Lauren Harts?\nNineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\nDoc turnin dark off a warning shot\nDrive off and pop, six in ya hood\n(Monch) Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\nYea-yeah my nigga, one rhyme you fold over\nI'm hot-headed cuz I walk wit cold shoulders\nYeah GET THE FUCK UP!\n\n(Pharoahe Monch)\nSimon Says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\nThrow ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n\n(Redman)\nJersey in the back jackin cars now wassup!\nGirls, rub on ya titties\n(Yeah) That's right I said it, rub on ya titties\nBrick City gritty committee\nPity the fool that act shitty, in the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n(Method Man)\nYo yo get the fuck up\nYo yeah I said it, get the fuck up\nWalk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\nSeek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\nYa know my name, and Pharoahe Moch, why we came what?\nWe off the chain, plus we plottin on the chain, what?\nKnow ya role, by the way tuck ya gold\nAnd you and your mic can ease on down the road\nAssholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\nShootin in the sky tryin to blast sun\nZero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\nFifty cent flashin they hate us wit a passion\nMashin, still fresh in three-day old fashion\nYour plaid, I'm stripes, together we be flashin\nHere's a Tunnel banger\nWu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\nThis gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\nSlap ya like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\nJust so you can feel me\nThe same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\nEven if time stands still, I'ma still be\nUnderground and filthy, gotta have our Way like the Milky\nInnocent until I'm proven guilty\nNever got caught in the game of tag\nMomma never kept a boyfriend wit kids this bad\nNo justice, RAIDER RUCKUS!\nUnderground till we under ground\nBut y'all first MOTHAFUCKERS!\n\n(Shabaam Sahdeeq)\nMy thugs, throw up ya set\nAnd shorties rub on ya breasts\nGET THE FUCK UP, outta that dress, I palm tits\nYou herbs get flipped like jeeps on mountain cliffs\nI'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talent tips\nDouble-S, double the threat, double your bet\nDouble up on that cash if you decide to invest\nYou sound like Big, you sound like Jay, you sound like D\nAnd I bet, when I go plat, you'll sound like me\nShabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet into delete\nY'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\nI stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay wit the heat\nStay stickin fools like you for the rocks that gleam\nSo toss that link, dummy, shoulda insured that link\nStraight to Canal I'll praise that link, then pawn that link\nYou froze up, Sahdeeq says \"Shut the fuck up!\"\nPunk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n\n(Busta Rhymes)\nBusta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Dugan\nBeen thuggin, lovin the way we flood jewels for nothin\nLay it over, another ambush we take over\nYo we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\nYou better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\nOr find your picture of your autoposy up on the web site\nYo if you ever violate my space\nFuck a fat lip, I'll leave you wit a fuckin fat face\nNigga, Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom ansom\nLike the ghost in a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\nBitches, snitches comin out and you know who's showin it\nLike when British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\nY'all niggas is seemless blends of seemless friends\nLive on about? on a bunch of seamless ends\nCollosal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Moncho\nThe head honcho, gettin this money like Leonardo (do do do)\nEnough substance in the roughness\nNow watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\nNow let me clear the smoke screen you blow fiend\nLive nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\nPledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\nLet us control and own the fuckin area\nWildin in your whip until your crash the whole truck up\nAnd if you know what's good for you nigga you better GET THE FUCK UP!\nHehehe","syncedLyrics":"[00:23.14] GET THE FUCK UP!\n[00:24.82] Simon says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n[00:26.67] Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n[00:29.11] Queens is in the back sippin 'Gnac, y'all wassup?\n[00:32.03] Girls, rub on your titties (yeah)\n[00:35.12] Yeah fuck it I said it rub on ya titties\n[00:37.23] New York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\n[00:39.41] In the midst of the calm, the witty\n[00:42.74] (Lady Luck)\n[00:44.98] Yo SHUT THE FUCK UP!\n[00:45.70] Luck said \"SHUT THE FUCK UP!\"\n[00:47.18] Bitches in the back, like crack get it cut up\n[00:49.78] I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n[00:52.35] Act like a man and get cocked, smacked or fucked up\n[00:54.94] Pull the truck up, Luck you know the name\n[00:57.49] Assed out in the bleachers stay shittin on the game\n[00:59.84] I suppose what you're spittin is flames, cowards\n[01:02.31] Know your crew was vaginal, I could smell the dooch powder\n[01:05.09] Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n[01:07.65] Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n[01:10.32] Stay fly till you air sick, now that's ill\n[01:12.82] Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n[01:15.24] (Pharoahe Monch)\n[01:16.08] WHAT THE FUCK'S goin on here, just a minute now, hold up\n[01:18.14] Sinister wit hit the time I diminish him finish him, roll up\n[01:20.58] When I'm,? cinematography state of mind\n[01:24.04] My rap trip, rip, clip, say the rhyme\n[01:26.44] Shit, I spectacular run hit spit bitches venacular\n[01:28.49] Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the Immaculate\n[01:30.99] Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son I'll box ya\n[01:33.75] Ladies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n[01:36.84] OWWW! Fellas pull ya cock out\n[01:38.71] On the verge to splurge verbs for third round knock out\n[01:41.53] Uh I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n[01:43.96] Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n[01:46.45] The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n[01:49.05] Separate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behave\n[01:51.30] Now, drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n[01:54.26] Figure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun salute\n[01:56.60] That's seven shots for Tupac\n[01:58.29] Seven for Biggie Smalls\n[01:59.26] Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n[02:01.88] How's that, fat action packed rap remain tame\n[02:04.17] Pharoahe fuckin Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n[02:07.02] (Redman)\n[02:08.32] Yo yo get the fuck up\n[02:10.07] Funk Doctor Spot said \"Get the fuck up\"\n[02:12.16] I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\n[02:14.94] I leave a nigga hangin like ya mom's muffler\n[02:17.56] Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n[02:19.91] Respect like the Fonze, you see the collar up\n[02:22.56] I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n[02:25.08] I kamikaze ya town off a Arab bus\n[02:27.56] Karat cut, yeah mami pull over\n[02:29.95] I bend ya pussy like for years I knew yoga\n[02:32.43] I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\n[02:34.94] Off Hennesy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n[02:37.90] I need fifty feet when my performance starts\n[02:40.38] I push a armored car wit? Lauren Harts?\n[02:43.04] Nineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\n[02:45.49] Doc turnin dark off a warning shot\n[02:48.23] Drive off and pop, six in ya hood\n[02:50.78] (Monch) Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\n[02:53.31] Yea-yeah my nigga, one rhyme you fold over\n[02:55.76] I'm hot-headed cuz I walk wit cold shoulders\n[02:58.55] Yeah GET THE FUCK UP!\n[03:01.26] (Pharoahe Monch)\n[03:02.02] Simon Says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n[03:03.75] Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n[03:05.83] (Redman)\n[03:06.42] Jersey in the back jackin cars now wassup!\n[03:08.74] Girls, rub on ya titties\n[03:11.70] (Yeah) That's right I said it, rub on ya titties\n[03:13.80] Brick City gritty committee\n[03:15.61] Pity the fool that act shitty, in the midst of the calm, the witty\n[03:19.02] (Method Man)\n[03:19.63] Yo yo get the fuck up\n[03:21.59] Yo yeah I said it, get the fuck up\n[03:24.08] Walk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\n[03:26.87] Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n[03:29.45] Ya know my name, and Pharoahe Moch, why we came what?\n[03:32.00] We off the chain, plus we plottin on the chain, what?\n[03:34.83] Know ya role, by the way tuck ya gold\n[03:37.24] And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n[03:39.56] Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n[03:42.89] Shootin in the sky tryin to blast sun\n[03:45.08] Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\n[03:47.40] Fifty cent flashin they hate us wit a passion\n[03:50.09] Mashin, still fresh in three-day old fashion\n[03:52.36] Your plaid, I'm stripes, together we be flashin\n[03:55.04] Here's a Tunnel banger\n[03:56.79] Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n[03:58.69] This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n[04:01.83] Slap ya like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n[04:04.30] Just so you can feel me\n[04:05.86] The same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\n[04:08.09] Even if time stands still, I'ma still be\n[04:10.67] Underground and filthy, gotta have our Way like the Milky\n[04:13.79] Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n[04:15.84] Never got caught in the game of tag\n[04:18.20] Momma never kept a boyfriend wit kids this bad\n[04:20.51] No justice, RAIDER RUCKUS!\n[04:22.79] Underground till we under ground\n[04:24.31] But y'all first MOTHAFUCKERS!\n[04:25.82] (Shabaam Sahdeeq)\n[04:26.30] My thugs, throw up ya set\n[04:27.43] And shorties rub on ya breasts\n[04:28.75] GET THE FUCK UP, outta that dress, I palm tits\n[04:31.00] You herbs get flipped like jeeps on mountain cliffs\n[04:33.62] I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talent tips\n[04:36.12] Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n[04:38.65] Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n[04:41.52] You sound like Big, you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n[04:44.66] And I bet, when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n[04:46.30] Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet into delete\n[04:48.99] Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n[04:51.55] I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay wit the heat\n[04:54.18] Stay stickin fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n[04:57.09] So toss that link, dummy, shoulda insured that link\n[04:59.45] Straight to Canal I'll praise that link, then pawn that link\n[05:01.64] You froze up, Sahdeeq says \"Shut the fuck up!\"\n[05:04.64] Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n[05:06.84] (Busta Rhymes)\n[05:07.34] Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Dugan\n[05:09.28] Been thuggin, lovin the way we flood jewels for nothin\n[05:12.24] Lay it over, another ambush we take over\n[05:14.71] Yo we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n[05:17.77] You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n[05:20.12] Or find your picture of your autoposy up on the web site\n[05:22.82] Yo if you ever violate my space\n[05:25.14] Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you wit a fuckin fat face\n[05:27.96] Nigga, Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom ansom\n[05:30.57] Like the ghost in a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n[05:33.39] Bitches, snitches comin out and you know who's showin it\n[05:35.98] Like when British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n[05:38.02] Y'all niggas is seemless blends of seemless friends\n[05:40.52] Live on about? on a bunch of seamless ends\n[05:43.18] Collosal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Moncho\n[05:45.78] The head honcho, gettin this money like Leonardo (do do do)\n[05:49.00] Enough substance in the roughness\n[05:51.20] Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n[05:53.96] Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow fiend\n[05:56.13] Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n[05:58.76] Pledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\n[06:02.02] Let us control and own the fuckin area\n[06:03.95] Wildin in your whip until your crash the whole truck up\n[06:06.65] And if you know what's good for you nigga you better GET THE FUCK UP!\n[06:09.28] Hehehe\n[06:11.47] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Simon Says (Remix)\n artist: Pharoahe Monch\n album: Y'all Know The Name (Mixtape)\n duration_ms: 375357\n instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: GET THE FUCK UP!\n start_ms: 23140\n end_ms: 24820\n- text: Simon says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n start_ms: 24820\n end_ms: 26670\n- text: Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n start_ms: 26670\n end_ms: 29110\n- text: Queens is in the back sippin 'Gnac, y'all wassup?\n start_ms: 29110\n end_ms: 32030\n- text: Girls, rub on your titties (yeah)\n start_ms: 32030\n end_ms: 35120\n- text: Yeah fuck it I said it rub on ya titties\n start_ms: 35120\n end_ms: 37230\n- text: New York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\n start_ms: 37230\n end_ms: 39410\n- text: In the midst of the calm, the witty\n start_ms: 39410\n end_ms: 42740\n- text: (Lady Luck)\n start_ms: 42740\n end_ms: 44980\n- text: Yo SHUT THE FUCK UP!\n start_ms: 44980\n end_ms: 45700\n- text: Luck said \"SHUT THE FUCK UP!\"\n start_ms: 45700\n end_ms: 47180\n- text: Bitches in the back, like crack get it cut up\n start_ms: 47180\n end_ms: 49780\n- text: I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n start_ms: 49780\n end_ms: 52350\n- text: Act like a man and get cocked, smacked or fucked up\n start_ms: 52350\n end_ms: 54940\n- text: Pull the truck up, Luck you know the name\n start_ms: 54940\n end_ms: 57490\n- text: Assed out in the bleachers stay shittin on the game\n start_ms: 57490\n end_ms: 59840\n- text: I suppose what you're spittin is flames, cowards\n start_ms: 59840\n end_ms: 62310\n- text: Know your crew was vaginal, I could smell the dooch powder\n start_ms: 62310\n end_ms: 65090\n- text: Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n start_ms: 65090\n end_ms: 67650\n- text: Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n start_ms: 67650\n end_ms: 70320\n- text: Stay fly till you air sick, now that's ill\n start_ms: 70320\n end_ms: 72820\n- text: Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n start_ms: 72820\n end_ms: 75240\n- text: (Pharoahe Monch)\n start_ms: 75240\n end_ms: 76080\n- text: WHAT THE FUCK'S goin on here, just a minute now, hold up\n start_ms: 76080\n end_ms: 78140\n- text: Sinister wit hit the time I diminish him finish him, roll up\n start_ms: 78140\n end_ms: 80580\n- text: When I'm,? cinematography state of mind\n start_ms: 80580\n end_ms: 84040\n- text: My rap trip, rip, clip, say the rhyme\n start_ms: 84040\n end_ms: 86440\n- text: Shit, I spectacular run hit spit bitches venacular\n start_ms: 86440\n end_ms: 88490\n- text: Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the Immaculate\n start_ms: 88490\n end_ms: 90990\n- text: Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son I'll box ya\n start_ms: 90990\n end_ms: 93750\n- text: Ladies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n start_ms: 93750\n end_ms: 96840\n- text: OWWW! Fellas pull ya cock out\n start_ms: 96840\n end_ms: 98710\n- text: On the verge to splurge verbs for third round knock out\n start_ms: 98710\n end_ms: 101530\n- text: Uh I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n start_ms: 101530\n end_ms: 103960\n- text: Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n start_ms: 103960\n end_ms: 106450\n- text: The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n start_ms: 106450\n end_ms: 109050\n- text: Separate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behave\n start_ms: 109050\n end_ms: 111300\n- text: Now, drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n start_ms: 111300\n end_ms: 114260\n- text: Figure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun salute\n start_ms: 114260\n end_ms: 116600\n- text: That's seven shots for Tupac\n start_ms: 116600\n end_ms: 118290\n- text: Seven for Biggie Smalls\n start_ms: 118290\n end_ms: 119260\n- text: Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n start_ms: 119260\n end_ms: 121880\n- text: How's that, fat action packed rap remain tame\n start_ms: 121880\n end_ms: 124170\n- text: Pharoahe fuckin Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n start_ms: 124170\n end_ms: 127020\n- text: (Redman)\n start_ms: 127020\n end_ms: 128320\n- text: Yo yo get the fuck up\n start_ms: 128320\n end_ms: 130070\n- text: Funk Doctor Spot said \"Get the fuck up\"\n start_ms: 130070\n end_ms: 132160\n- text: I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\n start_ms: 132160\n end_ms: 134940\n- text: I leave a nigga hangin like ya mom's muffler\n start_ms: 134940\n end_ms: 137560\n- text: Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n start_ms: 137560\n end_ms: 139910\n- text: Respect like the Fonze, you see the collar up\n start_ms: 139910\n end_ms: 142560\n- text: I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n start_ms: 142560\n end_ms: 145080\n- text: I kamikaze ya town off a Arab bus\n start_ms: 145080\n end_ms: 147560\n- text: Karat cut, yeah mami pull over\n start_ms: 147560\n end_ms: 149950\n- text: I bend ya pussy like for years I knew yoga\n start_ms: 149950\n end_ms: 152430\n- text: I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\n start_ms: 152430\n end_ms: 154940\n- text: Off Hennesy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n start_ms: 154940\n end_ms: 157900\n- text: I need fifty feet when my performance starts\n start_ms: 157900\n end_ms: 160380\n- text: I push a armored car wit? Lauren Harts?\n start_ms: 160380\n end_ms: 163040\n- text: Nineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\n start_ms: 163040\n end_ms: 165490\n- text: Doc turnin dark off a warning shot\n start_ms: 165490\n end_ms: 168230\n- text: Drive off and pop, six in ya hood\n start_ms: 168230\n end_ms: 170780\n- text: (Monch) Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\n start_ms: 170780\n end_ms: 173310\n- text: Yea-yeah my nigga, one rhyme you fold over\n start_ms: 173310\n end_ms: 175760\n- text: I'm hot-headed cuz I walk wit cold shoulders\n start_ms: 175760\n end_ms: 178550\n- text: Yeah GET THE FUCK UP!\n start_ms: 178550\n end_ms: 181260\n- text: (Pharoahe Monch)\n start_ms: 181260\n end_ms: 182020\n- text: Simon Says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n start_ms: 182020\n end_ms: 183750\n- text: Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n start_ms: 183750\n end_ms: 185830\n- text: (Redman)\n start_ms: 185830\n end_ms: 186420\n- text: Jersey in the back jackin cars now wassup!\n start_ms: 186420\n end_ms: 188740\n- text: Girls, rub on ya titties\n start_ms: 188740\n end_ms: 191700\n- text: (Yeah) That's right I said it, rub on ya titties\n start_ms: 191700\n end_ms: 193800\n- text: Brick City gritty committee\n start_ms: 193800\n end_ms: 195610\n- text: Pity the fool that act shitty, in the midst of the calm, the witty\n start_ms: 195610\n end_ms: 199020\n- text: (Method Man)\n start_ms: 199020\n end_ms: 199630\n- text: Yo yo get the fuck up\n start_ms: 199630\n end_ms: 201590\n- text: Yo yeah I said it, get the fuck up\n start_ms: 201590\n end_ms: 204080\n- text: Walk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\n start_ms: 204080\n end_ms: 206870\n- text: Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n start_ms: 206870\n end_ms: 209450\n- text: Ya know my name, and Pharoahe Moch, why we came what?\n start_ms: 209450\n end_ms: 212000\n- text: We off the chain, plus we plottin on the chain, what?\n start_ms: 212000\n end_ms: 214830\n- text: Know ya role, by the way tuck ya gold\n start_ms: 214830\n end_ms: 217240\n- text: And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n start_ms: 217240\n end_ms: 219560\n- text: Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n start_ms: 219560\n end_ms: 222890\n- text: Shootin in the sky tryin to blast sun\n start_ms: 222890\n end_ms: 225080\n- text: Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\n start_ms: 225080\n end_ms: 227400\n- text: Fifty cent flashin they hate us wit a passion\n start_ms: 227400\n end_ms: 230090\n- text: Mashin, still fresh in three-day old fashion\n start_ms: 230090\n end_ms: 232360\n- text: Your plaid, I'm stripes, together we be flashin\n start_ms: 232360\n end_ms: 235040\n- text: Here's a Tunnel banger\n start_ms: 235040\n end_ms: 236790\n- text: Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n start_ms: 236790\n end_ms: 238690\n- text: This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n start_ms: 238690\n end_ms: 241830\n- text: Slap ya like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n start_ms: 241830\n end_ms: 244300\n- text: Just so you can feel me\n start_ms: 244300\n end_ms: 245860\n- text: The same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\n start_ms: 245860\n end_ms: 248090\n- text: Even if time stands still, I'ma still be\n start_ms: 248090\n end_ms: 250670\n- text: Underground and filthy, gotta have our Way like the Milky\n start_ms: 250670\n end_ms: 253790\n- text: Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n start_ms: 253790\n end_ms: 255840\n- text: Never got caught in the game of tag\n start_ms: 255840\n end_ms: 258200\n- text: Momma never kept a boyfriend wit kids this bad\n start_ms: 258200\n end_ms: 260510\n- text: No justice, RAIDER RUCKUS!\n start_ms: 260510\n end_ms: 262790\n- text: Underground till we under ground\n start_ms: 262790\n end_ms: 264310\n- text: But y'all first MOTHAFUCKERS!\n start_ms: 264310\n end_ms: 265820\n- text: (Shabaam Sahdeeq)\n start_ms: 265820\n end_ms: 266300\n- text: My thugs, throw up ya set\n start_ms: 266300\n end_ms: 267430\n- text: And shorties rub on ya breasts\n start_ms: 267430\n end_ms: 268750\n- text: GET THE FUCK UP, outta that dress, I palm tits\n start_ms: 268750\n end_ms: 271000\n- text: You herbs get flipped like jeeps on mountain cliffs\n start_ms: 271000\n end_ms: 273620\n- text: I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talent tips\n start_ms: 273620\n end_ms: 276120\n- text: Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n start_ms: 276120\n end_ms: 278650\n- text: Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n start_ms: 278650\n end_ms: 281520\n- text: You sound like Big, you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n start_ms: 281520\n end_ms: 284660\n- text: And I bet, when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n start_ms: 284660\n end_ms: 286300\n- text: Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet into delete\n start_ms: 286300\n end_ms: 288990\n- text: Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n start_ms: 288990\n end_ms: 291550\n- text: I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay wit the heat\n start_ms: 291550\n end_ms: 294180\n- text: Stay stickin fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n start_ms: 294180\n end_ms: 297090\n- text: So toss that link, dummy, shoulda insured that link\n start_ms: 297090\n end_ms: 299450\n- text: Straight to Canal I'll praise that link, then pawn that link\n start_ms: 299450\n end_ms: 301640\n- text: You froze up, Sahdeeq says \"Shut the fuck up!\"\n start_ms: 301640\n end_ms: 304640\n- text: Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n start_ms: 304640\n end_ms: 306840\n- text: (Busta Rhymes)\n start_ms: 306840\n end_ms: 307340\n- text: Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Dugan\n start_ms: 307340\n end_ms: 309280\n- text: Been thuggin, lovin the way we flood jewels for nothin\n start_ms: 309280\n end_ms: 312240\n- text: Lay it over, another ambush we take over\n start_ms: 312240\n end_ms: 314710\n- text: Yo we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n start_ms: 314710\n end_ms: 317770\n- text: You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n start_ms: 317770\n end_ms: 320120\n- text: Or find your picture of your autoposy up on the web site\n start_ms: 320120\n end_ms: 322820\n- text: Yo if you ever violate my space\n start_ms: 322820\n end_ms: 325140\n- text: Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you wit a fuckin fat face\n start_ms: 325140\n end_ms: 327960\n- text: Nigga, Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom ansom\n start_ms: 327960\n end_ms: 330570\n- text: Like the ghost in a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n start_ms: 330570\n end_ms: 333390\n- text: Bitches, snitches comin out and you know who's showin it\n start_ms: 333390\n end_ms: 335980\n- text: Like when British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n start_ms: 335980\n end_ms: 338020\n- text: Y'all niggas is seemless blends of seemless friends\n start_ms: 338020\n end_ms: 340520\n- text: Live on about? on a bunch of seamless ends\n start_ms: 340520\n end_ms: 343180\n- text: Collosal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Moncho\n start_ms: 343180\n end_ms: 345780\n- text: The head honcho, gettin this money like Leonardo (do do do)\n start_ms: 345780\n end_ms: 349000\n- text: Enough substance in the roughness\n start_ms: 349000\n end_ms: 351200\n- text: Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n start_ms: 351200\n end_ms: 353960\n- text: Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow fiend\n start_ms: 353960\n end_ms: 356130\n- text: Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n start_ms: 356130\n end_ms: 358760\n- text: Pledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\n start_ms: 358760\n end_ms: 362020\n- text: Let us control and own the fuckin area\n start_ms: 362020\n end_ms: 363950\n- text: Wildin in your whip until your crash the whole truck up\n start_ms: 363950\n end_ms: 366650\n- text: And if you know what's good for you nigga you better GET THE FUCK UP!\n start_ms: 366650\n end_ms: 369280\n- text: Hehehe\n start_ms: 369280\n end_ms: 371470\n- text: ''\n start_ms: 371470\nplain: |-\n GET THE FUCK UP!\n Simon says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n Queens is in the back sippin 'Gnac, y'all wassup?\n Girls, rub on your titties (yeah)\n Yeah fuck it I said it rub on ya titties\n New York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\n In the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n (Lady Luck)\n Yo SHUT THE FUCK UP!\n Luck said \"SHUT THE FUCK UP!\"\n Bitches in the back, like crack get it cut up\n I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n Act like a man and get cocked, smacked or fucked up\n Pull the truck up, Luck you know the name\n Assed out in the bleachers stay shittin on the game\n I suppose what you're spittin is flames, cowards\n Know your crew was vaginal, I could smell the dooch powder\n Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n Stay fly till you air sick, now that's ill\n Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n\n (Pharoahe Monch)\n WHAT THE FUCK'S goin on here, just a minute now, hold up\n Sinister wit hit the time I diminish him finish him, roll up\n When I'm,? cinematography state of mind\n My rap trip, rip, clip, say the rhyme\n Shit, I spectacular run hit spit bitches venacular\n Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the Immaculate\n Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son I'll box ya\n Ladies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n OWWW! Fellas pull ya cock out\n On the verge to splurge verbs for third round knock out\n Uh I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n Separate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behave\n Now, drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n Figure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun salute\n That's seven shots for Tupac\n Seven for Biggie Smalls\n Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n How's that, fat action packed rap remain tame\n Pharoahe fuckin Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n\n (Redman)\n Yo yo get the fuck up\n Funk Doctor Spot said \"Get the fuck up\"\n I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\n I leave a nigga hangin like ya mom's muffler\n Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n Respect like the Fonze, you see the collar up\n I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n I kamikaze ya town off a Arab bus\n Karat cut, yeah mami pull over\n I bend ya pussy like for years I knew yoga\n I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\n Off Hennesy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n I need fifty feet when my performance starts\n I push a armored car wit? Lauren Harts?\n Nineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\n Doc turnin dark off a warning shot\n Drive off and pop, six in ya hood\n (Monch) Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\n Yea-yeah my nigga, one rhyme you fold over\n I'm hot-headed cuz I walk wit cold shoulders\n Yeah GET THE FUCK UP!\n\n (Pharoahe Monch)\n Simon Says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n\n (Redman)\n Jersey in the back jackin cars now wassup!\n Girls, rub on ya titties\n (Yeah) That's right I said it, rub on ya titties\n Brick City gritty committee\n Pity the fool that act shitty, in the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n (Method Man)\n Yo yo get the fuck up\n Yo yeah I said it, get the fuck up\n Walk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\n Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n Ya know my name, and Pharoahe Moch, why we came what?\n We off the chain, plus we plottin on the chain, what?\n Know ya role, by the way tuck ya gold\n And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n Shootin in the sky tryin to blast sun\n Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\n Fifty cent flashin they hate us wit a passion\n Mashin, still fresh in three-day old fashion\n Your plaid, I'm stripes, together we be flashin\n Here's a Tunnel banger\n Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n Slap ya like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n Just so you can feel me\n The same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\n Even if time stands still, I'ma still be\n Underground and filthy, gotta have our Way like the Milky\n Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n Never got caught in the game of tag\n Momma never kept a boyfriend wit kids this bad\n No justice, RAIDER RUCKUS!\n Underground till we under ground\n But y'all first MOTHAFUCKERS!\n\n (Shabaam Sahdeeq)\n My thugs, throw up ya set\n And shorties rub on ya breasts\n GET THE FUCK UP, outta that dress, I palm tits\n You herbs get flipped like jeeps on mountain cliffs\n I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talent tips\n Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n You sound like Big, you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n And I bet, when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet into delete\n Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay wit the heat\n Stay stickin fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n So toss that link, dummy, shoulda insured that link\n Straight to Canal I'll praise that link, then pawn that link\n You froze up, Sahdeeq says \"Shut the fuck up!\"\n Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n\n (Busta Rhymes)\n Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Dugan\n Been thuggin, lovin the way we flood jewels for nothin\n Lay it over, another ambush we take over\n Yo we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n Or find your picture of your autoposy up on the web site\n Yo if you ever violate my space\n Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you wit a fuckin fat face\n Nigga, Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom ansom\n Like the ghost in a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n Bitches, snitches comin out and you know who's showin it\n Like when British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n Y'all niggas is seemless blends of seemless friends\n Live on about? on a bunch of seamless ends\n Collosal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Moncho\n The head honcho, gettin this money like Leonardo (do do do)\n Enough substance in the roughness\n Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow fiend\n Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n Pledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\n Let us control and own the fuckin area\n Wildin in your whip until your crash the whole truck up\n And if you know what's good for you nigga you better GET THE FUCK UP!\n Hehehe\n"},{"id":19176699,"name":"Simon Says (remix)","trackName":"Simon Says (remix)","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch","albumName":"Y'all Know the Name","duration":375.3012079,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"GET THE FUCK UP!\nSimon says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\nThrow ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\nQueens is in the back sippin 'Gnac, y'all wassup?\nGirls, rub on your titties (yeah)\nYeah fuck it I said it rub on ya titties\nNew York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\nIn the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n(Lady Luck)\nYo SHUT THE FUCK UP!\nLuck said \"SHUT THE FUCK UP!\"\nBitches in the back, like crack get it cut up\nI speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\nAct like a man and get cocked, smacked or fucked up\nPull the truck up, Luck you know the name\nAssed out in the bleachers stay shittin on the game\nI suppose what you're spittin is flames, cowards\nKnow your crew was vaginal, I could smell the dooch powder\nSummer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\nCome four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\nStay fly till you air sick, now that's ill\nTwo choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n\n(Pharoahe Monch)\nWHAT THE FUCK'S goin on here, just a minute now, hold up\nSinister wit hit the time I diminish him finish him, roll up\nWhen I'm,? cinematography state of mind\nMy rap trip, rip, clip, say the rhyme\nShit, I spectacular run hit spit bitches venacular\nMiraculous rhyme flow, back track to the Immaculate\nBinaca blast nigga that's fast, son I'll box ya\nLadies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\nOWWW! Fellas pull ya cock out\nOn the verge to splurge verbs for third round knock out\nUh I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\nDust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\nThe mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\nSeparate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behave\nNow, drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\nFigure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun salute\nThat's seven shots for Tupac\nSeven for Biggie Smalls\nSeven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\nHow's that, fat action packed rap remain tame\nPharoahe fuckin Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n\n(Redman)\nYo yo get the fuck up\nFunk Doctor Spot said \"Get the fuck up\"\nI got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\nI leave a nigga hangin like ya mom's muffler\nSnuff her, then my boys follow up\nRespect like the Fonze, you see the collar up\nI spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\nI kamikaze ya town off a Arab bus\nKarat cut, yeah mami pull over\nI bend ya pussy like for years I knew yoga\nI'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\nOff Hennesy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\nI need fifty feet when my performance starts\nI push a armored car wit? Lauren Harts?\nNineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\nDoc turnin dark off a warning shot\nDrive off and pop, six in ya hood\n(Monch) Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\nYea-yeah my nigga, one rhyme you fold over\nI'm hot-headed cuz I walk wit cold shoulders\nYeah GET THE FUCK UP!\n\n(Pharoahe Monch)\nSimon Says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\nThrow ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n\n(Redman)\nJersey in the back jackin cars now wassup!\nGirls, rub on ya titties\n(Yeah) That's right I said it, rub on ya titties\nBrick City gritty committee\nPity the fool that act shitty, in the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n(Method Man)\nYo yo get the fuck up\nYo yeah I said it, get the fuck up\nWalk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\nSeek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\nYa know my name, and Pharoahe Moch, why we came what?\nWe off the chain, plus we plottin on the chain, what?\nKnow ya role, by the way tuck ya gold\nAnd you and your mic can ease on down the road\nAssholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\nShootin in the sky tryin to blast sun\nZero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\nFifty cent flashin they hate us wit a passion\nMashin, still fresh in three-day old fashion\nYour plaid, I'm stripes, together we be flashin\nHere's a Tunnel banger\nWu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\nThis gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\nSlap ya like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\nJust so you can feel me\nThe same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\nEven if time stands still, I'ma still be\nUnderground and filthy, gotta have our Way like the Milky\nInnocent until I'm proven guilty\nNever got caught in the game of tag\nMomma never kept a boyfriend wit kids this bad\nNo justice, RAIDER RUCKUS!\nUnderground till we under ground\nBut y'all first MOTHAFUCKERS!\n\n(Shabaam Sahdeeq)\nMy thugs, throw up ya set\nAnd shorties rub on ya breasts\nGET THE FUCK UP, outta that dress, I palm tits\nYou herbs get flipped like jeeps on mountain cliffs\nI'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talent tips\nDouble-S, double the threat, double your bet\nDouble up on that cash if you decide to invest\nYou sound like Big, you sound like Jay, you sound like D\nAnd I bet, when I go plat, you'll sound like me\nShabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet into delete\nY'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\nI stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay wit the heat\nStay stickin fools like you for the rocks that gleam\nSo toss that link, dummy, shoulda insured that link\nStraight to Canal I'll praise that link, then pawn that link\nYou froze up, Sahdeeq says \"Shut the fuck up!\"\nPunk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n\n(Busta Rhymes)\nBusta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Dugan\nBeen thuggin, lovin the way we flood jewels for nothin\nLay it over, another ambush we take over\nYo we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\nYou better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\nOr find your picture of your autoposy up on the web site\nYo if you ever violate my space\nFuck a fat lip, I'll leave you wit a fuckin fat face\nNigga, Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom ansom\nLike the ghost in a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\nBitches, snitches comin out and you know who's showin it\nLike when British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\nY'all niggas is seemless blends of seemless friends\nLive on about? on a bunch of seamless ends\nCollosal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Moncho\nThe head honcho, gettin this money like Leonardo (do do do)\nEnough substance in the roughness\nNow watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\nNow let me clear the smoke screen you blow fiend\nLive nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\nPledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\nLet us control and own the fuckin area\nWildin in your whip until your crash the whole truck up\nAnd if you know what's good for you nigga you better GET THE FUCK UP!\nHehehe","syncedLyrics":"[00:23.14] GET THE FUCK UP!\n[00:24.82] Simon says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n[00:26.67] Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n[00:29.11] Queens is in the back sippin 'Gnac, y'all wassup?\n[00:32.03] Girls, rub on your titties (yeah)\n[00:35.12] Yeah fuck it I said it rub on ya titties\n[00:37.23] New York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\n[00:39.41] In the midst of the calm, the witty\n[00:42.74] (Lady Luck)\n[00:44.98] Yo SHUT THE FUCK UP!\n[00:45.70] Luck said \"SHUT THE FUCK UP!\"\n[00:47.18] Bitches in the back, like crack get it cut up\n[00:49.78] I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n[00:52.35] Act like a man and get cocked, smacked or fucked up\n[00:54.94] Pull the truck up, Luck you know the name\n[00:57.49] Assed out in the bleachers stay shittin on the game\n[00:59.84] I suppose what you're spittin is flames, cowards\n[01:02.31] Know your crew was vaginal, I could smell the dooch powder\n[01:05.09] Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n[01:07.65] Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n[01:10.32] Stay fly till you air sick, now that's ill\n[01:12.82] Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n[01:15.24] (Pharoahe Monch)\n[01:16.08] WHAT THE FUCK'S goin on here, just a minute now, hold up\n[01:18.14] Sinister wit hit the time I diminish him finish him, roll up\n[01:20.58] When I'm,? cinematography state of mind\n[01:24.04] My rap trip, rip, clip, say the rhyme\n[01:26.44] Shit, I spectacular run hit spit bitches venacular\n[01:28.49] Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the Immaculate\n[01:30.99] Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son I'll box ya\n[01:33.75] Ladies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n[01:36.84] OWWW! Fellas pull ya cock out\n[01:38.71] On the verge to splurge verbs for third round knock out\n[01:41.53] Uh I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n[01:43.96] Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n[01:46.45] The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n[01:49.05] Separate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behave\n[01:51.30] Now, drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n[01:54.26] Figure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun salute\n[01:56.60] That's seven shots for Tupac\n[01:58.29] Seven for Biggie Smalls\n[01:59.26] Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n[02:01.88] How's that, fat action packed rap remain tame\n[02:04.17] Pharoahe fuckin Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n[02:07.02] (Redman)\n[02:08.32] Yo yo get the fuck up\n[02:10.07] Funk Doctor Spot said \"Get the fuck up\"\n[02:12.16] I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\n[02:14.94] I leave a nigga hangin like ya mom's muffler\n[02:17.56] Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n[02:19.91] Respect like the Fonze, you see the collar up\n[02:22.56] I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n[02:25.08] I kamikaze ya town off a Arab bus\n[02:27.56] Karat cut, yeah mami pull over\n[02:29.95] I bend ya pussy like for years I knew yoga\n[02:32.43] I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\n[02:34.94] Off Hennesy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n[02:37.90] I need fifty feet when my performance starts\n[02:40.38] I push a armored car wit? Lauren Harts?\n[02:43.04] Nineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\n[02:45.49] Doc turnin dark off a warning shot\n[02:48.23] Drive off and pop, six in ya hood\n[02:50.78] (Monch) Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\n[02:53.31] Yea-yeah my nigga, one rhyme you fold over\n[02:55.76] I'm hot-headed cuz I walk wit cold shoulders\n[02:58.55] Yeah GET THE FUCK UP!\n[03:01.26] (Pharoahe Monch)\n[03:02.02] Simon Says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n[03:03.75] Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n[03:05.83] (Redman)\n[03:06.42] Jersey in the back jackin cars now wassup!\n[03:08.74] Girls, rub on ya titties\n[03:11.70] (Yeah) That's right I said it, rub on ya titties\n[03:13.80] Brick City gritty committee\n[03:15.61] Pity the fool that act shitty, in the midst of the calm, the witty\n[03:19.02] (Method Man)\n[03:19.63] Yo yo get the fuck up\n[03:21.59] Yo yeah I said it, get the fuck up\n[03:24.08] Walk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\n[03:26.87] Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n[03:29.45] Ya know my name, and Pharoahe Moch, why we came what?\n[03:32.00] We off the chain, plus we plottin on the chain, what?\n[03:34.83] Know ya role, by the way tuck ya gold\n[03:37.24] And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n[03:39.56] Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n[03:42.89] Shootin in the sky tryin to blast sun\n[03:45.08] Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\n[03:47.40] Fifty cent flashin they hate us wit a passion\n[03:50.09] Mashin, still fresh in three-day old fashion\n[03:52.36] Your plaid, I'm stripes, together we be flashin\n[03:55.04] Here's a Tunnel banger\n[03:56.79] Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n[03:58.69] This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n[04:01.83] Slap ya like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n[04:04.30] Just so you can feel me\n[04:05.86] The same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\n[04:08.09] Even if time stands still, I'ma still be\n[04:10.67] Underground and filthy, gotta have our Way like the Milky\n[04:13.79] Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n[04:15.84] Never got caught in the game of tag\n[04:18.20] Momma never kept a boyfriend wit kids this bad\n[04:20.51] No justice, RAIDER RUCKUS!\n[04:22.79] Underground till we under ground\n[04:24.31] But y'all first MOTHAFUCKERS!\n[04:25.82] (Shabaam Sahdeeq)\n[04:26.30] My thugs, throw up ya set\n[04:27.43] And shorties rub on ya breasts\n[04:28.75] GET THE FUCK UP, outta that dress, I palm tits\n[04:31.00] You herbs get flipped like jeeps on mountain cliffs\n[04:33.62] I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talent tips\n[04:36.12] Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n[04:38.65] Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n[04:41.52] You sound like Big, you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n[04:44.66] And I bet, when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n[04:46.30] Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet into delete\n[04:48.99] Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n[04:51.55] I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay wit the heat\n[04:54.18] Stay stickin fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n[04:57.09] So toss that link, dummy, shoulda insured that link\n[04:59.45] Straight to Canal I'll praise that link, then pawn that link\n[05:01.64] You froze up, Sahdeeq says \"Shut the fuck up!\"\n[05:04.64] Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n[05:06.84] (Busta Rhymes)\n[05:07.34] Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Dugan\n[05:09.28] Been thuggin, lovin the way we flood jewels for nothin\n[05:12.24] Lay it over, another ambush we take over\n[05:14.71] Yo we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n[05:17.77] You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n[05:20.12] Or find your picture of your autoposy up on the web site\n[05:22.82] Yo if you ever violate my space\n[05:25.14] Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you wit a fuckin fat face\n[05:27.96] Nigga, Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom ansom\n[05:30.57] Like the ghost in a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n[05:33.39] Bitches, snitches comin out and you know who's showin it\n[05:35.98] Like when British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n[05:38.02] Y'all niggas is seemless blends of seemless friends\n[05:40.52] Live on about? on a bunch of seamless ends\n[05:43.18] Collosal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Moncho\n[05:45.78] The head honcho, gettin this money like Leonardo (do do do)\n[05:49.00] Enough substance in the roughness\n[05:51.20] Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n[05:53.96] Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow fiend\n[05:56.13] Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n[05:58.76] Pledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\n[06:02.02] Let us control and own the fuckin area\n[06:03.95] Wildin in your whip until your crash the whole truck up\n[06:06.65] And if you know what's good for you nigga you better GET THE FUCK UP!\n[06:09.28] Hehehe\n[06:11.47] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Simon Says (remix)\n artist: Pharoahe Monch\n album: Y'all Know the Name\n duration_ms: 375301\n instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: GET THE FUCK UP!\n start_ms: 23140\n end_ms: 24820\n- text: Simon says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n start_ms: 24820\n end_ms: 26670\n- text: Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n start_ms: 26670\n end_ms: 29110\n- text: Queens is in the back sippin 'Gnac, y'all wassup?\n start_ms: 29110\n end_ms: 32030\n- text: Girls, rub on your titties (yeah)\n start_ms: 32030\n end_ms: 35120\n- text: Yeah fuck it I said it rub on ya titties\n start_ms: 35120\n end_ms: 37230\n- text: New York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\n start_ms: 37230\n end_ms: 39410\n- text: In the midst of the calm, the witty\n start_ms: 39410\n end_ms: 42740\n- text: (Lady Luck)\n start_ms: 42740\n end_ms: 44980\n- text: Yo SHUT THE FUCK UP!\n start_ms: 44980\n end_ms: 45700\n- text: Luck said \"SHUT THE FUCK UP!\"\n start_ms: 45700\n end_ms: 47180\n- text: Bitches in the back, like crack get it cut up\n start_ms: 47180\n end_ms: 49780\n- text: I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n start_ms: 49780\n end_ms: 52350\n- text: Act like a man and get cocked, smacked or fucked up\n start_ms: 52350\n end_ms: 54940\n- text: Pull the truck up, Luck you know the name\n start_ms: 54940\n end_ms: 57490\n- text: Assed out in the bleachers stay shittin on the game\n start_ms: 57490\n end_ms: 59840\n- text: I suppose what you're spittin is flames, cowards\n start_ms: 59840\n end_ms: 62310\n- text: Know your crew was vaginal, I could smell the dooch powder\n start_ms: 62310\n end_ms: 65090\n- text: Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n start_ms: 65090\n end_ms: 67650\n- text: Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n start_ms: 67650\n end_ms: 70320\n- text: Stay fly till you air sick, now that's ill\n start_ms: 70320\n end_ms: 72820\n- text: Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n start_ms: 72820\n end_ms: 75240\n- text: (Pharoahe Monch)\n start_ms: 75240\n end_ms: 76080\n- text: WHAT THE FUCK'S goin on here, just a minute now, hold up\n start_ms: 76080\n end_ms: 78140\n- text: Sinister wit hit the time I diminish him finish him, roll up\n start_ms: 78140\n end_ms: 80580\n- text: When I'm,? cinematography state of mind\n start_ms: 80580\n end_ms: 84040\n- text: My rap trip, rip, clip, say the rhyme\n start_ms: 84040\n end_ms: 86440\n- text: Shit, I spectacular run hit spit bitches venacular\n start_ms: 86440\n end_ms: 88490\n- text: Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the Immaculate\n start_ms: 88490\n end_ms: 90990\n- text: Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son I'll box ya\n start_ms: 90990\n end_ms: 93750\n- text: Ladies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n start_ms: 93750\n end_ms: 96840\n- text: OWWW! Fellas pull ya cock out\n start_ms: 96840\n end_ms: 98710\n- text: On the verge to splurge verbs for third round knock out\n start_ms: 98710\n end_ms: 101530\n- text: Uh I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n start_ms: 101530\n end_ms: 103960\n- text: Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n start_ms: 103960\n end_ms: 106450\n- text: The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n start_ms: 106450\n end_ms: 109050\n- text: Separate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behave\n start_ms: 109050\n end_ms: 111300\n- text: Now, drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n start_ms: 111300\n end_ms: 114260\n- text: Figure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun salute\n start_ms: 114260\n end_ms: 116600\n- text: That's seven shots for Tupac\n start_ms: 116600\n end_ms: 118290\n- text: Seven for Biggie Smalls\n start_ms: 118290\n end_ms: 119260\n- text: Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n start_ms: 119260\n end_ms: 121880\n- text: How's that, fat action packed rap remain tame\n start_ms: 121880\n end_ms: 124170\n- text: Pharoahe fuckin Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n start_ms: 124170\n end_ms: 127020\n- text: (Redman)\n start_ms: 127020\n end_ms: 128320\n- text: Yo yo get the fuck up\n start_ms: 128320\n end_ms: 130070\n- text: Funk Doctor Spot said \"Get the fuck up\"\n start_ms: 130070\n end_ms: 132160\n- text: I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\n start_ms: 132160\n end_ms: 134940\n- text: I leave a nigga hangin like ya mom's muffler\n start_ms: 134940\n end_ms: 137560\n- text: Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n start_ms: 137560\n end_ms: 139910\n- text: Respect like the Fonze, you see the collar up\n start_ms: 139910\n end_ms: 142560\n- text: I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n start_ms: 142560\n end_ms: 145080\n- text: I kamikaze ya town off a Arab bus\n start_ms: 145080\n end_ms: 147560\n- text: Karat cut, yeah mami pull over\n start_ms: 147560\n end_ms: 149950\n- text: I bend ya pussy like for years I knew yoga\n start_ms: 149950\n end_ms: 152430\n- text: I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\n start_ms: 152430\n end_ms: 154940\n- text: Off Hennesy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n start_ms: 154940\n end_ms: 157900\n- text: I need fifty feet when my performance starts\n start_ms: 157900\n end_ms: 160380\n- text: I push a armored car wit? Lauren Harts?\n start_ms: 160380\n end_ms: 163040\n- text: Nineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\n start_ms: 163040\n end_ms: 165490\n- text: Doc turnin dark off a warning shot\n start_ms: 165490\n end_ms: 168230\n- text: Drive off and pop, six in ya hood\n start_ms: 168230\n end_ms: 170780\n- text: (Monch) Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\n start_ms: 170780\n end_ms: 173310\n- text: Yea-yeah my nigga, one rhyme you fold over\n start_ms: 173310\n end_ms: 175760\n- text: I'm hot-headed cuz I walk wit cold shoulders\n start_ms: 175760\n end_ms: 178550\n- text: Yeah GET THE FUCK UP!\n start_ms: 178550\n end_ms: 181260\n- text: (Pharoahe Monch)\n start_ms: 181260\n end_ms: 182020\n- text: Simon Says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n start_ms: 182020\n end_ms: 183750\n- text: Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n start_ms: 183750\n end_ms: 185830\n- text: (Redman)\n start_ms: 185830\n end_ms: 186420\n- text: Jersey in the back jackin cars now wassup!\n start_ms: 186420\n end_ms: 188740\n- text: Girls, rub on ya titties\n start_ms: 188740\n end_ms: 191700\n- text: (Yeah) That's right I said it, rub on ya titties\n start_ms: 191700\n end_ms: 193800\n- text: Brick City gritty committee\n start_ms: 193800\n end_ms: 195610\n- text: Pity the fool that act shitty, in the midst of the calm, the witty\n start_ms: 195610\n end_ms: 199020\n- text: (Method Man)\n start_ms: 199020\n end_ms: 199630\n- text: Yo yo get the fuck up\n start_ms: 199630\n end_ms: 201590\n- text: Yo yeah I said it, get the fuck up\n start_ms: 201590\n end_ms: 204080\n- text: Walk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\n start_ms: 204080\n end_ms: 206870\n- text: Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n start_ms: 206870\n end_ms: 209450\n- text: Ya know my name, and Pharoahe Moch, why we came what?\n start_ms: 209450\n end_ms: 212000\n- text: We off the chain, plus we plottin on the chain, what?\n start_ms: 212000\n end_ms: 214830\n- text: Know ya role, by the way tuck ya gold\n start_ms: 214830\n end_ms: 217240\n- text: And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n start_ms: 217240\n end_ms: 219560\n- text: Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n start_ms: 219560\n end_ms: 222890\n- text: Shootin in the sky tryin to blast sun\n start_ms: 222890\n end_ms: 225080\n- text: Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\n start_ms: 225080\n end_ms: 227400\n- text: Fifty cent flashin they hate us wit a passion\n start_ms: 227400\n end_ms: 230090\n- text: Mashin, still fresh in three-day old fashion\n start_ms: 230090\n end_ms: 232360\n- text: Your plaid, I'm stripes, together we be flashin\n start_ms: 232360\n end_ms: 235040\n- text: Here's a Tunnel banger\n start_ms: 235040\n end_ms: 236790\n- text: Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n start_ms: 236790\n end_ms: 238690\n- text: This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n start_ms: 238690\n end_ms: 241830\n- text: Slap ya like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n start_ms: 241830\n end_ms: 244300\n- text: Just so you can feel me\n start_ms: 244300\n end_ms: 245860\n- text: The same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\n start_ms: 245860\n end_ms: 248090\n- text: Even if time stands still, I'ma still be\n start_ms: 248090\n end_ms: 250670\n- text: Underground and filthy, gotta have our Way like the Milky\n start_ms: 250670\n end_ms: 253790\n- text: Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n start_ms: 253790\n end_ms: 255840\n- text: Never got caught in the game of tag\n start_ms: 255840\n end_ms: 258200\n- text: Momma never kept a boyfriend wit kids this bad\n start_ms: 258200\n end_ms: 260510\n- text: No justice, RAIDER RUCKUS!\n start_ms: 260510\n end_ms: 262790\n- text: Underground till we under ground\n start_ms: 262790\n end_ms: 264310\n- text: But y'all first MOTHAFUCKERS!\n start_ms: 264310\n end_ms: 265820\n- text: (Shabaam Sahdeeq)\n start_ms: 265820\n end_ms: 266300\n- text: My thugs, throw up ya set\n start_ms: 266300\n end_ms: 267430\n- text: And shorties rub on ya breasts\n start_ms: 267430\n end_ms: 268750\n- text: GET THE FUCK UP, outta that dress, I palm tits\n start_ms: 268750\n end_ms: 271000\n- text: You herbs get flipped like jeeps on mountain cliffs\n start_ms: 271000\n end_ms: 273620\n- text: I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talent tips\n start_ms: 273620\n end_ms: 276120\n- text: Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n start_ms: 276120\n end_ms: 278650\n- text: Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n start_ms: 278650\n end_ms: 281520\n- text: You sound like Big, you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n start_ms: 281520\n end_ms: 284660\n- text: And I bet, when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n start_ms: 284660\n end_ms: 286300\n- text: Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet into delete\n start_ms: 286300\n end_ms: 288990\n- text: Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n start_ms: 288990\n end_ms: 291550\n- text: I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay wit the heat\n start_ms: 291550\n end_ms: 294180\n- text: Stay stickin fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n start_ms: 294180\n end_ms: 297090\n- text: So toss that link, dummy, shoulda insured that link\n start_ms: 297090\n end_ms: 299450\n- text: Straight to Canal I'll praise that link, then pawn that link\n start_ms: 299450\n end_ms: 301640\n- text: You froze up, Sahdeeq says \"Shut the fuck up!\"\n start_ms: 301640\n end_ms: 304640\n- text: Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n start_ms: 304640\n end_ms: 306840\n- text: (Busta Rhymes)\n start_ms: 306840\n end_ms: 307340\n- text: Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Dugan\n start_ms: 307340\n end_ms: 309280\n- text: Been thuggin, lovin the way we flood jewels for nothin\n start_ms: 309280\n end_ms: 312240\n- text: Lay it over, another ambush we take over\n start_ms: 312240\n end_ms: 314710\n- text: Yo we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n start_ms: 314710\n end_ms: 317770\n- text: You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n start_ms: 317770\n end_ms: 320120\n- text: Or find your picture of your autoposy up on the web site\n start_ms: 320120\n end_ms: 322820\n- text: Yo if you ever violate my space\n start_ms: 322820\n end_ms: 325140\n- text: Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you wit a fuckin fat face\n start_ms: 325140\n end_ms: 327960\n- text: Nigga, Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom ansom\n start_ms: 327960\n end_ms: 330570\n- text: Like the ghost in a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n start_ms: 330570\n end_ms: 333390\n- text: Bitches, snitches comin out and you know who's showin it\n start_ms: 333390\n end_ms: 335980\n- text: Like when British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n start_ms: 335980\n end_ms: 338020\n- text: Y'all niggas is seemless blends of seemless friends\n start_ms: 338020\n end_ms: 340520\n- text: Live on about? on a bunch of seamless ends\n start_ms: 340520\n end_ms: 343180\n- text: Collosal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Moncho\n start_ms: 343180\n end_ms: 345780\n- text: The head honcho, gettin this money like Leonardo (do do do)\n start_ms: 345780\n end_ms: 349000\n- text: Enough substance in the roughness\n start_ms: 349000\n end_ms: 351200\n- text: Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n start_ms: 351200\n end_ms: 353960\n- text: Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow fiend\n start_ms: 353960\n end_ms: 356130\n- text: Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n start_ms: 356130\n end_ms: 358760\n- text: Pledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\n start_ms: 358760\n end_ms: 362020\n- text: Let us control and own the fuckin area\n start_ms: 362020\n end_ms: 363950\n- text: Wildin in your whip until your crash the whole truck up\n start_ms: 363950\n end_ms: 366650\n- text: And if you know what's good for you nigga you better GET THE FUCK UP!\n start_ms: 366650\n end_ms: 369280\n- text: Hehehe\n start_ms: 369280\n end_ms: 371470\n- text: ''\n start_ms: 371470\nplain: |-\n GET THE FUCK UP!\n Simon says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n Queens is in the back sippin 'Gnac, y'all wassup?\n Girls, rub on your titties (yeah)\n Yeah fuck it I said it rub on ya titties\n New York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\n In the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n (Lady Luck)\n Yo SHUT THE FUCK UP!\n Luck said \"SHUT THE FUCK UP!\"\n Bitches in the back, like crack get it cut up\n I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n Act like a man and get cocked, smacked or fucked up\n Pull the truck up, Luck you know the name\n Assed out in the bleachers stay shittin on the game\n I suppose what you're spittin is flames, cowards\n Know your crew was vaginal, I could smell the dooch powder\n Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n Stay fly till you air sick, now that's ill\n Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n\n (Pharoahe Monch)\n WHAT THE FUCK'S goin on here, just a minute now, hold up\n Sinister wit hit the time I diminish him finish him, roll up\n When I'm,? cinematography state of mind\n My rap trip, rip, clip, say the rhyme\n Shit, I spectacular run hit spit bitches venacular\n Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the Immaculate\n Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son I'll box ya\n Ladies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n OWWW! Fellas pull ya cock out\n On the verge to splurge verbs for third round knock out\n Uh I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n Separate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behave\n Now, drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n Figure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun salute\n That's seven shots for Tupac\n Seven for Biggie Smalls\n Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n How's that, fat action packed rap remain tame\n Pharoahe fuckin Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n\n (Redman)\n Yo yo get the fuck up\n Funk Doctor Spot said \"Get the fuck up\"\n I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\n I leave a nigga hangin like ya mom's muffler\n Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n Respect like the Fonze, you see the collar up\n I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n I kamikaze ya town off a Arab bus\n Karat cut, yeah mami pull over\n I bend ya pussy like for years I knew yoga\n I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\n Off Hennesy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n I need fifty feet when my performance starts\n I push a armored car wit? Lauren Harts?\n Nineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\n Doc turnin dark off a warning shot\n Drive off and pop, six in ya hood\n (Monch) Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\n Yea-yeah my nigga, one rhyme you fold over\n I'm hot-headed cuz I walk wit cold shoulders\n Yeah GET THE FUCK UP!\n\n (Pharoahe Monch)\n Simon Says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n\n (Redman)\n Jersey in the back jackin cars now wassup!\n Girls, rub on ya titties\n (Yeah) That's right I said it, rub on ya titties\n Brick City gritty committee\n Pity the fool that act shitty, in the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n (Method Man)\n Yo yo get the fuck up\n Yo yeah I said it, get the fuck up\n Walk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\n Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n Ya know my name, and Pharoahe Moch, why we came what?\n We off the chain, plus we plottin on the chain, what?\n Know ya role, by the way tuck ya gold\n And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n Shootin in the sky tryin to blast sun\n Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\n Fifty cent flashin they hate us wit a passion\n Mashin, still fresh in three-day old fashion\n Your plaid, I'm stripes, together we be flashin\n Here's a Tunnel banger\n Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n Slap ya like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n Just so you can feel me\n The same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\n Even if time stands still, I'ma still be\n Underground and filthy, gotta have our Way like the Milky\n Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n Never got caught in the game of tag\n Momma never kept a boyfriend wit kids this bad\n No justice, RAIDER RUCKUS!\n Underground till we under ground\n But y'all first MOTHAFUCKERS!\n\n (Shabaam Sahdeeq)\n My thugs, throw up ya set\n And shorties rub on ya breasts\n GET THE FUCK UP, outta that dress, I palm tits\n You herbs get flipped like jeeps on mountain cliffs\n I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talent tips\n Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n You sound like Big, you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n And I bet, when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet into delete\n Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay wit the heat\n Stay stickin fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n So toss that link, dummy, shoulda insured that link\n Straight to Canal I'll praise that link, then pawn that link\n You froze up, Sahdeeq says \"Shut the fuck up!\"\n Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n\n (Busta Rhymes)\n Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Dugan\n Been thuggin, lovin the way we flood jewels for nothin\n Lay it over, another ambush we take over\n Yo we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n Or find your picture of your autoposy up on the web site\n Yo if you ever violate my space\n Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you wit a fuckin fat face\n Nigga, Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom ansom\n Like the ghost in a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n Bitches, snitches comin out and you know who's showin it\n Like when British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n Y'all niggas is seemless blends of seemless friends\n Live on about? on a bunch of seamless ends\n Collosal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Moncho\n The head honcho, gettin this money like Leonardo (do do do)\n Enough substance in the roughness\n Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow fiend\n Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n Pledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\n Let us control and own the fuckin area\n Wildin in your whip until your crash the whole truck up\n And if you know what's good for you nigga you better GET THE FUCK UP!\n Hehehe\n"},{"id":11031098,"name":"Simon Says - Remix","trackName":"Simon Says - Remix","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch","albumName":"Internal Affairs","duration":375.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Get the fuck up\nSimon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\nThrow your hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\nQueens is in the back sipping 'gnac, y'all, what's up?\nGirls, rub on your titties\nYeah, fuck it, I said it rub on your titties\nNew York City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\nIn the midst of the calm, the witty\n\nYo, shut the fuck up\nLuck said, \"Shut the fuck up\"\nBitches in the back like crack, get it cut up\nI speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\nAct like a man and get cocked, smacked the fuck up\nPull the truck up, Luck, you know the name\nAss out in the bleachers stay shitting on the game\nI suppose what you're spitting is flames, cowards\nKnew your crew was vaginal, I could smell the douche powder\nSummer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\nCome four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\nStay fly till you get airsick, now that's ill\nTwo choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n\nWhat the fuck's going on here? Just a minute now, hold up\nSinister with it, the time, I diminish him, finish him, roll up\nWhen I'm in a cinematography state of mind\nMy rap trip, rip, flip, clip, say the rhyme\nShit, I spectacular run, hit spit bitches vernacular\nMiraculous rhyme flow, back track to the immaculate\nBinaca blast nigga that's fast, son, I'll box you\nLadies rub the ta-tas, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n(Oww!)\nFellas, pull your cock out\nOn the verge to splurge verbs for third-round knockout\nUh, I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\nDust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\nThe mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\nSeparate him from his fam\nHe don't know how to behave now\nDrag his ass, bag dun for his loot\nFigure me to give a nigga-y twenty-one gun salute\nThat's seven shots for 2Pac, seven for Biggie Smalls\nSeven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\nHow's that? Fat action packed rap remain tame\nPharoahe fuckin' Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n\nYo, yo, get the fuck up\nFunk Doctor Spock said, \"Get the fuck up\"\nI got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\nI leave a nigga hanging like your mom's muffler\nSnuff her, then my boys follow up\nRespect like The Fonz, you see the collar up (Ayeeee)\nI spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\nI kamikaze your town off a Arab bus\nKarat cut, yeah mami, pull over\nI bend your pussy like for years I knew yoga\nI'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\nOff Hennessy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\nI need fifty feet when my performance starts\nI push an armored car with Lowenharts\nNineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\nDoc turning dark off a warning shot\nDrive off and pop, six in your hood\nFuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\nYeah, yeah, my nigga, one rhyme and you fold over\nI'm hot-headed 'cause I walk with cold shoulders\n\nYeah, get the fuck up\nSimon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\nThrow ya hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\nJersey in the back, jacking cars, now what's up?\nGirls, rub on your titties (Yeah)\nThat's right, I said it, rub on your titties\nBrick City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\nIn the midst of the calm, the witty\n\nYo, yo, get the fuck up\nYo, yeah, I said it, \"Get the fuck up\"\nWalk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\nSeek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\nYou know my name and Pharoahe Monch, why we came, what?\nWe off the chain, plus we plotting on the game, what?\nKnow your role, by the way, tuck your gold\nAnd you and your mic can ease on down the road\nAssholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\nShooting in the sky trying to blast sun\nZero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\nFifty cent flashin', they hate us with a passion\nMashin', still fresh in three-day old fashion\nYou're plaid, I'm stripes, together we be clashin'\nHere's a Tunnel banger\nWu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\nThis gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\nSlap you like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\nJust so you can feel me the same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\nEven if time stands still, I'mma still be\nUnderground and filthy, gotta have our way like the Milky\nInnocent until I'm proven guilty\nNever got caught in the game of tag\nMomma never kept a boyfriend with kids this bad\nNo justice, raider ruckus\nUnderground 'til we under ground\nBut y'all first, motherfuckers\n\nMy thugs, throw up your set\nAnd shorties rub on your breasts\nGet the fuck up out of that dress, I palm tits\nYou herbs get flipped like Jeeps on mountain cliffs\nI'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talon tips\nDouble-S, double the threat, double your bet\nDouble up on that cash if you decide to invest\nYou sound like B.I.G., you sound like Jay, you sound like D\nAnd I bet when I go plat, you'll sound like me\nShabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet, instant delete\nY'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\nI stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay with the heat\nStay sticking fools like you for the rocks that gleam\nSo toss that link, dummy, should've insured that link\nStraight to Canal, appraise that link, then pawn that link\nYou froze up, Sahdeeq says, \"Shut the fuck up\"\nPunk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n\nBusta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Duggan\nBeen thuggin', lovin' the way we flood jewels for nothin'\nLay it over, another ambush and take over\nYo, we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\nYou better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\nOr find your picture of your autopsy up on the website\nYo, if you ever violate my space\nFuck a fat lip, I'll leave you with a fucking fat face, nigga\nBusta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom and some\nLike the ghost of a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\nBitches, snitches coming out and you know who's showing it\nLike when the British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\nY'all niggas is seamless blends of seamless friends\nLip on about the results of a bunch of seamless ends\nColossal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Monch-o\nThe head honchos, getting this money like Leonardo (Do-do-do-do)\nEnough substance in the roughness\nNow watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\nNow let me clear the smoke screen you blow, fiend\nLive nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\nPledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\nLet us control and own the fucking area\nWild in your whip until you crash the whole truck up\nAnd if you know what's good for you, nigga\nYou better get the fuck up","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Simon Says - Remix\n artist: Pharoahe Monch\n album: Internal Affairs\n duration_ms: 375000\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n Get the fuck up\n Simon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\n Throw your hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\n Queens is in the back sipping 'gnac, y'all, what's up?\n Girls, rub on your titties\n Yeah, fuck it, I said it rub on your titties\n New York City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\n In the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n Yo, shut the fuck up\n Luck said, \"Shut the fuck up\"\n Bitches in the back like crack, get it cut up\n I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n Act like a man and get cocked, smacked the fuck up\n Pull the truck up, Luck, you know the name\n Ass out in the bleachers stay shitting on the game\n I suppose what you're spitting is flames, cowards\n Knew your crew was vaginal, I could smell the douche powder\n Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n Stay fly till you get airsick, now that's ill\n Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n\n What the fuck's going on here? Just a minute now, hold up\n Sinister with it, the time, I diminish him, finish him, roll up\n When I'm in a cinematography state of mind\n My rap trip, rip, flip, clip, say the rhyme\n Shit, I spectacular run, hit spit bitches vernacular\n Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the immaculate\n Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son, I'll box you\n Ladies rub the ta-tas, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n (Oww!)\n Fellas, pull your cock out\n On the verge to splurge verbs for third-round knockout\n Uh, I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n Separate him from his fam\n He don't know how to behave now\n Drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n Figure me to give a nigga-y twenty-one gun salute\n That's seven shots for 2Pac, seven for Biggie Smalls\n Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n How's that? Fat action packed rap remain tame\n Pharoahe fuckin' Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n\n Yo, yo, get the fuck up\n Funk Doctor Spock said, \"Get the fuck up\"\n I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\n I leave a nigga hanging like your mom's muffler\n Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n Respect like The Fonz, you see the collar up (Ayeeee)\n I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n I kamikaze your town off a Arab bus\n Karat cut, yeah mami, pull over\n I bend your pussy like for years I knew yoga\n I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\n Off Hennessy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n I need fifty feet when my performance starts\n I push an armored car with Lowenharts\n Nineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\n Doc turning dark off a warning shot\n Drive off and pop, six in your hood\n Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\n Yeah, yeah, my nigga, one rhyme and you fold over\n I'm hot-headed 'cause I walk with cold shoulders\n\n Yeah, get the fuck up\n Simon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\n Throw ya hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\n Jersey in the back, jacking cars, now what's up?\n Girls, rub on your titties (Yeah)\n That's right, I said it, rub on your titties\n Brick City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\n In the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n Yo, yo, get the fuck up\n Yo, yeah, I said it, \"Get the fuck up\"\n Walk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\n Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n You know my name and Pharoahe Monch, why we came, what?\n We off the chain, plus we plotting on the game, what?\n Know your role, by the way, tuck your gold\n And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n Shooting in the sky trying to blast sun\n Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\n Fifty cent flashin', they hate us with a passion\n Mashin', still fresh in three-day old fashion\n You're plaid, I'm stripes, together we be clashin'\n Here's a Tunnel banger\n Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n Slap you like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n Just so you can feel me the same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\n Even if time stands still, I'mma still be\n Underground and filthy, gotta have our way like the Milky\n Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n Never got caught in the game of tag\n Momma never kept a boyfriend with kids this bad\n No justice, raider ruckus\n Underground 'til we under ground\n But y'all first, motherfuckers\n\n My thugs, throw up your set\n And shorties rub on your breasts\n Get the fuck up out of that dress, I palm tits\n You herbs get flipped like Jeeps on mountain cliffs\n I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talon tips\n Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n You sound like B.I.G., you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n And I bet when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet, instant delete\n Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay with the heat\n Stay sticking fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n So toss that link, dummy, should've insured that link\n Straight to Canal, appraise that link, then pawn that link\n You froze up, Sahdeeq says, \"Shut the fuck up\"\n Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n\n Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Duggan\n Been thuggin', lovin' the way we flood jewels for nothin'\n Lay it over, another ambush and take over\n Yo, we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n Or find your picture of your autopsy up on the website\n Yo, if you ever violate my space\n Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you with a fucking fat face, nigga\n Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom and some\n Like the ghost of a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n Bitches, snitches coming out and you know who's showing it\n Like when the British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n Y'all niggas is seamless blends of seamless friends\n Lip on about the results of a bunch of seamless ends\n Colossal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Monch-o\n The head honchos, getting this money like Leonardo (Do-do-do-do)\n Enough substance in the roughness\n Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow, fiend\n Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n Pledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\n Let us control and own the fucking area\n Wild in your whip until you crash the whole truck up\n And if you know what's good for you, nigga\n You better get the fuck up\n"},{"id":26400332,"name":"Simon Says (remix)","trackName":"Simon Says (remix)","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch","albumName":"Meth & Red in da House","duration":373.2,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"GET THE FUCK UP!\nSimon says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\nThrow ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\nQueens is in the back sippin 'Gnac, y'all wassup?\nGirls, rub on your titties (yeah)\nYeah fuck it I said it rub on ya titties\nNew York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\nIn the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n(Lady Luck)\nYo SHUT THE FUCK UP!\nLuck said \"SHUT THE FUCK UP!\"\nBitches in the back, like crack get it cut up\nI speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\nAct like a man and get cocked, smacked or fucked up\nPull the truck up, Luck you know the name\nAssed out in the bleachers stay shittin on the game\nI suppose what you're spittin is flames, cowards\nKnow your crew was vaginal, I could smell the dooch powder\nSummer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\nCome four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\nStay fly till you air sick, now that's ill\nTwo choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n\n(Pharoahe Monch)\nWHAT THE FUCK'S goin on here, just a minute now, hold up\nSinister wit hit the time I diminish him finish him, roll up\nWhen I'm,? cinematography state of mind\nMy rap trip, rip, clip, say the rhyme\nShit, I spectacular run hit spit bitches venacular\nMiraculous rhyme flow, back track to the Immaculate\nBinaca blast nigga that's fast, son I'll box ya\nLadies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\nOWWW! Fellas pull ya cock out\nOn the verge to splurge verbs for third round knock out\nUh I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\nDust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\nThe mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\nSeparate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behave\nNow, drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\nFigure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun salute\nThat's seven shots for Tupac\nSeven for Biggie Smalls\nSeven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\nHow's that, fat action packed rap remain tame\nPharoahe fuckin Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n\n(Redman)\nYo yo get the fuck up\nFunk Doctor Spot said \"Get the fuck up\"\nI got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\nI leave a nigga hangin like ya mom's muffler\nSnuff her, then my boys follow up\nRespect like the Fonze, you see the collar up\nI spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\nI kamikaze ya town off a Arab bus\nKarat cut, yeah mami pull over\nI bend ya pussy like for years I knew yoga\nI'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\nOff Hennesy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\nI need fifty feet when my performance starts\nI push a armored car wit? Lauren Harts?\nNineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\nDoc turnin dark off a warning shot\nDrive off and pop, six in ya hood\n(Monch) Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\nYea-yeah my nigga, one rhyme you fold over\nI'm hot-headed cuz I walk wit cold shoulders\nYeah GET THE FUCK UP!\n\n(Pharoahe Monch)\nSimon Says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\nThrow ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n\n(Redman)\nJersey in the back jackin cars now wassup!\nGirls, rub on ya titties\n(Yeah) That's right I said it, rub on ya titties\nBrick City gritty committee\nPity the fool that act shitty, in the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n(Method Man)\nYo yo get the fuck up\nYo yeah I said it, get the fuck up\nWalk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\nSeek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\nYa know my name, and Pharoahe Moch, why we came what?\nWe off the chain, plus we plottin on the chain, what?\nKnow ya role, by the way tuck ya gold\nAnd you and your mic can ease on down the road\nAssholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\nShootin in the sky tryin to blast sun\nZero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\nFifty cent flashin they hate us wit a passion\nMashin, still fresh in three-day old fashion\nYour plaid, I'm stripes, together we be flashin\nHere's a Tunnel banger\nWu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\nThis gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\nSlap ya like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\nJust so you can feel me\nThe same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\nEven if time stands still, I'ma still be\nUnderground and filthy, gotta have our Way like the Milky\nInnocent until I'm proven guilty\nNever got caught in the game of tag\nMomma never kept a boyfriend wit kids this bad\nNo justice, RAIDER RUCKUS!\nUnderground till we under ground\nBut y'all first MOTHAFUCKERS!\n\n(Shabaam Sahdeeq)\nMy thugs, throw up ya set\nAnd shorties rub on ya breasts\nGET THE FUCK UP, outta that dress, I palm tits\nYou herbs get flipped like jeeps on mountain cliffs\nI'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talent tips\nDouble-S, double the threat, double your bet\nDouble up on that cash if you decide to invest\nYou sound like Big, you sound like Jay, you sound like D\nAnd I bet, when I go plat, you'll sound like me\nShabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet into delete\nY'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\nI stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay wit the heat\nStay stickin fools like you for the rocks that gleam\nSo toss that link, dummy, shoulda insured that link\nStraight to Canal I'll praise that link, then pawn that link\nYou froze up, Sahdeeq says \"Shut the fuck up!\"\nPunk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n\n(Busta Rhymes)\nBusta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Dugan\nBeen thuggin, lovin the way we flood jewels for nothin\nLay it over, another ambush we take over\nYo we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\nYou better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\nOr find your picture of your autoposy up on the web site\nYo if you ever violate my space\nFuck a fat lip, I'll leave you wit a fuckin fat face\nNigga, Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom ansom\nLike the ghost in a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\nBitches, snitches comin out and you know who's showin it\nLike when British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\nY'all niggas is seemless blends of seemless friends\nLive on about? on a bunch of seamless ends\nCollosal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Moncho\nThe head honcho, gettin this money like Leonardo (do do do)\nEnough substance in the roughness\nNow watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\nNow let me clear the smoke screen you blow fiend\nLive nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\nPledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\nLet us control and own the fuckin area\nWildin in your whip until your crash the whole truck up\nAnd if you know what's good for you nigga you better GET THE FUCK UP!\nHehehe","syncedLyrics":"[00:23.14] GET THE FUCK UP!\n[00:24.82] Simon says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n[00:26.67] Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n[00:29.11] Queens is in the back sippin 'Gnac, y'all wassup?\n[00:32.03] Girls, rub on your titties (yeah)\n[00:35.12] Yeah fuck it I said it rub on ya titties\n[00:37.23] New York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\n[00:39.41] In the midst of the calm, the witty\n[00:42.74] (Lady Luck)\n[00:44.98] Yo SHUT THE FUCK UP!\n[00:45.70] Luck said \"SHUT THE FUCK UP!\"\n[00:47.18] Bitches in the back, like crack get it cut up\n[00:49.78] I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n[00:52.35] Act like a man and get cocked, smacked or fucked up\n[00:54.94] Pull the truck up, Luck you know the name\n[00:57.49] Assed out in the bleachers stay shittin on the game\n[00:59.84] I suppose what you're spittin is flames, cowards\n[01:02.31] Know your crew was vaginal, I could smell the dooch powder\n[01:05.09] Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n[01:07.65] Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n[01:10.32] Stay fly till you air sick, now that's ill\n[01:12.82] Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n[01:15.24] (Pharoahe Monch)\n[01:16.08] WHAT THE FUCK'S goin on here, just a minute now, hold up\n[01:18.14] Sinister wit hit the time I diminish him finish him, roll up\n[01:20.58] When I'm,? cinematography state of mind\n[01:24.04] My rap trip, rip, clip, say the rhyme\n[01:26.44] Shit, I spectacular run hit spit bitches venacular\n[01:28.49] Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the Immaculate\n[01:30.99] Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son I'll box ya\n[01:33.75] Ladies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n[01:36.84] OWWW! Fellas pull ya cock out\n[01:38.71] On the verge to splurge verbs for third round knock out\n[01:41.53] Uh I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n[01:43.96] Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n[01:46.45] The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n[01:49.05] Separate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behave\n[01:51.30] Now, drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n[01:54.26] Figure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun salute\n[01:56.60] That's seven shots for Tupac\n[01:58.29] Seven for Biggie Smalls\n[01:59.26] Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n[02:01.88] How's that, fat action packed rap remain tame\n[02:04.17] Pharoahe fuckin Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n[02:07.02] (Redman)\n[02:08.32] Yo yo get the fuck up\n[02:10.07] Funk Doctor Spot said \"Get the fuck up\"\n[02:12.16] I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\n[02:14.94] I leave a nigga hangin like ya mom's muffler\n[02:17.56] Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n[02:19.91] Respect like the Fonze, you see the collar up\n[02:22.56] I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n[02:25.08] I kamikaze ya town off a Arab bus\n[02:27.56] Karat cut, yeah mami pull over\n[02:29.95] I bend ya pussy like for years I knew yoga\n[02:32.43] I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\n[02:34.94] Off Hennesy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n[02:37.90] I need fifty feet when my performance starts\n[02:40.38] I push a armored car wit? Lauren Harts?\n[02:43.04] Nineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\n[02:45.49] Doc turnin dark off a warning shot\n[02:48.23] Drive off and pop, six in ya hood\n[02:50.78] (Monch) Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\n[02:53.31] Yea-yeah my nigga, one rhyme you fold over\n[02:55.76] I'm hot-headed cuz I walk wit cold shoulders\n[02:58.55] Yeah GET THE FUCK UP!\n[03:01.26] (Pharoahe Monch)\n[03:02.02] Simon Says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n[03:03.75] Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n[03:05.83] (Redman)\n[03:06.42] Jersey in the back jackin cars now wassup!\n[03:08.74] Girls, rub on ya titties\n[03:11.70] (Yeah) That's right I said it, rub on ya titties\n[03:13.80] Brick City gritty committee\n[03:15.61] Pity the fool that act shitty, in the midst of the calm, the witty\n[03:19.02] (Method Man)\n[03:19.63] Yo yo get the fuck up\n[03:21.59] Yo yeah I said it, get the fuck up\n[03:24.08] Walk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\n[03:26.87] Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n[03:29.45] Ya know my name, and Pharoahe Moch, why we came what?\n[03:32.00] We off the chain, plus we plottin on the chain, what?\n[03:34.83] Know ya role, by the way tuck ya gold\n[03:37.24] And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n[03:39.56] Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n[03:42.89] Shootin in the sky tryin to blast sun\n[03:45.08] Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\n[03:47.40] Fifty cent flashin they hate us wit a passion\n[03:50.09] Mashin, still fresh in three-day old fashion\n[03:52.36] Your plaid, I'm stripes, together we be flashin\n[03:55.04] Here's a Tunnel banger\n[03:56.79] Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n[03:58.69] This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n[04:01.83] Slap ya like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n[04:04.30] Just so you can feel me\n[04:05.86] The same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\n[04:08.09] Even if time stands still, I'ma still be\n[04:10.67] Underground and filthy, gotta have our Way like the Milky\n[04:13.79] Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n[04:15.84] Never got caught in the game of tag\n[04:18.20] Momma never kept a boyfriend wit kids this bad\n[04:20.51] No justice, RAIDER RUCKUS!\n[04:22.79] Underground till we under ground\n[04:24.31] But y'all first MOTHAFUCKERS!\n[04:25.82] (Shabaam Sahdeeq)\n[04:26.30] My thugs, throw up ya set\n[04:27.43] And shorties rub on ya breasts\n[04:28.75] GET THE FUCK UP, outta that dress, I palm tits\n[04:31.00] You herbs get flipped like jeeps on mountain cliffs\n[04:33.62] I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talent tips\n[04:36.12] Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n[04:38.65] Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n[04:41.52] You sound like Big, you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n[04:44.66] And I bet, when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n[04:46.30] Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet into delete\n[04:48.99] Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n[04:51.55] I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay wit the heat\n[04:54.18] Stay stickin fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n[04:57.09] So toss that link, dummy, shoulda insured that link\n[04:59.45] Straight to Canal I'll praise that link, then pawn that link\n[05:01.64] You froze up, Sahdeeq says \"Shut the fuck up!\"\n[05:04.64] Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n[05:06.84] (Busta Rhymes)\n[05:07.34] Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Dugan\n[05:09.28] Been thuggin, lovin the way we flood jewels for nothin\n[05:12.24] Lay it over, another ambush we take over\n[05:14.71] Yo we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n[05:17.77] You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n[05:20.12] Or find your picture of your autoposy up on the web site\n[05:22.82] Yo if you ever violate my space\n[05:25.14] Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you wit a fuckin fat face\n[05:27.96] Nigga, Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom ansom\n[05:30.57] Like the ghost in a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n[05:33.39] Bitches, snitches comin out and you know who's showin it\n[05:35.98] Like when British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n[05:38.02] Y'all niggas is seemless blends of seemless friends\n[05:40.52] Live on about? on a bunch of seamless ends\n[05:43.18] Collosal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Moncho\n[05:45.78] The head honcho, gettin this money like Leonardo (do do do)\n[05:49.00] Enough substance in the roughness\n[05:51.20] Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n[05:53.96] Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow fiend\n[05:56.13] Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n[05:58.76] Pledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\n[06:02.02] Let us control and own the fuckin area\n[06:03.95] Wildin in your whip until your crash the whole truck up\n[06:06.65] And if you know what's good for you nigga you better GET THE FUCK UP!\n[06:09.28] Hehehe\n[06:11.47] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Simon Says (remix)\n artist: Pharoahe Monch\n album: Meth & Red in da House\n duration_ms: 373200\n instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: GET THE FUCK UP!\n start_ms: 23140\n end_ms: 24820\n- text: Simon says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n start_ms: 24820\n end_ms: 26670\n- text: Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n start_ms: 26670\n end_ms: 29110\n- text: Queens is in the back sippin 'Gnac, y'all wassup?\n start_ms: 29110\n end_ms: 32030\n- text: Girls, rub on your titties (yeah)\n start_ms: 32030\n end_ms: 35120\n- text: Yeah fuck it I said it rub on ya titties\n start_ms: 35120\n end_ms: 37230\n- text: New York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\n start_ms: 37230\n end_ms: 39410\n- text: In the midst of the calm, the witty\n start_ms: 39410\n end_ms: 42740\n- text: (Lady Luck)\n start_ms: 42740\n end_ms: 44980\n- text: Yo SHUT THE FUCK UP!\n start_ms: 44980\n end_ms: 45700\n- text: Luck said \"SHUT THE FUCK UP!\"\n start_ms: 45700\n end_ms: 47180\n- text: Bitches in the back, like crack get it cut up\n start_ms: 47180\n end_ms: 49780\n- text: I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n start_ms: 49780\n end_ms: 52350\n- text: Act like a man and get cocked, smacked or fucked up\n start_ms: 52350\n end_ms: 54940\n- text: Pull the truck up, Luck you know the name\n start_ms: 54940\n end_ms: 57490\n- text: Assed out in the bleachers stay shittin on the game\n start_ms: 57490\n end_ms: 59840\n- text: I suppose what you're spittin is flames, cowards\n start_ms: 59840\n end_ms: 62310\n- text: Know your crew was vaginal, I could smell the dooch powder\n start_ms: 62310\n end_ms: 65090\n- text: Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n start_ms: 65090\n end_ms: 67650\n- text: Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n start_ms: 67650\n end_ms: 70320\n- text: Stay fly till you air sick, now that's ill\n start_ms: 70320\n end_ms: 72820\n- text: Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n start_ms: 72820\n end_ms: 75240\n- text: (Pharoahe Monch)\n start_ms: 75240\n end_ms: 76080\n- text: WHAT THE FUCK'S goin on here, just a minute now, hold up\n start_ms: 76080\n end_ms: 78140\n- text: Sinister wit hit the time I diminish him finish him, roll up\n start_ms: 78140\n end_ms: 80580\n- text: When I'm,? cinematography state of mind\n start_ms: 80580\n end_ms: 84040\n- text: My rap trip, rip, clip, say the rhyme\n start_ms: 84040\n end_ms: 86440\n- text: Shit, I spectacular run hit spit bitches venacular\n start_ms: 86440\n end_ms: 88490\n- text: Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the Immaculate\n start_ms: 88490\n end_ms: 90990\n- text: Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son I'll box ya\n start_ms: 90990\n end_ms: 93750\n- text: Ladies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n start_ms: 93750\n end_ms: 96840\n- text: OWWW! Fellas pull ya cock out\n start_ms: 96840\n end_ms: 98710\n- text: On the verge to splurge verbs for third round knock out\n start_ms: 98710\n end_ms: 101530\n- text: Uh I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n start_ms: 101530\n end_ms: 103960\n- text: Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n start_ms: 103960\n end_ms: 106450\n- text: The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n start_ms: 106450\n end_ms: 109050\n- text: Separate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behave\n start_ms: 109050\n end_ms: 111300\n- text: Now, drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n start_ms: 111300\n end_ms: 114260\n- text: Figure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun salute\n start_ms: 114260\n end_ms: 116600\n- text: That's seven shots for Tupac\n start_ms: 116600\n end_ms: 118290\n- text: Seven for Biggie Smalls\n start_ms: 118290\n end_ms: 119260\n- text: Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n start_ms: 119260\n end_ms: 121880\n- text: How's that, fat action packed rap remain tame\n start_ms: 121880\n end_ms: 124170\n- text: Pharoahe fuckin Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n start_ms: 124170\n end_ms: 127020\n- text: (Redman)\n start_ms: 127020\n end_ms: 128320\n- text: Yo yo get the fuck up\n start_ms: 128320\n end_ms: 130070\n- text: Funk Doctor Spot said \"Get the fuck up\"\n start_ms: 130070\n end_ms: 132160\n- text: I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\n start_ms: 132160\n end_ms: 134940\n- text: I leave a nigga hangin like ya mom's muffler\n start_ms: 134940\n end_ms: 137560\n- text: Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n start_ms: 137560\n end_ms: 139910\n- text: Respect like the Fonze, you see the collar up\n start_ms: 139910\n end_ms: 142560\n- text: I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n start_ms: 142560\n end_ms: 145080\n- text: I kamikaze ya town off a Arab bus\n start_ms: 145080\n end_ms: 147560\n- text: Karat cut, yeah mami pull over\n start_ms: 147560\n end_ms: 149950\n- text: I bend ya pussy like for years I knew yoga\n start_ms: 149950\n end_ms: 152430\n- text: I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\n start_ms: 152430\n end_ms: 154940\n- text: Off Hennesy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n start_ms: 154940\n end_ms: 157900\n- text: I need fifty feet when my performance starts\n start_ms: 157900\n end_ms: 160380\n- text: I push a armored car wit? Lauren Harts?\n start_ms: 160380\n end_ms: 163040\n- text: Nineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\n start_ms: 163040\n end_ms: 165490\n- text: Doc turnin dark off a warning shot\n start_ms: 165490\n end_ms: 168230\n- text: Drive off and pop, six in ya hood\n start_ms: 168230\n end_ms: 170780\n- text: (Monch) Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\n start_ms: 170780\n end_ms: 173310\n- text: Yea-yeah my nigga, one rhyme you fold over\n start_ms: 173310\n end_ms: 175760\n- text: I'm hot-headed cuz I walk wit cold shoulders\n start_ms: 175760\n end_ms: 178550\n- text: Yeah GET THE FUCK UP!\n start_ms: 178550\n end_ms: 181260\n- text: (Pharoahe Monch)\n start_ms: 181260\n end_ms: 182020\n- text: Simon Says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n start_ms: 182020\n end_ms: 183750\n- text: Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n start_ms: 183750\n end_ms: 185830\n- text: (Redman)\n start_ms: 185830\n end_ms: 186420\n- text: Jersey in the back jackin cars now wassup!\n start_ms: 186420\n end_ms: 188740\n- text: Girls, rub on ya titties\n start_ms: 188740\n end_ms: 191700\n- text: (Yeah) That's right I said it, rub on ya titties\n start_ms: 191700\n end_ms: 193800\n- text: Brick City gritty committee\n start_ms: 193800\n end_ms: 195610\n- text: Pity the fool that act shitty, in the midst of the calm, the witty\n start_ms: 195610\n end_ms: 199020\n- text: (Method Man)\n start_ms: 199020\n end_ms: 199630\n- text: Yo yo get the fuck up\n start_ms: 199630\n end_ms: 201590\n- text: Yo yeah I said it, get the fuck up\n start_ms: 201590\n end_ms: 204080\n- text: Walk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\n start_ms: 204080\n end_ms: 206870\n- text: Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n start_ms: 206870\n end_ms: 209450\n- text: Ya know my name, and Pharoahe Moch, why we came what?\n start_ms: 209450\n end_ms: 212000\n- text: We off the chain, plus we plottin on the chain, what?\n start_ms: 212000\n end_ms: 214830\n- text: Know ya role, by the way tuck ya gold\n start_ms: 214830\n end_ms: 217240\n- text: And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n start_ms: 217240\n end_ms: 219560\n- text: Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n start_ms: 219560\n end_ms: 222890\n- text: Shootin in the sky tryin to blast sun\n start_ms: 222890\n end_ms: 225080\n- text: Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\n start_ms: 225080\n end_ms: 227400\n- text: Fifty cent flashin they hate us wit a passion\n start_ms: 227400\n end_ms: 230090\n- text: Mashin, still fresh in three-day old fashion\n start_ms: 230090\n end_ms: 232360\n- text: Your plaid, I'm stripes, together we be flashin\n start_ms: 232360\n end_ms: 235040\n- text: Here's a Tunnel banger\n start_ms: 235040\n end_ms: 236790\n- text: Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n start_ms: 236790\n end_ms: 238690\n- text: This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n start_ms: 238690\n end_ms: 241830\n- text: Slap ya like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n start_ms: 241830\n end_ms: 244300\n- text: Just so you can feel me\n start_ms: 244300\n end_ms: 245860\n- text: The same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\n start_ms: 245860\n end_ms: 248090\n- text: Even if time stands still, I'ma still be\n start_ms: 248090\n end_ms: 250670\n- text: Underground and filthy, gotta have our Way like the Milky\n start_ms: 250670\n end_ms: 253790\n- text: Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n start_ms: 253790\n end_ms: 255840\n- text: Never got caught in the game of tag\n start_ms: 255840\n end_ms: 258200\n- text: Momma never kept a boyfriend wit kids this bad\n start_ms: 258200\n end_ms: 260510\n- text: No justice, RAIDER RUCKUS!\n start_ms: 260510\n end_ms: 262790\n- text: Underground till we under ground\n start_ms: 262790\n end_ms: 264310\n- text: But y'all first MOTHAFUCKERS!\n start_ms: 264310\n end_ms: 265820\n- text: (Shabaam Sahdeeq)\n start_ms: 265820\n end_ms: 266300\n- text: My thugs, throw up ya set\n start_ms: 266300\n end_ms: 267430\n- text: And shorties rub on ya breasts\n start_ms: 267430\n end_ms: 268750\n- text: GET THE FUCK UP, outta that dress, I palm tits\n start_ms: 268750\n end_ms: 271000\n- text: You herbs get flipped like jeeps on mountain cliffs\n start_ms: 271000\n end_ms: 273620\n- text: I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talent tips\n start_ms: 273620\n end_ms: 276120\n- text: Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n start_ms: 276120\n end_ms: 278650\n- text: Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n start_ms: 278650\n end_ms: 281520\n- text: You sound like Big, you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n start_ms: 281520\n end_ms: 284660\n- text: And I bet, when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n start_ms: 284660\n end_ms: 286300\n- text: Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet into delete\n start_ms: 286300\n end_ms: 288990\n- text: Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n start_ms: 288990\n end_ms: 291550\n- text: I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay wit the heat\n start_ms: 291550\n end_ms: 294180\n- text: Stay stickin fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n start_ms: 294180\n end_ms: 297090\n- text: So toss that link, dummy, shoulda insured that link\n start_ms: 297090\n end_ms: 299450\n- text: Straight to Canal I'll praise that link, then pawn that link\n start_ms: 299450\n end_ms: 301640\n- text: You froze up, Sahdeeq says \"Shut the fuck up!\"\n start_ms: 301640\n end_ms: 304640\n- text: Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n start_ms: 304640\n end_ms: 306840\n- text: (Busta Rhymes)\n start_ms: 306840\n end_ms: 307340\n- text: Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Dugan\n start_ms: 307340\n end_ms: 309280\n- text: Been thuggin, lovin the way we flood jewels for nothin\n start_ms: 309280\n end_ms: 312240\n- text: Lay it over, another ambush we take over\n start_ms: 312240\n end_ms: 314710\n- text: Yo we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n start_ms: 314710\n end_ms: 317770\n- text: You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n start_ms: 317770\n end_ms: 320120\n- text: Or find your picture of your autoposy up on the web site\n start_ms: 320120\n end_ms: 322820\n- text: Yo if you ever violate my space\n start_ms: 322820\n end_ms: 325140\n- text: Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you wit a fuckin fat face\n start_ms: 325140\n end_ms: 327960\n- text: Nigga, Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom ansom\n start_ms: 327960\n end_ms: 330570\n- text: Like the ghost in a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n start_ms: 330570\n end_ms: 333390\n- text: Bitches, snitches comin out and you know who's showin it\n start_ms: 333390\n end_ms: 335980\n- text: Like when British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n start_ms: 335980\n end_ms: 338020\n- text: Y'all niggas is seemless blends of seemless friends\n start_ms: 338020\n end_ms: 340520\n- text: Live on about? on a bunch of seamless ends\n start_ms: 340520\n end_ms: 343180\n- text: Collosal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Moncho\n start_ms: 343180\n end_ms: 345780\n- text: The head honcho, gettin this money like Leonardo (do do do)\n start_ms: 345780\n end_ms: 349000\n- text: Enough substance in the roughness\n start_ms: 349000\n end_ms: 351200\n- text: Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n start_ms: 351200\n end_ms: 353960\n- text: Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow fiend\n start_ms: 353960\n end_ms: 356130\n- text: Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n start_ms: 356130\n end_ms: 358760\n- text: Pledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\n start_ms: 358760\n end_ms: 362020\n- text: Let us control and own the fuckin area\n start_ms: 362020\n end_ms: 363950\n- text: Wildin in your whip until your crash the whole truck up\n start_ms: 363950\n end_ms: 366650\n- text: And if you know what's good for you nigga you better GET THE FUCK UP!\n start_ms: 366650\n end_ms: 369280\n- text: Hehehe\n start_ms: 369280\n end_ms: 371470\n- text: ''\n start_ms: 371470\nplain: |-\n GET THE FUCK UP!\n Simon says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n Queens is in the back sippin 'Gnac, y'all wassup?\n Girls, rub on your titties (yeah)\n Yeah fuck it I said it rub on ya titties\n New York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\n In the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n (Lady Luck)\n Yo SHUT THE FUCK UP!\n Luck said \"SHUT THE FUCK UP!\"\n Bitches in the back, like crack get it cut up\n I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n Act like a man and get cocked, smacked or fucked up\n Pull the truck up, Luck you know the name\n Assed out in the bleachers stay shittin on the game\n I suppose what you're spittin is flames, cowards\n Know your crew was vaginal, I could smell the dooch powder\n Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n Stay fly till you air sick, now that's ill\n Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n\n (Pharoahe Monch)\n WHAT THE FUCK'S goin on here, just a minute now, hold up\n Sinister wit hit the time I diminish him finish him, roll up\n When I'm,? cinematography state of mind\n My rap trip, rip, clip, say the rhyme\n Shit, I spectacular run hit spit bitches venacular\n Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the Immaculate\n Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son I'll box ya\n Ladies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n OWWW! Fellas pull ya cock out\n On the verge to splurge verbs for third round knock out\n Uh I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n Separate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behave\n Now, drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n Figure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun salute\n That's seven shots for Tupac\n Seven for Biggie Smalls\n Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n How's that, fat action packed rap remain tame\n Pharoahe fuckin Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n\n (Redman)\n Yo yo get the fuck up\n Funk Doctor Spot said \"Get the fuck up\"\n I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\n I leave a nigga hangin like ya mom's muffler\n Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n Respect like the Fonze, you see the collar up\n I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n I kamikaze ya town off a Arab bus\n Karat cut, yeah mami pull over\n I bend ya pussy like for years I knew yoga\n I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\n Off Hennesy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n I need fifty feet when my performance starts\n I push a armored car wit? Lauren Harts?\n Nineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\n Doc turnin dark off a warning shot\n Drive off and pop, six in ya hood\n (Monch) Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\n Yea-yeah my nigga, one rhyme you fold over\n I'm hot-headed cuz I walk wit cold shoulders\n Yeah GET THE FUCK UP!\n\n (Pharoahe Monch)\n Simon Says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n\n (Redman)\n Jersey in the back jackin cars now wassup!\n Girls, rub on ya titties\n (Yeah) That's right I said it, rub on ya titties\n Brick City gritty committee\n Pity the fool that act shitty, in the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n (Method Man)\n Yo yo get the fuck up\n Yo yeah I said it, get the fuck up\n Walk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\n Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n Ya know my name, and Pharoahe Moch, why we came what?\n We off the chain, plus we plottin on the chain, what?\n Know ya role, by the way tuck ya gold\n And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n Shootin in the sky tryin to blast sun\n Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\n Fifty cent flashin they hate us wit a passion\n Mashin, still fresh in three-day old fashion\n Your plaid, I'm stripes, together we be flashin\n Here's a Tunnel banger\n Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n Slap ya like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n Just so you can feel me\n The same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\n Even if time stands still, I'ma still be\n Underground and filthy, gotta have our Way like the Milky\n Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n Never got caught in the game of tag\n Momma never kept a boyfriend wit kids this bad\n No justice, RAIDER RUCKUS!\n Underground till we under ground\n But y'all first MOTHAFUCKERS!\n\n (Shabaam Sahdeeq)\n My thugs, throw up ya set\n And shorties rub on ya breasts\n GET THE FUCK UP, outta that dress, I palm tits\n You herbs get flipped like jeeps on mountain cliffs\n I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talent tips\n Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n You sound like Big, you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n And I bet, when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet into delete\n Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay wit the heat\n Stay stickin fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n So toss that link, dummy, shoulda insured that link\n Straight to Canal I'll praise that link, then pawn that link\n You froze up, Sahdeeq says \"Shut the fuck up!\"\n Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n\n (Busta Rhymes)\n Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Dugan\n Been thuggin, lovin the way we flood jewels for nothin\n Lay it over, another ambush we take over\n Yo we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n Or find your picture of your autoposy up on the web site\n Yo if you ever violate my space\n Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you wit a fuckin fat face\n Nigga, Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom ansom\n Like the ghost in a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n Bitches, snitches comin out and you know who's showin it\n Like when British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n Y'all niggas is seemless blends of seemless friends\n Live on about? on a bunch of seamless ends\n Collosal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Moncho\n The head honcho, gettin this money like Leonardo (do do do)\n Enough substance in the roughness\n Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow fiend\n Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n Pledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\n Let us control and own the fuckin area\n Wildin in your whip until your crash the whole truck up\n And if you know what's good for you nigga you better GET THE FUCK UP!\n Hehehe\n"},{"id":39596382,"name":"Simon Says (remix)","trackName":"Simon Says (remix)","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch","albumName":"Meth & Red in da House","duration":375.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"GET THE FUCK UP!\nSimon says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\nThrow ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\nQueens is in the back sippin 'Gnac, y'all wassup?\nGirls, rub on your titties (yeah)\nYeah fuck it I said it rub on ya titties\nNew York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\nIn the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n(Lady Luck)\nYo SHUT THE FUCK UP!\nLuck said \"SHUT THE FUCK UP!\"\nBitches in the back, like crack get it cut up\nI speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\nAct like a man and get cocked, smacked or fucked up\nPull the truck up, Luck you know the name\nAssed out in the bleachers stay shittin on the game\nI suppose what you're spittin is flames, cowards\nKnow your crew was vaginal, I could smell the dooch powder\nSummer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\nCome four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\nStay fly till you air sick, now that's ill\nTwo choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n\n(Pharoahe Monch)\nWHAT THE FUCK'S goin on here, just a minute now, hold up\nSinister wit hit the time I diminish him finish him, roll up\nWhen I'm,? cinematography state of mind\nMy rap trip, rip, clip, say the rhyme\nShit, I spectacular run hit spit bitches venacular\nMiraculous rhyme flow, back track to the Immaculate\nBinaca blast nigga that's fast, son I'll box ya\nLadies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\nOWWW! Fellas pull ya cock out\nOn the verge to splurge verbs for third round knock out\nUh I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\nDust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\nThe mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\nSeparate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behave\nNow, drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\nFigure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun salute\nThat's seven shots for Tupac\nSeven for Biggie Smalls\nSeven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\nHow's that, fat action packed rap remain tame\nPharoahe fuckin Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n\n(Redman)\nYo yo get the fuck up\nFunk Doctor Spot said \"Get the fuck up\"\nI got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\nI leave a nigga hangin like ya mom's muffler\nSnuff her, then my boys follow up\nRespect like the Fonze, you see the collar up\nI spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\nI kamikaze ya town off a Arab bus\nKarat cut, yeah mami pull over\nI bend ya pussy like for years I knew yoga\nI'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\nOff Hennesy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\nI need fifty feet when my performance starts\nI push a armored car wit? Lauren Harts?\nNineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\nDoc turnin dark off a warning shot\nDrive off and pop, six in ya hood\n(Monch) Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\nYea-yeah my nigga, one rhyme you fold over\nI'm hot-headed cuz I walk wit cold shoulders\nYeah GET THE FUCK UP!\n\n(Pharoahe Monch)\nSimon Says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\nThrow ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n\n(Redman)\nJersey in the back jackin cars now wassup!\nGirls, rub on ya titties\n(Yeah) That's right I said it, rub on ya titties\nBrick City gritty committee\nPity the fool that act shitty, in the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n(Method Man)\nYo yo get the fuck up\nYo yeah I said it, get the fuck up\nWalk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\nSeek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\nYa know my name, and Pharoahe Moch, why we came what?\nWe off the chain, plus we plottin on the chain, what?\nKnow ya role, by the way tuck ya gold\nAnd you and your mic can ease on down the road\nAssholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\nShootin in the sky tryin to blast sun\nZero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\nFifty cent flashin they hate us wit a passion\nMashin, still fresh in three-day old fashion\nYour plaid, I'm stripes, together we be flashin\nHere's a Tunnel banger\nWu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\nThis gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\nSlap ya like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\nJust so you can feel me\nThe same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\nEven if time stands still, I'ma still be\nUnderground and filthy, gotta have our Way like the Milky\nInnocent until I'm proven guilty\nNever got caught in the game of tag\nMomma never kept a boyfriend wit kids this bad\nNo justice, RAIDER RUCKUS!\nUnderground till we under ground\nBut y'all first MOTHAFUCKERS!\n\n(Shabaam Sahdeeq)\nMy thugs, throw up ya set\nAnd shorties rub on ya breasts\nGET THE FUCK UP, outta that dress, I palm tits\nYou herbs get flipped like jeeps on mountain cliffs\nI'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talent tips\nDouble-S, double the threat, double your bet\nDouble up on that cash if you decide to invest\nYou sound like Big, you sound like Jay, you sound like D\nAnd I bet, when I go plat, you'll sound like me\nShabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet into delete\nY'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\nI stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay wit the heat\nStay stickin fools like you for the rocks that gleam\nSo toss that link, dummy, shoulda insured that link\nStraight to Canal I'll praise that link, then pawn that link\nYou froze up, Sahdeeq says \"Shut the fuck up!\"\nPunk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n\n(Busta Rhymes)\nBusta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Dugan\nBeen thuggin, lovin the way we flood jewels for nothin\nLay it over, another ambush we take over\nYo we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\nYou better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\nOr find your picture of your autoposy up on the web site\nYo if you ever violate my space\nFuck a fat lip, I'll leave you wit a fuckin fat face\nNigga, Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom ansom\nLike the ghost in a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\nBitches, snitches comin out and you know who's showin it\nLike when British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\nY'all niggas is seemless blends of seemless friends\nLive on about? on a bunch of seamless ends\nCollosal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Moncho\nThe head honcho, gettin this money like Leonardo (do do do)\nEnough substance in the roughness\nNow watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\nNow let me clear the smoke screen you blow fiend\nLive nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\nPledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\nLet us control and own the fuckin area\nWildin in your whip until your crash the whole truck up\nAnd if you know what's good for you nigga you better GET THE FUCK UP!\nHehehe","syncedLyrics":"[00:23.14]GET THE FUCK UP!\n[00:24.82]Simon says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n[00:26.67]Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n[00:29.11]Queens is in the back sippin 'Gnac, y'all wassup?\n[00:32.03]Girls, rub on your titties (yeah)\n[00:35.12]Yeah fuck it I said it rub on ya titties\n[00:37.23]New York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\n[00:39.41]In the midst of the calm, the witty\n[00:42.74](Lady Luck)\n[00:44.98]Yo SHUT THE FUCK UP!\n[00:45.70]Luck said \"SHUT THE FUCK UP!\"\n[00:47.18]Bitches in the back, like crack get it cut up\n[00:49.78]I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n[00:52.35]Act like a man and get cocked, smacked or fucked up\n[00:54.94]Pull the truck up, Luck you know the name\n[00:57.49]Assed out in the bleachers stay shittin on the game\n[00:59.84]I suppose what you're spittin is flames, cowards\n[01:02.31]Know your crew was vaginal, I could smell the dooch powder\n[01:05.09]Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n[01:07.65]Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n[01:10.32]Stay fly till you air sick, now that's ill\n[01:12.82]Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n[01:15.24](Pharoahe Monch)\n[01:16.08]WHAT THE FUCK'S goin on here, just a minute now, hold up\n[01:18.14]Sinister wit hit the time I diminish him finish him, roll up\n[01:20.58]When I'm,? cinematography state of mind\n[01:24.04]My rap trip, rip, clip, say the rhyme\n[01:26.44]Shit, I spectacular run hit spit bitches venacular\n[01:28.49]Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the Immaculate\n[01:30.99]Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son I'll box ya\n[01:33.75]Ladies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n[01:36.84]OWWW! Fellas pull ya cock out\n[01:38.71]On the verge to splurge verbs for third round knock out\n[01:41.53]Uh I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n[01:43.96]Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n[01:46.45]The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n[01:49.05]Separate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behave\n[01:51.30]Now, drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n[01:54.26]Figure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun salute\n[01:56.60]That's seven shots for Tupac\n[01:58.29]Seven for Biggie Smalls\n[01:59.26]Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n[02:01.88]How's that, fat action packed rap remain tame\n[02:04.17]Pharoahe fuckin Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n[02:07.02](Redman)\n[02:08.32]Yo yo get the fuck up\n[02:10.07]Funk Doctor Spot said \"Get the fuck up\"\n[02:12.16]I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\n[02:14.94]I leave a nigga hangin like ya mom's muffler\n[02:17.56]Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n[02:19.91]Respect like the Fonze, you see the collar up\n[02:22.56]I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n[02:25.08]I kamikaze ya town off a Arab bus\n[02:27.56]Karat cut, yeah mami pull over\n[02:29.95]I bend ya pussy like for years I knew yoga\n[02:32.43]I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\n[02:34.94]Off Hennesy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n[02:37.90]I need fifty feet when my performance starts\n[02:40.38]I push a armored car wit? Lauren Harts?\n[02:43.04]Nineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\n[02:45.49]Doc turnin dark off a warning shot\n[02:48.23]Drive off and pop, six in ya hood\n[02:50.78](Monch) Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\n[02:53.31]Yea-yeah my nigga, one rhyme you fold over\n[02:55.76]I'm hot-headed cuz I walk wit cold shoulders\n[02:58.55]Yeah GET THE FUCK UP!\n[03:01.26](Pharoahe Monch)\n[03:02.02]Simon Says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n[03:03.75]Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n[03:05.83](Redman)\n[03:06.42]Jersey in the back jackin cars now wassup!\n[03:08.74]Girls, rub on ya titties\n[03:11.70](Yeah) That's right I said it, rub on ya titties\n[03:13.80]Brick City gritty committee\n[03:15.61]Pity the fool that act shitty, in the midst of the calm, the witty\n[03:19.02](Method Man)\n[03:19.63]Yo yo get the fuck up\n[03:21.59]Yo yeah I said it, get the fuck up\n[03:24.08]Walk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\n[03:26.87]Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n[03:29.45]Ya know my name, and Pharoahe Moch, why we came what?\n[03:32.00]We off the chain, plus we plottin on the chain, what?\n[03:34.83]Know ya role, by the way tuck ya gold\n[03:37.24]And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n[03:39.56]Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n[03:42.89]Shootin in the sky tryin to blast sun\n[03:45.08]Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\n[03:47.40]Fifty cent flashin they hate us wit a passion\n[03:50.09]Mashin, still fresh in three-day old fashion\n[03:52.36]Your plaid, I'm stripes, together we be flashin\n[03:55.04]Here's a Tunnel banger\n[03:56.79]Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n[03:58.69]This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n[04:01.83]Slap ya like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n[04:04.30]Just so you can feel me\n[04:05.86]The same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\n[04:08.09]Even if time stands still, I'ma still be\n[04:10.67]Underground and filthy, gotta have our Way like the Milky\n[04:13.79]Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n[04:15.84]Never got caught in the game of tag\n[04:18.20]Momma never kept a boyfriend wit kids this bad\n[04:20.51]No justice, RAIDER RUCKUS!\n[04:22.79]Underground till we under ground\n[04:24.31]But y'all first MOTHAFUCKERS!\n[04:25.82](Shabaam Sahdeeq)\n[04:26.30]My thugs, throw up ya set\n[04:27.43]And shorties rub on ya breasts\n[04:28.75]GET THE FUCK UP, outta that dress, I palm tits\n[04:31.00]You herbs get flipped like jeeps on mountain cliffs\n[04:33.62]I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talent tips\n[04:36.12]Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n[04:38.65]Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n[04:41.52]You sound like Big, you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n[04:44.66]And I bet, when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n[04:46.30]Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet into delete\n[04:48.99]Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n[04:51.55]I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay wit the heat\n[04:54.18]Stay stickin fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n[04:57.09]So toss that link, dummy, shoulda insured that link\n[04:59.45]Straight to Canal I'll praise that link, then pawn that link\n[05:01.64]You froze up, Sahdeeq says \"Shut the fuck up!\"\n[05:04.64]Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n[05:06.84](Busta Rhymes)\n[05:07.34]Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Dugan\n[05:09.28]Been thuggin, lovin the way we flood jewels for nothin\n[05:12.24]Lay it over, another ambush we take over\n[05:14.71]Yo we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n[05:17.77]You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n[05:20.12]Or find your picture of your autoposy up on the web site\n[05:22.82]Yo if you ever violate my space\n[05:25.14]Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you wit a fuckin fat face\n[05:27.96]Nigga, Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom ansom\n[05:30.57]Like the ghost in a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n[05:33.39]Bitches, snitches comin out and you know who's showin it\n[05:35.98]Like when British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n[05:38.02]Y'all niggas is seemless blends of seemless friends\n[05:40.52]Live on about? on a bunch of seamless ends\n[05:43.18]Collosal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Moncho\n[05:45.78]The head honcho, gettin this money like Leonardo (do do do)\n[05:49.00]Enough substance in the roughness\n[05:51.20]Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n[05:53.96]Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow fiend\n[05:56.13]Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n[05:58.76]Pledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\n[06:02.02]Let us control and own the fuckin area\n[06:03.95]Wildin in your whip until your crash the whole truck up\n[06:06.65]And if you know what's good for you nigga you better GET THE FUCK UP!\n[06:09.28]Hehehe\n[06:11.47]","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Simon Says (remix)\n artist: Pharoahe Monch\n album: Meth & Red in da House\n instrumental: false\n duration_ms: 375216\nlines:\n- text: GET THE FUCK UP!\n start_ms: 23140\n end_ms: 24820\n- text: Simon says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n start_ms: 24820\n end_ms: 26670\n- text: Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n start_ms: 26670\n end_ms: 29110\n- text: Queens is in the back sippin 'Gnac, y'all wassup?\n start_ms: 29110\n end_ms: 32030\n- text: Girls, rub on your titties (yeah)\n start_ms: 32030\n end_ms: 35120\n- text: Yeah fuck it I said it rub on ya titties\n start_ms: 35120\n end_ms: 37230\n- text: New York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\n start_ms: 37230\n end_ms: 39410\n- text: In the midst of the calm, the witty\n start_ms: 39410\n end_ms: 42740\n- text: (Lady Luck)\n start_ms: 42740\n end_ms: 44980\n- text: Yo SHUT THE FUCK UP!\n start_ms: 44980\n end_ms: 45700\n- text: Luck said \"SHUT THE FUCK UP!\"\n start_ms: 45700\n end_ms: 47180\n- text: Bitches in the back, like crack get it cut up\n start_ms: 47180\n end_ms: 49780\n- text: I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n start_ms: 49780\n end_ms: 52350\n- text: Act like a man and get cocked, smacked or fucked up\n start_ms: 52350\n end_ms: 54940\n- text: Pull the truck up, Luck you know the name\n start_ms: 54940\n end_ms: 57490\n- text: Assed out in the bleachers stay shittin on the game\n start_ms: 57490\n end_ms: 59840\n- text: I suppose what you're spittin is flames, cowards\n start_ms: 59840\n end_ms: 62310\n- text: Know your crew was vaginal, I could smell the dooch powder\n start_ms: 62310\n end_ms: 65090\n- text: Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n start_ms: 65090\n end_ms: 67650\n- text: Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n start_ms: 67650\n end_ms: 70320\n- text: Stay fly till you air sick, now that's ill\n start_ms: 70320\n end_ms: 72820\n- text: Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n start_ms: 72820\n end_ms: 75240\n- text: (Pharoahe Monch)\n start_ms: 75240\n end_ms: 76080\n- text: WHAT THE FUCK'S goin on here, just a minute now, hold up\n start_ms: 76080\n end_ms: 78140\n- text: Sinister wit hit the time I diminish him finish him, roll up\n start_ms: 78140\n end_ms: 80580\n- text: When I'm,? cinematography state of mind\n start_ms: 80580\n end_ms: 84040\n- text: My rap trip, rip, clip, say the rhyme\n start_ms: 84040\n end_ms: 86440\n- text: Shit, I spectacular run hit spit bitches venacular\n start_ms: 86440\n end_ms: 88490\n- text: Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the Immaculate\n start_ms: 88490\n end_ms: 90990\n- text: Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son I'll box ya\n start_ms: 90990\n end_ms: 93750\n- text: Ladies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n start_ms: 93750\n end_ms: 96840\n- text: OWWW! Fellas pull ya cock out\n start_ms: 96840\n end_ms: 98710\n- text: On the verge to splurge verbs for third round knock out\n start_ms: 98710\n end_ms: 101530\n- text: Uh I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n start_ms: 101530\n end_ms: 103960\n- text: Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n start_ms: 103960\n end_ms: 106450\n- text: The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n start_ms: 106450\n end_ms: 109050\n- text: Separate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behave\n start_ms: 109050\n end_ms: 111300\n- text: Now, drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n start_ms: 111300\n end_ms: 114260\n- text: Figure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun salute\n start_ms: 114260\n end_ms: 116600\n- text: That's seven shots for Tupac\n start_ms: 116600\n end_ms: 118290\n- text: Seven for Biggie Smalls\n start_ms: 118290\n end_ms: 119260\n- text: Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n start_ms: 119260\n end_ms: 121880\n- text: How's that, fat action packed rap remain tame\n start_ms: 121880\n end_ms: 124170\n- text: Pharoahe fuckin Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n start_ms: 124170\n end_ms: 127020\n- text: (Redman)\n start_ms: 127020\n end_ms: 128320\n- text: Yo yo get the fuck up\n start_ms: 128320\n end_ms: 130070\n- text: Funk Doctor Spot said \"Get the fuck up\"\n start_ms: 130070\n end_ms: 132160\n- text: I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\n start_ms: 132160\n end_ms: 134940\n- text: I leave a nigga hangin like ya mom's muffler\n start_ms: 134940\n end_ms: 137560\n- text: Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n start_ms: 137560\n end_ms: 139910\n- text: Respect like the Fonze, you see the collar up\n start_ms: 139910\n end_ms: 142560\n- text: I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n start_ms: 142560\n end_ms: 145080\n- text: I kamikaze ya town off a Arab bus\n start_ms: 145080\n end_ms: 147560\n- text: Karat cut, yeah mami pull over\n start_ms: 147560\n end_ms: 149950\n- text: I bend ya pussy like for years I knew yoga\n start_ms: 149950\n end_ms: 152430\n- text: I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\n start_ms: 152430\n end_ms: 154940\n- text: Off Hennesy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n start_ms: 154940\n end_ms: 157900\n- text: I need fifty feet when my performance starts\n start_ms: 157900\n end_ms: 160380\n- text: I push a armored car wit? Lauren Harts?\n start_ms: 160380\n end_ms: 163040\n- text: Nineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\n start_ms: 163040\n end_ms: 165490\n- text: Doc turnin dark off a warning shot\n start_ms: 165490\n end_ms: 168230\n- text: Drive off and pop, six in ya hood\n start_ms: 168230\n end_ms: 170780\n- text: (Monch) Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\n start_ms: 170780\n end_ms: 173310\n- text: Yea-yeah my nigga, one rhyme you fold over\n start_ms: 173310\n end_ms: 175760\n- text: I'm hot-headed cuz I walk wit cold shoulders\n start_ms: 175760\n end_ms: 178550\n- text: Yeah GET THE FUCK UP!\n start_ms: 178550\n end_ms: 181260\n- text: (Pharoahe Monch)\n start_ms: 181260\n end_ms: 182020\n- text: Simon Says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n start_ms: 182020\n end_ms: 183750\n- text: Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n start_ms: 183750\n end_ms: 185830\n- text: (Redman)\n start_ms: 185830\n end_ms: 186420\n- text: Jersey in the back jackin cars now wassup!\n start_ms: 186420\n end_ms: 188740\n- text: Girls, rub on ya titties\n start_ms: 188740\n end_ms: 191700\n- text: (Yeah) That's right I said it, rub on ya titties\n start_ms: 191700\n end_ms: 193800\n- text: Brick City gritty committee\n start_ms: 193800\n end_ms: 195610\n- text: Pity the fool that act shitty, in the midst of the calm, the witty\n start_ms: 195610\n end_ms: 199020\n- text: (Method Man)\n start_ms: 199020\n end_ms: 199630\n- text: Yo yo get the fuck up\n start_ms: 199630\n end_ms: 201590\n- text: Yo yeah I said it, get the fuck up\n start_ms: 201590\n end_ms: 204080\n- text: Walk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\n start_ms: 204080\n end_ms: 206870\n- text: Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n start_ms: 206870\n end_ms: 209450\n- text: Ya know my name, and Pharoahe Moch, why we came what?\n start_ms: 209450\n end_ms: 212000\n- text: We off the chain, plus we plottin on the chain, what?\n start_ms: 212000\n end_ms: 214830\n- text: Know ya role, by the way tuck ya gold\n start_ms: 214830\n end_ms: 217240\n- text: And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n start_ms: 217240\n end_ms: 219560\n- text: Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n start_ms: 219560\n end_ms: 222890\n- text: Shootin in the sky tryin to blast sun\n start_ms: 222890\n end_ms: 225080\n- text: Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\n start_ms: 225080\n end_ms: 227400\n- text: Fifty cent flashin they hate us wit a passion\n start_ms: 227400\n end_ms: 230090\n- text: Mashin, still fresh in three-day old fashion\n start_ms: 230090\n end_ms: 232360\n- text: Your plaid, I'm stripes, together we be flashin\n start_ms: 232360\n end_ms: 235040\n- text: Here's a Tunnel banger\n start_ms: 235040\n end_ms: 236790\n- text: Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n start_ms: 236790\n end_ms: 238690\n- text: This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n start_ms: 238690\n end_ms: 241830\n- text: Slap ya like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n start_ms: 241830\n end_ms: 244300\n- text: Just so you can feel me\n start_ms: 244300\n end_ms: 245860\n- text: The same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\n start_ms: 245860\n end_ms: 248090\n- text: Even if time stands still, I'ma still be\n start_ms: 248090\n end_ms: 250670\n- text: Underground and filthy, gotta have our Way like the Milky\n start_ms: 250670\n end_ms: 253790\n- text: Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n start_ms: 253790\n end_ms: 255840\n- text: Never got caught in the game of tag\n start_ms: 255840\n end_ms: 258200\n- text: Momma never kept a boyfriend wit kids this bad\n start_ms: 258200\n end_ms: 260510\n- text: No justice, RAIDER RUCKUS!\n start_ms: 260510\n end_ms: 262790\n- text: Underground till we under ground\n start_ms: 262790\n end_ms: 264310\n- text: But y'all first MOTHAFUCKERS!\n start_ms: 264310\n end_ms: 265820\n- text: (Shabaam Sahdeeq)\n start_ms: 265820\n end_ms: 266300\n- text: My thugs, throw up ya set\n start_ms: 266300\n end_ms: 267430\n- text: And shorties rub on ya breasts\n start_ms: 267430\n end_ms: 268750\n- text: GET THE FUCK UP, outta that dress, I palm tits\n start_ms: 268750\n end_ms: 271000\n- text: You herbs get flipped like jeeps on mountain cliffs\n start_ms: 271000\n end_ms: 273620\n- text: I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talent tips\n start_ms: 273620\n end_ms: 276120\n- text: Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n start_ms: 276120\n end_ms: 278650\n- text: Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n start_ms: 278650\n end_ms: 281520\n- text: You sound like Big, you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n start_ms: 281520\n end_ms: 284660\n- text: And I bet, when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n start_ms: 284660\n end_ms: 286300\n- text: Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet into delete\n start_ms: 286300\n end_ms: 288990\n- text: Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n start_ms: 288990\n end_ms: 291550\n- text: I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay wit the heat\n start_ms: 291550\n end_ms: 294180\n- text: Stay stickin fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n start_ms: 294180\n end_ms: 297090\n- text: So toss that link, dummy, shoulda insured that link\n start_ms: 297090\n end_ms: 299450\n- text: Straight to Canal I'll praise that link, then pawn that link\n start_ms: 299450\n end_ms: 301640\n- text: You froze up, Sahdeeq says \"Shut the fuck up!\"\n start_ms: 301640\n end_ms: 304640\n- text: Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n start_ms: 304640\n end_ms: 306840\n- text: (Busta Rhymes)\n start_ms: 306840\n end_ms: 307340\n- text: Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Dugan\n start_ms: 307340\n end_ms: 309280\n- text: Been thuggin, lovin the way we flood jewels for nothin\n start_ms: 309280\n end_ms: 312240\n- text: Lay it over, another ambush we take over\n start_ms: 312240\n end_ms: 314710\n- text: Yo we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n start_ms: 314710\n end_ms: 317770\n- text: You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n start_ms: 317770\n end_ms: 320120\n- text: Or find your picture of your autoposy up on the web site\n start_ms: 320120\n end_ms: 322820\n- text: Yo if you ever violate my space\n start_ms: 322820\n end_ms: 325140\n- text: Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you wit a fuckin fat face\n start_ms: 325140\n end_ms: 327960\n- text: Nigga, Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom ansom\n start_ms: 327960\n end_ms: 330570\n- text: Like the ghost in a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n start_ms: 330570\n end_ms: 333390\n- text: Bitches, snitches comin out and you know who's showin it\n start_ms: 333390\n end_ms: 335980\n- text: Like when British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n start_ms: 335980\n end_ms: 338020\n- text: Y'all niggas is seemless blends of seemless friends\n start_ms: 338020\n end_ms: 340520\n- text: Live on about? on a bunch of seamless ends\n start_ms: 340520\n end_ms: 343180\n- text: Collosal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Moncho\n start_ms: 343180\n end_ms: 345780\n- text: The head honcho, gettin this money like Leonardo (do do do)\n start_ms: 345780\n end_ms: 349000\n- text: Enough substance in the roughness\n start_ms: 349000\n end_ms: 351200\n- text: Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n start_ms: 351200\n end_ms: 353960\n- text: Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow fiend\n start_ms: 353960\n end_ms: 356130\n- text: Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n start_ms: 356130\n end_ms: 358760\n- text: Pledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\n start_ms: 358760\n end_ms: 362020\n- text: Let us control and own the fuckin area\n start_ms: 362020\n end_ms: 363950\n- text: Wildin in your whip until your crash the whole truck up\n start_ms: 363950\n end_ms: 366650\n- text: And if you know what's good for you nigga you better GET THE FUCK UP!\n start_ms: 366650\n end_ms: 369280\n- text: Hehehe\n start_ms: 369280\n end_ms: 371470\n- text: ''\n start_ms: 371470\nplain: |-\n GET THE FUCK UP!\n Simon says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n Queens is in the back sippin 'Gnac, y'all wassup?\n Girls, rub on your titties (yeah)\n Yeah fuck it I said it rub on ya titties\n New York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty\n In the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n (Lady Luck)\n Yo SHUT THE FUCK UP!\n Luck said \"SHUT THE FUCK UP!\"\n Bitches in the back, like crack get it cut up\n I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n Act like a man and get cocked, smacked or fucked up\n Pull the truck up, Luck you know the name\n Assed out in the bleachers stay shittin on the game\n I suppose what you're spittin is flames, cowards\n Know your crew was vaginal, I could smell the dooch powder\n Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n Stay fly till you air sick, now that's ill\n Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n\n (Pharoahe Monch)\n WHAT THE FUCK'S goin on here, just a minute now, hold up\n Sinister wit hit the time I diminish him finish him, roll up\n When I'm,? cinematography state of mind\n My rap trip, rip, clip, say the rhyme\n Shit, I spectacular run hit spit bitches venacular\n Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the Immaculate\n Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son I'll box ya\n Ladies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n OWWW! Fellas pull ya cock out\n On the verge to splurge verbs for third round knock out\n Uh I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n Separate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behave\n Now, drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n Figure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun salute\n That's seven shots for Tupac\n Seven for Biggie Smalls\n Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n How's that, fat action packed rap remain tame\n Pharoahe fuckin Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n\n (Redman)\n Yo yo get the fuck up\n Funk Doctor Spot said \"Get the fuck up\"\n I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\n I leave a nigga hangin like ya mom's muffler\n Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n Respect like the Fonze, you see the collar up\n I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n I kamikaze ya town off a Arab bus\n Karat cut, yeah mami pull over\n I bend ya pussy like for years I knew yoga\n I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\n Off Hennesy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n I need fifty feet when my performance starts\n I push a armored car wit? Lauren Harts?\n Nineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\n Doc turnin dark off a warning shot\n Drive off and pop, six in ya hood\n (Monch) Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\n Yea-yeah my nigga, one rhyme you fold over\n I'm hot-headed cuz I walk wit cold shoulders\n Yeah GET THE FUCK UP!\n\n (Pharoahe Monch)\n Simon Says \"GET THE FUCK UP!\"\n Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)\n\n (Redman)\n Jersey in the back jackin cars now wassup!\n Girls, rub on ya titties\n (Yeah) That's right I said it, rub on ya titties\n Brick City gritty committee\n Pity the fool that act shitty, in the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n (Method Man)\n Yo yo get the fuck up\n Yo yeah I said it, get the fuck up\n Walk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\n Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n Ya know my name, and Pharoahe Moch, why we came what?\n We off the chain, plus we plottin on the chain, what?\n Know ya role, by the way tuck ya gold\n And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n Shootin in the sky tryin to blast sun\n Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\n Fifty cent flashin they hate us wit a passion\n Mashin, still fresh in three-day old fashion\n Your plaid, I'm stripes, together we be flashin\n Here's a Tunnel banger\n Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n Slap ya like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n Just so you can feel me\n The same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\n Even if time stands still, I'ma still be\n Underground and filthy, gotta have our Way like the Milky\n Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n Never got caught in the game of tag\n Momma never kept a boyfriend wit kids this bad\n No justice, RAIDER RUCKUS!\n Underground till we under ground\n But y'all first MOTHAFUCKERS!\n\n (Shabaam Sahdeeq)\n My thugs, throw up ya set\n And shorties rub on ya breasts\n GET THE FUCK UP, outta that dress, I palm tits\n You herbs get flipped like jeeps on mountain cliffs\n I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talent tips\n Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n You sound like Big, you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n And I bet, when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet into delete\n Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay wit the heat\n Stay stickin fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n So toss that link, dummy, shoulda insured that link\n Straight to Canal I'll praise that link, then pawn that link\n You froze up, Sahdeeq says \"Shut the fuck up!\"\n Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n\n (Busta Rhymes)\n Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Dugan\n Been thuggin, lovin the way we flood jewels for nothin\n Lay it over, another ambush we take over\n Yo we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n Or find your picture of your autoposy up on the web site\n Yo if you ever violate my space\n Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you wit a fuckin fat face\n Nigga, Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom ansom\n Like the ghost in a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n Bitches, snitches comin out and you know who's showin it\n Like when British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n Y'all niggas is seemless blends of seemless friends\n Live on about? on a bunch of seamless ends\n Collosal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Moncho\n The head honcho, gettin this money like Leonardo (do do do)\n Enough substance in the roughness\n Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow fiend\n Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n Pledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\n Let us control and own the fuckin area\n Wildin in your whip until your crash the whole truck up\n And if you know what's good for you nigga you better GET THE FUCK UP!\n Hehehe\n"},{"id":37434861,"name":"Simon Says Remix (Featuring Lady Luck, Redman)","trackName":"Simon Says Remix (Featuring Lady Luck, Redman)","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch","albumName":"Internal Affairs","duration":375.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Get the fuck up\nSimon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\nThrow your hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\nQueens is in the back sipping 'gnac, y'all, what's up?\nGirls, rub on your titties\nYeah, fuck it, I said it rub on your titties\nNew York City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\nIn the midst of the calm, the witty\n\nYo, shut the fuck up\nLuck said, \"Shut the fuck up\"\nBitches in the back like crack, get it cut up\nI speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\nAct like a man and get cocked, smacked the fuck up\nPull the truck up, Luck, you know the name\nAss out in the bleachers stay shitting on the game\nI suppose what you're spitting is flames, cowards\nKnew your crew was vaginal, I could smell the douche powder\nSummer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\nCome four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\nStay fly till you get airsick, now that's ill\nTwo choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n\nWhat the fuck's going on here? Just a minute now, hold up\nSinister with it, the time, I diminish him, finish him, roll up\nWhen I'm in a cinematography state of mind\nMy rap trip, rip, flip, clip, say the rhyme\nShit, I spectacular run, hit spit bitches vernacular\nMiraculous rhyme flow, back track to the immaculate\nBinaca blast nigga that's fast, son, I'll box you\nLadies rub the ta-tas, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n(Oww!)\nFellas, pull your cock out\nOn the verge to splurge verbs for third-round knockout\nUh, I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\nDust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\nThe mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\nSeparate him from his fam\nHe don't know how to behave now\nDrag his ass, bag dun for his loot\nFigure me to give a nigga-y twenty-one gun salute\nThat's seven shots for 2Pac, seven for Biggie Smalls\nSeven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\nHow's that? Fat action packed rap remain tame\nPharoahe fuckin' Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n\nYo, yo, get the fuck up\nFunk Doctor Spock said, \"Get the fuck up\"\nI got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\nI leave a nigga hanging like your mom's muffler\nSnuff her, then my boys follow up\nRespect like The Fonz, you see the collar up (Ayeeee)\nI spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\nI kamikaze your town off a Arab bus\nKarat cut, yeah mami, pull over\nI bend your pussy like for years I knew yoga\nI'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\nOff Hennessy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\nI need fifty feet when my performance starts\nI push an armored car with Lowenharts\nNineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\nDoc turning dark off a warning shot\nDrive off and pop, six in your hood\nFuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\nYeah, yeah, my nigga, one rhyme and you fold over\nI'm hot-headed 'cause I walk with cold shoulders\n\nYeah, get the fuck up\nSimon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\nThrow ya hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\nJersey in the back, jacking cars, now what's up?\nGirls, rub on your titties (Yeah)\nThat's right, I said it, rub on your titties\nBrick City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\nIn the midst of the calm, the witty\n\nYo, yo, get the fuck up\nYo, yeah, I said it, \"Get the fuck up\"\nWalk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\nSeek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\nYou know my name and Pharoahe Monch, why we came, what?\nWe off the chain, plus we plotting on the game, what?\nKnow your role, by the way, tuck your gold\nAnd you and your mic can ease on down the road\nAssholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\nShooting in the sky trying to blast sun\nZero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\nFifty cent flashin', they hate us with a passion\nMashin', still fresh in three-day old fashion\nYou're plaid, I'm stripes, together we be clashin'\nHere's a Tunnel banger\nWu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\nThis gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\nSlap you like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\nJust so you can feel me the same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\nEven if time stands still, I'mma still be\nUnderground and filthy, gotta have our way like the Milky\nInnocent until I'm proven guilty\nNever got caught in the game of tag\nMomma never kept a boyfriend with kids this bad\nNo justice, raider ruckus\nUnderground 'til we under ground\nBut y'all first, motherfuckers\n\nMy thugs, throw up your set\nAnd shorties rub on your breasts\nGet the fuck up out of that dress, I palm tits\nYou herbs get flipped like Jeeps on mountain cliffs\nI'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talon tips\nDouble-S, double the threat, double your bet\nDouble up on that cash if you decide to invest\nYou sound like B.I.G., you sound like Jay, you sound like D\nAnd I bet when I go plat, you'll sound like me\nShabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet, instant delete\nY'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\nI stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay with the heat\nStay sticking fools like you for the rocks that gleam\nSo toss that link, dummy, should've insured that link\nStraight to Canal, appraise that link, then pawn that link\nYou froze up, Sahdeeq says, \"Shut the fuck up\"\nPunk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n\nBusta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Duggan\nBeen thuggin', lovin' the way we flood jewels for nothin'\nLay it over, another ambush and take over\nYo, we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\nYou better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\nOr find your picture of your autopsy up on the website\nYo, if you ever violate my space\nFuck a fat lip, I'll leave you with a fucking fat face, nigga\nBusta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom and some\nLike the ghost of a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\nBitches, snitches coming out and you know who's showing it\nLike when the British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\nY'all niggas is seamless blends of seamless friends\nLip on about the results of a bunch of seamless ends\nColossal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Monch-o\nThe head honchos, getting this money like Leonardo (Do-do-do-do)\nEnough substance in the roughness\nNow watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\nNow let me clear the smoke screen you blow, fiend\nLive nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\nPledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\nLet us control and own the fucking area\nWild in your whip until you crash the whole truck up\nAnd if you know what's good for you, nigga\nYou better get the fuck up","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Simon Says Remix (Featuring Lady Luck, Redman)\n artist: Pharoahe Monch\n album: Internal Affairs\n duration_ms: 375257\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n Get the fuck up\n Simon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\n Throw your hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\n Queens is in the back sipping 'gnac, y'all, what's up?\n Girls, rub on your titties\n Yeah, fuck it, I said it rub on your titties\n New York City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\n In the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n Yo, shut the fuck up\n Luck said, \"Shut the fuck up\"\n Bitches in the back like crack, get it cut up\n I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n Act like a man and get cocked, smacked the fuck up\n Pull the truck up, Luck, you know the name\n Ass out in the bleachers stay shitting on the game\n I suppose what you're spitting is flames, cowards\n Knew your crew was vaginal, I could smell the douche powder\n Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n Stay fly till you get airsick, now that's ill\n Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n\n What the fuck's going on here? Just a minute now, hold up\n Sinister with it, the time, I diminish him, finish him, roll up\n When I'm in a cinematography state of mind\n My rap trip, rip, flip, clip, say the rhyme\n Shit, I spectacular run, hit spit bitches vernacular\n Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the immaculate\n Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son, I'll box you\n Ladies rub the ta-tas, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n (Oww!)\n Fellas, pull your cock out\n On the verge to splurge verbs for third-round knockout\n Uh, I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n Separate him from his fam\n He don't know how to behave now\n Drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n Figure me to give a nigga-y twenty-one gun salute\n That's seven shots for 2Pac, seven for Biggie Smalls\n Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n How's that? Fat action packed rap remain tame\n Pharoahe fuckin' Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n\n Yo, yo, get the fuck up\n Funk Doctor Spock said, \"Get the fuck up\"\n I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\n I leave a nigga hanging like your mom's muffler\n Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n Respect like The Fonz, you see the collar up (Ayeeee)\n I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n I kamikaze your town off a Arab bus\n Karat cut, yeah mami, pull over\n I bend your pussy like for years I knew yoga\n I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\n Off Hennessy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n I need fifty feet when my performance starts\n I push an armored car with Lowenharts\n Nineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\n Doc turning dark off a warning shot\n Drive off and pop, six in your hood\n Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\n Yeah, yeah, my nigga, one rhyme and you fold over\n I'm hot-headed 'cause I walk with cold shoulders\n\n Yeah, get the fuck up\n Simon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\n Throw ya hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\n Jersey in the back, jacking cars, now what's up?\n Girls, rub on your titties (Yeah)\n That's right, I said it, rub on your titties\n Brick City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\n In the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n Yo, yo, get the fuck up\n Yo, yeah, I said it, \"Get the fuck up\"\n Walk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\n Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n You know my name and Pharoahe Monch, why we came, what?\n We off the chain, plus we plotting on the game, what?\n Know your role, by the way, tuck your gold\n And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n Shooting in the sky trying to blast sun\n Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\n Fifty cent flashin', they hate us with a passion\n Mashin', still fresh in three-day old fashion\n You're plaid, I'm stripes, together we be clashin'\n Here's a Tunnel banger\n Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n Slap you like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n Just so you can feel me the same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\n Even if time stands still, I'mma still be\n Underground and filthy, gotta have our way like the Milky\n Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n Never got caught in the game of tag\n Momma never kept a boyfriend with kids this bad\n No justice, raider ruckus\n Underground 'til we under ground\n But y'all first, motherfuckers\n\n My thugs, throw up your set\n And shorties rub on your breasts\n Get the fuck up out of that dress, I palm tits\n You herbs get flipped like Jeeps on mountain cliffs\n I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talon tips\n Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n You sound like B.I.G., you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n And I bet when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet, instant delete\n Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay with the heat\n Stay sticking fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n So toss that link, dummy, should've insured that link\n Straight to Canal, appraise that link, then pawn that link\n You froze up, Sahdeeq says, \"Shut the fuck up\"\n Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n\n Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Duggan\n Been thuggin', lovin' the way we flood jewels for nothin'\n Lay it over, another ambush and take over\n Yo, we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n Or find your picture of your autopsy up on the website\n Yo, if you ever violate my space\n Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you with a fucking fat face, nigga\n Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom and some\n Like the ghost of a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n Bitches, snitches coming out and you know who's showing it\n Like when the British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n Y'all niggas is seamless blends of seamless friends\n Lip on about the results of a bunch of seamless ends\n Colossal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Monch-o\n The head honchos, getting this money like Leonardo (Do-do-do-do)\n Enough substance in the roughness\n Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow, fiend\n Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n Pledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\n Let us control and own the fucking area\n Wild in your whip until you crash the whole truck up\n And if you know what's good for you, nigga\n You better get the fuck up\n"},{"id":31742147,"name":"Simon Says Remix (Featuring Lady Luck, Redman, Method Man, Shabaam S","trackName":"Simon Says Remix (Featuring Lady Luck, Redman, Method Man, Shabaam S","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch","albumName":"Internal Affairs","duration":375.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Get the fuck up\nSimon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\nThrow your hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\nQueens is in the back sipping 'gnac, y'all, what's up?\nGirls, rub on your titties\nYeah, fuck it, I said it rub on your titties\nNew York City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\nIn the midst of the calm, the witty\n\nYo, shut the fuck up\nLuck said, \"Shut the fuck up\"\nBitches in the back like crack, get it cut up\nI speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\nAct like a man and get cocked, smacked the fuck up\nPull the truck up, Luck, you know the name\nAss out in the bleachers stay shitting on the game\nI suppose what you're spitting is flames, cowards\nKnew your crew was vaginal, I could smell the douche powder\nSummer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\nCome four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\nStay fly till you get airsick, now that's ill\nTwo choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n\nWhat the fuck's going on here? Just a minute now, hold up\nSinister with it, the time, I diminish him, finish him, roll up\nWhen I'm in a cinematography state of mind\nMy rap trip, rip, flip, clip, say the rhyme\nShit, I spectacular run, hit spit bitches vernacular\nMiraculous rhyme flow, back track to the immaculate\nBinaca blast nigga that's fast, son, I'll box you\nLadies rub the ta-tas, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n(Oww!)\nFellas, pull your cock out\nOn the verge to splurge verbs for third-round knockout\nUh, I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\nDust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\nThe mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\nSeparate him from his fam\nHe don't know how to behave now\nDrag his ass, bag dun for his loot\nFigure me to give a nigga-y twenty-one gun salute\nThat's seven shots for 2Pac, seven for Biggie Smalls\nSeven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\nHow's that? Fat action packed rap remain tame\nPharoahe fuckin' Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n\nYo, yo, get the fuck up\nFunk Doctor Spock said, \"Get the fuck up\"\nI got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\nI leave a nigga hanging like your mom's muffler\nSnuff her, then my boys follow up\nRespect like The Fonz, you see the collar up (Ayeeee)\nI spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\nI kamikaze your town off a Arab bus\nKarat cut, yeah mami, pull over\nI bend your pussy like for years I knew yoga\nI'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\nOff Hennessy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\nI need fifty feet when my performance starts\nI push an armored car with Lowenharts\nNineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\nDoc turning dark off a warning shot\nDrive off and pop, six in your hood\nFuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\nYeah, yeah, my nigga, one rhyme and you fold over\nI'm hot-headed 'cause I walk with cold shoulders\n\nYeah, get the fuck up\nSimon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\nThrow ya hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\nJersey in the back, jacking cars, now what's up?\nGirls, rub on your titties (Yeah)\nThat's right, I said it, rub on your titties\nBrick City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\nIn the midst of the calm, the witty\n\nYo, yo, get the fuck up\nYo, yeah, I said it, \"Get the fuck up\"\nWalk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\nSeek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\nYou know my name and Pharoahe Monch, why we came, what?\nWe off the chain, plus we plotting on the game, what?\nKnow your role, by the way, tuck your gold\nAnd you and your mic can ease on down the road\nAssholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\nShooting in the sky trying to blast sun\nZero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\nFifty cent flashin', they hate us with a passion\nMashin', still fresh in three-day old fashion\nYou're plaid, I'm stripes, together we be clashin'\nHere's a Tunnel banger\nWu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\nThis gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\nSlap you like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\nJust so you can feel me the same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\nEven if time stands still, I'mma still be\nUnderground and filthy, gotta have our way like the Milky\nInnocent until I'm proven guilty\nNever got caught in the game of tag\nMomma never kept a boyfriend with kids this bad\nNo justice, raider ruckus\nUnderground 'til we under ground\nBut y'all first, motherfuckers\n\nMy thugs, throw up your set\nAnd shorties rub on your breasts\nGet the fuck up out of that dress, I palm tits\nYou herbs get flipped like Jeeps on mountain cliffs\nI'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talon tips\nDouble-S, double the threat, double your bet\nDouble up on that cash if you decide to invest\nYou sound like B.I.G., you sound like Jay, you sound like D\nAnd I bet when I go plat, you'll sound like me\nShabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet, instant delete\nY'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\nI stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay with the heat\nStay sticking fools like you for the rocks that gleam\nSo toss that link, dummy, should've insured that link\nStraight to Canal, appraise that link, then pawn that link\nYou froze up, Sahdeeq says, \"Shut the fuck up\"\nPunk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n\nBusta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Duggan\nBeen thuggin', lovin' the way we flood jewels for nothin'\nLay it over, another ambush and take over\nYo, we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\nYou better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\nOr find your picture of your autopsy up on the website\nYo, if you ever violate my space\nFuck a fat lip, I'll leave you with a fucking fat face, nigga\nBusta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom and some\nLike the ghost of a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\nBitches, snitches coming out and you know who's showing it\nLike when the British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\nY'all niggas is seamless blends of seamless friends\nLip on about the results of a bunch of seamless ends\nColossal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Monch-o\nThe head honchos, getting this money like Leonardo (Do-do-do-do)\nEnough substance in the roughness\nNow watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\nNow let me clear the smoke screen you blow, fiend\nLive nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\nPledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\nLet us control and own the fucking area\nWild in your whip until you crash the whole truck up\nAnd if you know what's good for you, nigga\nYou better get the fuck up","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Simon Says Remix (Featuring Lady Luck, Redman, Method Man, Shabaam S\n artist: Pharoahe Monch\n album: Internal Affairs\n duration_ms: 375000\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n Get the fuck up\n Simon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\n Throw your hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\n Queens is in the back sipping 'gnac, y'all, what's up?\n Girls, rub on your titties\n Yeah, fuck it, I said it rub on your titties\n New York City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\n In the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n Yo, shut the fuck up\n Luck said, \"Shut the fuck up\"\n Bitches in the back like crack, get it cut up\n I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n Act like a man and get cocked, smacked the fuck up\n Pull the truck up, Luck, you know the name\n Ass out in the bleachers stay shitting on the game\n I suppose what you're spitting is flames, cowards\n Knew your crew was vaginal, I could smell the douche powder\n Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n Stay fly till you get airsick, now that's ill\n Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n\n What the fuck's going on here? Just a minute now, hold up\n Sinister with it, the time, I diminish him, finish him, roll up\n When I'm in a cinematography state of mind\n My rap trip, rip, flip, clip, say the rhyme\n Shit, I spectacular run, hit spit bitches vernacular\n Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the immaculate\n Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son, I'll box you\n Ladies rub the ta-tas, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n (Oww!)\n Fellas, pull your cock out\n On the verge to splurge verbs for third-round knockout\n Uh, I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n Separate him from his fam\n He don't know how to behave now\n Drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n Figure me to give a nigga-y twenty-one gun salute\n That's seven shots for 2Pac, seven for Biggie Smalls\n Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n How's that? Fat action packed rap remain tame\n Pharoahe fuckin' Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n\n Yo, yo, get the fuck up\n Funk Doctor Spock said, \"Get the fuck up\"\n I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\n I leave a nigga hanging like your mom's muffler\n Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n Respect like The Fonz, you see the collar up (Ayeeee)\n I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n I kamikaze your town off a Arab bus\n Karat cut, yeah mami, pull over\n I bend your pussy like for years I knew yoga\n I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\n Off Hennessy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n I need fifty feet when my performance starts\n I push an armored car with Lowenharts\n Nineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\n Doc turning dark off a warning shot\n Drive off and pop, six in your hood\n Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\n Yeah, yeah, my nigga, one rhyme and you fold over\n I'm hot-headed 'cause I walk with cold shoulders\n\n Yeah, get the fuck up\n Simon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\n Throw ya hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\n Jersey in the back, jacking cars, now what's up?\n Girls, rub on your titties (Yeah)\n That's right, I said it, rub on your titties\n Brick City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\n In the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n Yo, yo, get the fuck up\n Yo, yeah, I said it, \"Get the fuck up\"\n Walk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\n Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n You know my name and Pharoahe Monch, why we came, what?\n We off the chain, plus we plotting on the game, what?\n Know your role, by the way, tuck your gold\n And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n Shooting in the sky trying to blast sun\n Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\n Fifty cent flashin', they hate us with a passion\n Mashin', still fresh in three-day old fashion\n You're plaid, I'm stripes, together we be clashin'\n Here's a Tunnel banger\n Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n Slap you like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n Just so you can feel me the same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\n Even if time stands still, I'mma still be\n Underground and filthy, gotta have our way like the Milky\n Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n Never got caught in the game of tag\n Momma never kept a boyfriend with kids this bad\n No justice, raider ruckus\n Underground 'til we under ground\n But y'all first, motherfuckers\n\n My thugs, throw up your set\n And shorties rub on your breasts\n Get the fuck up out of that dress, I palm tits\n You herbs get flipped like Jeeps on mountain cliffs\n I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talon tips\n Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n You sound like B.I.G., you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n And I bet when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet, instant delete\n Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay with the heat\n Stay sticking fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n So toss that link, dummy, should've insured that link\n Straight to Canal, appraise that link, then pawn that link\n You froze up, Sahdeeq says, \"Shut the fuck up\"\n Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n\n Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Duggan\n Been thuggin', lovin' the way we flood jewels for nothin'\n Lay it over, another ambush and take over\n Yo, we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n Or find your picture of your autopsy up on the website\n Yo, if you ever violate my space\n Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you with a fucking fat face, nigga\n Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom and some\n Like the ghost of a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n Bitches, snitches coming out and you know who's showing it\n Like when the British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n Y'all niggas is seamless blends of seamless friends\n Lip on about the results of a bunch of seamless ends\n Colossal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Monch-o\n The head honchos, getting this money like Leonardo (Do-do-do-do)\n Enough substance in the roughness\n Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow, fiend\n Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n Pledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\n Let us control and own the fucking area\n Wild in your whip until you crash the whole truck up\n And if you know what's good for you, nigga\n You better get the fuck up\n"},{"id":2296947,"name":"Simon Says (remix)","trackName":"Simon Says (remix)","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch feat. Redman, Method Man & Shabaam Sahdeeq","albumName":"Hip Hop Soul Party, Episode IV","duration":221.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Get the fuck up!\nSimon says get the fuck up!\nThrow your hands in the sky (bo! bo! bo! bo!)\nQueens is in the back sippin yak y'all what's up?\nGirls, rub on your titties (yeahhhhhh)\nYeah I said it -- rub on your titties\nNew york city gritty committee pity the fool that\nAct shitty in the midst of the calm, the witty\n\nY'all know the name\nPharoahe-fuckin-monch, ain't a damn thang changed\nYou all up in the range, then your shit's inebriated\nPhased from your original plan, you deviated\nI alleviated the pain, with a long-term goal\nTook my underground loot, without the gold\nYou sold platinum round the world, I sold wood in the hood\nBut when I'm in the street, then shit it's all good\nI'm soon to motivate the room, control the game like tomb raider\nRoc-clock dollars flip, tips like a waiter\nStyle's greater, let my lyrics annoint\nIf you holdin up the wall, then you missin the point\n\nGet the fuck up!\nSimon says get the fuck up!\nPut your hands to the sky (bo! bo! bo! bo!)\nBrooklyn in the back shootin craps now what's up?\nGirlies, rub on your titties (yeahhhhhh)\nFuck it I said, rub on your titties\nNew york city gritty committee, pity the fool that\nAct shitty in the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n(Yo, where you at?) uptown let me see em\nNotorious for the six-fives and the bm's\nHeads give you beef, you put em in the mausoleum\nAnd the shit don't start pumpin til after 12 pm\nUgnh, ignorant minds, I free em\nIf you tired of the same old everyday you will agree i'm,\nThe most obligated, hard and r-rated\nStated to be the best, I must confess the star made it\nSome might even say this song is sexist-es\nCause I asked the girls to rub on their breast-eses\nWhether your ridin the train or in lexus-es\nThis is for either/or rollies or timex-eses\nWicked like exorcist, this is the joint\nYou holdin up the wall, then you missin the point\n\nGet the fuck up!\nSimon says get the fuck up!\nThrow your hands in the sky (bo! bo! bo! bo!)\nThe bronx is in the back shootin craps, now what's up?\nGirlies, rub on your titties (yeahhhhhh)\nI said, rub on your titties!\nNew york city gritty commitee, pity the fool that\nAct shitty in the midst of the calm, the witty\n\nNew jeru, get the fuck up!\nShaolin, get the fuck up!\nLong isle, get the fuck up!\nWorldwide, get the fuck up!","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Simon Says (remix)\n artist: Pharoahe Monch feat. Redman, Method Man & Shabaam Sahdeeq\n album: Hip Hop Soul Party, Episode IV\n duration_ms: 221000\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n Get the fuck up!\n Simon says get the fuck up!\n Throw your hands in the sky (bo! bo! bo! bo!)\n Queens is in the back sippin yak y'all what's up?\n Girls, rub on your titties (yeahhhhhh)\n Yeah I said it -- rub on your titties\n New york city gritty committee pity the fool that\n Act shitty in the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n Y'all know the name\n Pharoahe-fuckin-monch, ain't a damn thang changed\n You all up in the range, then your shit's inebriated\n Phased from your original plan, you deviated\n I alleviated the pain, with a long-term goal\n Took my underground loot, without the gold\n You sold platinum round the world, I sold wood in the hood\n But when I'm in the street, then shit it's all good\n I'm soon to motivate the room, control the game like tomb raider\n Roc-clock dollars flip, tips like a waiter\n Style's greater, let my lyrics annoint\n If you holdin up the wall, then you missin the point\n\n Get the fuck up!\n Simon says get the fuck up!\n Put your hands to the sky (bo! bo! bo! bo!)\n Brooklyn in the back shootin craps now what's up?\n Girlies, rub on your titties (yeahhhhhh)\n Fuck it I said, rub on your titties\n New york city gritty committee, pity the fool that\n Act shitty in the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n (Yo, where you at?) uptown let me see em\n Notorious for the six-fives and the bm's\n Heads give you beef, you put em in the mausoleum\n And the shit don't start pumpin til after 12 pm\n Ugnh, ignorant minds, I free em\n If you tired of the same old everyday you will agree i'm,\n The most obligated, hard and r-rated\n Stated to be the best, I must confess the star made it\n Some might even say this song is sexist-es\n Cause I asked the girls to rub on their breast-eses\n Whether your ridin the train or in lexus-es\n This is for either/or rollies or timex-eses\n Wicked like exorcist, this is the joint\n You holdin up the wall, then you missin the point\n\n Get the fuck up!\n Simon says get the fuck up!\n Throw your hands in the sky (bo! bo! bo! bo!)\n The bronx is in the back shootin craps, now what's up?\n Girlies, rub on your titties (yeahhhhhh)\n I said, rub on your titties!\n New york city gritty commitee, pity the fool that\n Act shitty in the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n New jeru, get the fuck up!\n Shaolin, get the fuck up!\n Long isle, get the fuck up!\n Worldwide, get the fuck up!\n"},{"id":6302344,"name":"Simon Says (Remix) [feat. Lady Luck, Method Man, Shabaam Sahdeeq, Busta Rhymes & Redman]","trackName":"Simon Says (Remix) [feat. Lady Luck, Method Man, Shabaam Sahdeeq, Busta Rhymes & Redman]","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch","albumName":"Internal Affairs","duration":375.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Get the fuck up\nSimon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\nThrow your hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\nQueens is in the back sipping 'gnac, y'all, what's up?\nGirls, rub on your titties\nYeah, fuck it, I said it rub on your titties\nNew York City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\nIn the midst of the calm, the witty\n\nYo, shut the fuck up\nLuck said, \"Shut the fuck up\"\nBitches in the back like crack, get it cut up\nI speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\nAct like a man and get cocked, smacked the fuck up\nPull the truck up, Luck, you know the name\nAss out in the bleachers stay shitting on the game\nI suppose what you're spitting is flames, cowards\nKnew your crew was vaginal, I could smell the douche powder\nSummer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\nCome four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\nStay fly till you get airsick, now that's ill\nTwo choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n\nWhat the fuck's going on here? Just a minute now, hold up\nSinister with it, the time, I diminish him, finish him, roll up\nWhen I'm in a cinematography state of mind\nMy rap trip, rip, flip, clip, say the rhyme\nShit, I spectacular run, hit spit bitches vernacular\nMiraculous rhyme flow, back track to the immaculate\nBinaca blast nigga that's fast, son, I'll box you\nLadies rub the ta-tas, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n(Oww!)\nFellas, pull your cock out\nOn the verge to splurge verbs for third-round knockout\nUh, I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\nDust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\nThe mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\nSeparate him from his fam\nHe don't know how to behave now\nDrag his ass, bag dun for his loot\nFigure me to give a nigga-y twenty-one gun salute\nThat's seven shots for 2Pac, seven for Biggie Smalls\nSeven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\nHow's that? Fat action packed rap remain tame\nPharoahe fuckin' Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n\nYo, yo, get the fuck up\nFunk Doctor Spock said, \"Get the fuck up\"\nI got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\nI leave a nigga hanging like your mom's muffler\nSnuff her, then my boys follow up\nRespect like The Fonz, you see the collar up (Ayeeee)\nI spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\nI kamikaze your town off a Arab bus\nKarat cut, yeah mami, pull over\nI bend your pussy like for years I knew yoga\nI'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\nOff Hennessy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\nI need fifty feet when my performance starts\nI push an armored car with Lowenharts\nNineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\nDoc turning dark off a warning shot\nDrive off and pop, six in your hood\nFuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\nYeah, yeah, my nigga, one rhyme and you fold over\nI'm hot-headed 'cause I walk with cold shoulders\n\nYeah, get the fuck up\nSimon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\nThrow ya hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\nJersey in the back, jacking cars, now what's up?\nGirls, rub on your titties (Yeah)\nThat's right, I said it, rub on your titties\nBrick City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\nIn the midst of the calm, the witty\n\nYo, yo, get the fuck up\nYo, yeah, I said it, \"Get the fuck up\"\nWalk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\nSeek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\nYou know my name and Pharoahe Monch, why we came, what?\nWe off the chain, plus we plotting on the game, what?\nKnow your role, by the way, tuck your gold\nAnd you and your mic can ease on down the road\nAssholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\nShooting in the sky trying to blast sun\nZero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\nFifty cent flashin', they hate us with a passion\nMashin', still fresh in three-day old fashion\nYou're plaid, I'm stripes, together we be clashin'\nHere's a Tunnel banger\nWu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\nThis gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\nSlap you like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\nJust so you can feel me the same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\nEven if time stands still, I'mma still be\nUnderground and filthy, gotta have our way like the Milky\nInnocent until I'm proven guilty\nNever got caught in the game of tag\nMomma never kept a boyfriend with kids this bad\nNo justice, raider ruckus\nUnderground 'til we under ground\nBut y'all first, motherfuckers\n\nMy thugs, throw up your set\nAnd shorties rub on your breasts\nGet the fuck up out of that dress, I palm tits\nYou herbs get flipped like Jeeps on mountain cliffs\nI'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talon tips\nDouble-S, double the threat, double your bet\nDouble up on that cash if you decide to invest\nYou sound like B.I.G., you sound like Jay, you sound like D\nAnd I bet when I go plat, you'll sound like me\nShabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet, instant delete\nY'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\nI stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay with the heat\nStay sticking fools like you for the rocks that gleam\nSo toss that link, dummy, should've insured that link\nStraight to Canal, appraise that link, then pawn that link\nYou froze up, Sahdeeq says, \"Shut the fuck up\"\nPunk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n\nBusta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Duggan\nBeen thuggin', lovin' the way we flood jewels for nothin'\nLay it over, another ambush and take over\nYo, we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\nYou better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\nOr find your picture of your autopsy up on the website\nYo, if you ever violate my space\nFuck a fat lip, I'll leave you with a fucking fat face, nigga\nBusta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom and some\nLike the ghost of a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\nBitches, snitches coming out and you know who's showing it\nLike when the British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\nY'all niggas is seamless blends of seamless friends\nLip on about the results of a bunch of seamless ends\nColossal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Monch-o\nThe head honchos, getting this money like Leonardo (Do-do-do-do)\nEnough substance in the roughness\nNow watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\nNow let me clear the smoke screen you blow, fiend\nLive nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\nPledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\nLet us control and own the fucking area\nWild in your whip until you crash the whole truck up\nAnd if you know what's good for you, nigga\nYou better get the fuck up","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Simon Says (Remix) [feat. Lady Luck, Method Man, Shabaam Sahdeeq, Busta Rhymes & Redman]\n artist: Pharoahe Monch\n album: Internal Affairs\n duration_ms: 375000\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n Get the fuck up\n Simon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\n Throw your hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\n Queens is in the back sipping 'gnac, y'all, what's up?\n Girls, rub on your titties\n Yeah, fuck it, I said it rub on your titties\n New York City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\n In the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n Yo, shut the fuck up\n Luck said, \"Shut the fuck up\"\n Bitches in the back like crack, get it cut up\n I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n Act like a man and get cocked, smacked the fuck up\n Pull the truck up, Luck, you know the name\n Ass out in the bleachers stay shitting on the game\n I suppose what you're spitting is flames, cowards\n Knew your crew was vaginal, I could smell the douche powder\n Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n Stay fly till you get airsick, now that's ill\n Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n\n What the fuck's going on here? Just a minute now, hold up\n Sinister with it, the time, I diminish him, finish him, roll up\n When I'm in a cinematography state of mind\n My rap trip, rip, flip, clip, say the rhyme\n Shit, I spectacular run, hit spit bitches vernacular\n Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the immaculate\n Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son, I'll box you\n Ladies rub the ta-tas, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n (Oww!)\n Fellas, pull your cock out\n On the verge to splurge verbs for third-round knockout\n Uh, I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n Separate him from his fam\n He don't know how to behave now\n Drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n Figure me to give a nigga-y twenty-one gun salute\n That's seven shots for 2Pac, seven for Biggie Smalls\n Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n How's that? Fat action packed rap remain tame\n Pharoahe fuckin' Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n\n Yo, yo, get the fuck up\n Funk Doctor Spock said, \"Get the fuck up\"\n I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\n I leave a nigga hanging like your mom's muffler\n Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n Respect like The Fonz, you see the collar up (Ayeeee)\n I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n I kamikaze your town off a Arab bus\n Karat cut, yeah mami, pull over\n I bend your pussy like for years I knew yoga\n I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\n Off Hennessy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n I need fifty feet when my performance starts\n I push an armored car with Lowenharts\n Nineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\n Doc turning dark off a warning shot\n Drive off and pop, six in your hood\n Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\n Yeah, yeah, my nigga, one rhyme and you fold over\n I'm hot-headed 'cause I walk with cold shoulders\n\n Yeah, get the fuck up\n Simon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\n Throw ya hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\n Jersey in the back, jacking cars, now what's up?\n Girls, rub on your titties (Yeah)\n That's right, I said it, rub on your titties\n Brick City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\n In the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n Yo, yo, get the fuck up\n Yo, yeah, I said it, \"Get the fuck up\"\n Walk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\n Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n You know my name and Pharoahe Monch, why we came, what?\n We off the chain, plus we plotting on the game, what?\n Know your role, by the way, tuck your gold\n And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n Shooting in the sky trying to blast sun\n Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\n Fifty cent flashin', they hate us with a passion\n Mashin', still fresh in three-day old fashion\n You're plaid, I'm stripes, together we be clashin'\n Here's a Tunnel banger\n Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n Slap you like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n Just so you can feel me the same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\n Even if time stands still, I'mma still be\n Underground and filthy, gotta have our way like the Milky\n Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n Never got caught in the game of tag\n Momma never kept a boyfriend with kids this bad\n No justice, raider ruckus\n Underground 'til we under ground\n But y'all first, motherfuckers\n\n My thugs, throw up your set\n And shorties rub on your breasts\n Get the fuck up out of that dress, I palm tits\n You herbs get flipped like Jeeps on mountain cliffs\n I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talon tips\n Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n You sound like B.I.G., you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n And I bet when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet, instant delete\n Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay with the heat\n Stay sticking fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n So toss that link, dummy, should've insured that link\n Straight to Canal, appraise that link, then pawn that link\n You froze up, Sahdeeq says, \"Shut the fuck up\"\n Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n\n Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Duggan\n Been thuggin', lovin' the way we flood jewels for nothin'\n Lay it over, another ambush and take over\n Yo, we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n Or find your picture of your autopsy up on the website\n Yo, if you ever violate my space\n Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you with a fucking fat face, nigga\n Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom and some\n Like the ghost of a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n Bitches, snitches coming out and you know who's showing it\n Like when the British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n Y'all niggas is seamless blends of seamless friends\n Lip on about the results of a bunch of seamless ends\n Colossal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Monch-o\n The head honchos, getting this money like Leonardo (Do-do-do-do)\n Enough substance in the roughness\n Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow, fiend\n Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n Pledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\n Let us control and own the fucking area\n Wild in your whip until you crash the whole truck up\n And if you know what's good for you, nigga\n You better get the fuck up\n"},{"id":506438,"name":"Simon Says (feat. Lady Luck, Method Man, Redman, Shabaam Sahdeeq & Busta Rhymes) [Remix]","trackName":"Simon Says (feat. Lady Luck, Method Man, Redman, Shabaam Sahdeeq & Busta Rhymes) [Remix]","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch","albumName":"Internal Affairs","duration":375.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Get the fuck up\nSimon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\nThrow your hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\nQueens is in the back sipping 'gnac, y'all, what's up?\nGirls, rub on your titties\nYeah, fuck it, I said it rub on your titties\nNew York City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\nIn the midst of the calm, the witty\n\nYo, shut the fuck up\nLuck said, \"Shut the fuck up\"\nBitches in the back like crack, get it cut up\nI speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\nAct like a man and get cocked, smacked the fuck up\nPull the truck up, Luck, you know the name\nAss out in the bleachers stay shitting on the game\nI suppose what you're spitting is flames, cowards\nKnew your crew was vaginal, I could smell the douche powder\nSummer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\nCome four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\nStay fly till you get airsick, now that's ill\nTwo choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n\nWhat the fuck's going on here? Just a minute now, hold up\nSinister with it, the time, I diminish him, finish him, roll up\nWhen I'm in a cinematography state of mind\nMy rap trip, rip, flip, clip, say the rhyme\nShit, I spectacular run, hit spit bitches vernacular\nMiraculous rhyme flow, back track to the immaculate\nBinaca blast nigga that's fast, son, I'll box you\nLadies rub the ta-tas, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n(Oww!)\nFellas, pull your cock out\nOn the verge to splurge verbs for third-round knockout\nUh, I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\nDust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\nThe mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\nSeparate him from his fam\nHe don't know how to behave now\nDrag his ass, bag dun for his loot\nFigure me to give a nigga-y twenty-one gun salute\nThat's seven shots for 2Pac, seven for Biggie Smalls\nSeven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\nHow's that? Fat action packed rap remain tame\nPharoahe fuckin' Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n\nYo, yo, get the fuck up\nFunk Doctor Spock said, \"Get the fuck up\"\nI got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\nI leave a nigga hanging like your mom's muffler\nSnuff her, then my boys follow up\nRespect like The Fonz, you see the collar up (Ayeeee)\nI spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\nI kamikaze your town off a Arab bus\nKarat cut, yeah mami, pull over\nI bend your pussy like for years I knew yoga\nI'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\nOff Hennessy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\nI need fifty feet when my performance starts\nI push an armored car with Lowenharts\nNineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\nDoc turning dark off a warning shot\nDrive off and pop, six in your hood\nFuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\nYeah, yeah, my nigga, one rhyme and you fold over\nI'm hot-headed 'cause I walk with cold shoulders\n\nYeah, get the fuck up\nSimon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\nThrow ya hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\nJersey in the back, jacking cars, now what's up?\nGirls, rub on your titties (Yeah)\nThat's right, I said it, rub on your titties\nBrick City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\nIn the midst of the calm, the witty\n\nYo, yo, get the fuck up\nYo, yeah, I said it, \"Get the fuck up\"\nWalk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\nSeek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\nYou know my name and Pharoahe Monch, why we came, what?\nWe off the chain, plus we plotting on the game, what?\nKnow your role, by the way, tuck your gold\nAnd you and your mic can ease on down the road\nAssholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\nShooting in the sky trying to blast sun\nZero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\nFifty cent flashin', they hate us with a passion\nMashin', still fresh in three-day old fashion\nYou're plaid, I'm stripes, together we be clashin'\nHere's a Tunnel banger\nWu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\nThis gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\nSlap you like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\nJust so you can feel me the same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\nEven if time stands still, I'mma still be\nUnderground and filthy, gotta have our way like the Milky\nInnocent until I'm proven guilty\nNever got caught in the game of tag\nMomma never kept a boyfriend with kids this bad\nNo justice, raider ruckus\nUnderground 'til we under ground\nBut y'all first, motherfuckers\n\nMy thugs, throw up your set\nAnd shorties rub on your breasts\nGet the fuck up out of that dress, I palm tits\nYou herbs get flipped like Jeeps on mountain cliffs\nI'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talon tips\nDouble-S, double the threat, double your bet\nDouble up on that cash if you decide to invest\nYou sound like B.I.G., you sound like Jay, you sound like D\nAnd I bet when I go plat, you'll sound like me\nShabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet, instant delete\nY'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\nI stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay with the heat\nStay sticking fools like you for the rocks that gleam\nSo toss that link, dummy, should've insured that link\nStraight to Canal, appraise that link, then pawn that link\nYou froze up, Sahdeeq says, \"Shut the fuck up\"\nPunk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n\nBusta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Duggan\nBeen thuggin', lovin' the way we flood jewels for nothin'\nLay it over, another ambush and take over\nYo, we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\nYou better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\nOr find your picture of your autopsy up on the website\nYo, if you ever violate my space\nFuck a fat lip, I'll leave you with a fucking fat face, nigga\nBusta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom and some\nLike the ghost of a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\nBitches, snitches coming out and you know who's showing it\nLike when the British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\nY'all niggas is seamless blends of seamless friends\nLip on about the results of a bunch of seamless ends\nColossal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Monch-o\nThe head honchos, getting this money like Leonardo (Do-do-do-do)\nEnough substance in the roughness\nNow watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\nNow let me clear the smoke screen you blow, fiend\nLive nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\nPledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\nLet us control and own the fucking area\nWild in your whip until you crash the whole truck up\nAnd if you know what's good for you, nigga\nYou better get the fuck up","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Simon Says (feat. Lady Luck, Method Man, Redman, Shabaam Sahdeeq & Busta Rhymes) [Remix]\n artist: Pharoahe Monch\n album: Internal Affairs\n duration_ms: 375000\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n Get the fuck up\n Simon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\n Throw your hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\n Queens is in the back sipping 'gnac, y'all, what's up?\n Girls, rub on your titties\n Yeah, fuck it, I said it rub on your titties\n New York City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\n In the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n Yo, shut the fuck up\n Luck said, \"Shut the fuck up\"\n Bitches in the back like crack, get it cut up\n I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n Act like a man and get cocked, smacked the fuck up\n Pull the truck up, Luck, you know the name\n Ass out in the bleachers stay shitting on the game\n I suppose what you're spitting is flames, cowards\n Knew your crew was vaginal, I could smell the douche powder\n Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n Stay fly till you get airsick, now that's ill\n Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n\n What the fuck's going on here? Just a minute now, hold up\n Sinister with it, the time, I diminish him, finish him, roll up\n When I'm in a cinematography state of mind\n My rap trip, rip, flip, clip, say the rhyme\n Shit, I spectacular run, hit spit bitches vernacular\n Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the immaculate\n Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son, I'll box you\n Ladies rub the ta-tas, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n (Oww!)\n Fellas, pull your cock out\n On the verge to splurge verbs for third-round knockout\n Uh, I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n Separate him from his fam\n He don't know how to behave now\n Drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n Figure me to give a nigga-y twenty-one gun salute\n That's seven shots for 2Pac, seven for Biggie Smalls\n Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n How's that? Fat action packed rap remain tame\n Pharoahe fuckin' Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n\n Yo, yo, get the fuck up\n Funk Doctor Spock said, \"Get the fuck up\"\n I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\n I leave a nigga hanging like your mom's muffler\n Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n Respect like The Fonz, you see the collar up (Ayeeee)\n I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n I kamikaze your town off a Arab bus\n Karat cut, yeah mami, pull over\n I bend your pussy like for years I knew yoga\n I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\n Off Hennessy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n I need fifty feet when my performance starts\n I push an armored car with Lowenharts\n Nineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\n Doc turning dark off a warning shot\n Drive off and pop, six in your hood\n Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\n Yeah, yeah, my nigga, one rhyme and you fold over\n I'm hot-headed 'cause I walk with cold shoulders\n\n Yeah, get the fuck up\n Simon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\n Throw ya hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\n Jersey in the back, jacking cars, now what's up?\n Girls, rub on your titties (Yeah)\n That's right, I said it, rub on your titties\n Brick City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\n In the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n Yo, yo, get the fuck up\n Yo, yeah, I said it, \"Get the fuck up\"\n Walk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\n Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n You know my name and Pharoahe Monch, why we came, what?\n We off the chain, plus we plotting on the game, what?\n Know your role, by the way, tuck your gold\n And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n Shooting in the sky trying to blast sun\n Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\n Fifty cent flashin', they hate us with a passion\n Mashin', still fresh in three-day old fashion\n You're plaid, I'm stripes, together we be clashin'\n Here's a Tunnel banger\n Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n Slap you like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n Just so you can feel me the same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\n Even if time stands still, I'mma still be\n Underground and filthy, gotta have our way like the Milky\n Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n Never got caught in the game of tag\n Momma never kept a boyfriend with kids this bad\n No justice, raider ruckus\n Underground 'til we under ground\n But y'all first, motherfuckers\n\n My thugs, throw up your set\n And shorties rub on your breasts\n Get the fuck up out of that dress, I palm tits\n You herbs get flipped like Jeeps on mountain cliffs\n I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talon tips\n Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n You sound like B.I.G., you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n And I bet when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet, instant delete\n Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay with the heat\n Stay sticking fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n So toss that link, dummy, should've insured that link\n Straight to Canal, appraise that link, then pawn that link\n You froze up, Sahdeeq says, \"Shut the fuck up\"\n Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n\n Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Duggan\n Been thuggin', lovin' the way we flood jewels for nothin'\n Lay it over, another ambush and take over\n Yo, we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n Or find your picture of your autopsy up on the website\n Yo, if you ever violate my space\n Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you with a fucking fat face, nigga\n Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom and some\n Like the ghost of a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n Bitches, snitches coming out and you know who's showing it\n Like when the British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n Y'all niggas is seamless blends of seamless friends\n Lip on about the results of a bunch of seamless ends\n Colossal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Monch-o\n The head honchos, getting this money like Leonardo (Do-do-do-do)\n Enough substance in the roughness\n Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow, fiend\n Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n Pledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\n Let us control and own the fucking area\n Wild in your whip until you crash the whole truck up\n And if you know what's good for you, nigga\n You better get the fuck up\n"},{"id":506439,"name":"Simon Says (Remix) (Feat. Lady Luck, Redman, Method Man, Shabaam Sahdeeq & Busta Rhymes)","trackName":"Simon Says (Remix) (Feat. Lady Luck, Redman, Method Man, Shabaam Sahdeeq & Busta Rhymes)","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch","albumName":"Internal Affairs","duration":375.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Get the fuck up\nSimon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\nThrow your hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\nQueens is in the back sipping 'gnac, y'all, what's up?\nGirls, rub on your titties\nYeah, fuck it, I said it rub on your titties\nNew York City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\nIn the midst of the calm, the witty\n\nYo, shut the fuck up\nLuck said, \"Shut the fuck up\"\nBitches in the back like crack, get it cut up\nI speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\nAct like a man and get cocked, smacked the fuck up\nPull the truck up, Luck, you know the name\nAss out in the bleachers stay shitting on the game\nI suppose what you're spitting is flames, cowards\nKnew your crew was vaginal, I could smell the douche powder\nSummer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\nCome four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\nStay fly till you get airsick, now that's ill\nTwo choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n\nWhat the fuck's going on here? Just a minute now, hold up\nSinister with it, the time, I diminish him, finish him, roll up\nWhen I'm in a cinematography state of mind\nMy rap trip, rip, flip, clip, say the rhyme\nShit, I spectacular run, hit spit bitches vernacular\nMiraculous rhyme flow, back track to the immaculate\nBinaca blast nigga that's fast, son, I'll box you\nLadies rub the ta-tas, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n(Oww!)\nFellas, pull your cock out\nOn the verge to splurge verbs for third-round knockout\nUh, I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\nDust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\nThe mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\nSeparate him from his fam\nHe don't know how to behave now\nDrag his ass, bag dun for his loot\nFigure me to give a nigga-y twenty-one gun salute\nThat's seven shots for 2Pac, seven for Biggie Smalls\nSeven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\nHow's that? Fat action packed rap remain tame\nPharoahe fuckin' Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n\nYo, yo, get the fuck up\nFunk Doctor Spock said, \"Get the fuck up\"\nI got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\nI leave a nigga hanging like your mom's muffler\nSnuff her, then my boys follow up\nRespect like The Fonz, you see the collar up (Ayeeee)\nI spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\nI kamikaze your town off a Arab bus\nKarat cut, yeah mami, pull over\nI bend your pussy like for years I knew yoga\nI'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\nOff Hennessy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\nI need fifty feet when my performance starts\nI push an armored car with Lowenharts\nNineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\nDoc turning dark off a warning shot\nDrive off and pop, six in your hood\nFuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\nYeah, yeah, my nigga, one rhyme and you fold over\nI'm hot-headed 'cause I walk with cold shoulders\n\nYeah, get the fuck up\nSimon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\nThrow ya hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\nJersey in the back, jacking cars, now what's up?\nGirls, rub on your titties (Yeah)\nThat's right, I said it, rub on your titties\nBrick City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\nIn the midst of the calm, the witty\n\nYo, yo, get the fuck up\nYo, yeah, I said it, \"Get the fuck up\"\nWalk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\nSeek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\nYou know my name and Pharoahe Monch, why we came, what?\nWe off the chain, plus we plotting on the game, what?\nKnow your role, by the way, tuck your gold\nAnd you and your mic can ease on down the road\nAssholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\nShooting in the sky trying to blast sun\nZero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\nFifty cent flashin', they hate us with a passion\nMashin', still fresh in three-day old fashion\nYou're plaid, I'm stripes, together we be clashin'\nHere's a Tunnel banger\nWu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\nThis gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\nSlap you like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\nJust so you can feel me the same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\nEven if time stands still, I'mma still be\nUnderground and filthy, gotta have our way like the Milky\nInnocent until I'm proven guilty\nNever got caught in the game of tag\nMomma never kept a boyfriend with kids this bad\nNo justice, raider ruckus\nUnderground 'til we under ground\nBut y'all first, motherfuckers\n\nMy thugs, throw up your set\nAnd shorties rub on your breasts\nGet the fuck up out of that dress, I palm tits\nYou herbs get flipped like Jeeps on mountain cliffs\nI'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talon tips\nDouble-S, double the threat, double your bet\nDouble up on that cash if you decide to invest\nYou sound like B.I.G., you sound like Jay, you sound like D\nAnd I bet when I go plat, you'll sound like me\nShabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet, instant delete\nY'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\nI stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay with the heat\nStay sticking fools like you for the rocks that gleam\nSo toss that link, dummy, should've insured that link\nStraight to Canal, appraise that link, then pawn that link\nYou froze up, Sahdeeq says, \"Shut the fuck up\"\nPunk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n\nBusta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Duggan\nBeen thuggin', lovin' the way we flood jewels for nothin'\nLay it over, another ambush and take over\nYo, we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\nYou better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\nOr find your picture of your autopsy up on the website\nYo, if you ever violate my space\nFuck a fat lip, I'll leave you with a fucking fat face, nigga\nBusta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom and some\nLike the ghost of a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\nBitches, snitches coming out and you know who's showing it\nLike when the British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\nY'all niggas is seamless blends of seamless friends\nLip on about the results of a bunch of seamless ends\nColossal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Monch-o\nThe head honchos, getting this money like Leonardo (Do-do-do-do)\nEnough substance in the roughness\nNow watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\nNow let me clear the smoke screen you blow, fiend\nLive nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\nPledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\nLet us control and own the fucking area\nWild in your whip until you crash the whole truck up\nAnd if you know what's good for you, nigga\nYou better get the fuck up","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Simon Says (Remix) (Feat. Lady Luck, Redman, Method Man, Shabaam Sahdeeq & Busta Rhymes)\n artist: Pharoahe Monch\n album: Internal Affairs\n duration_ms: 375000\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n Get the fuck up\n Simon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\n Throw your hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\n Queens is in the back sipping 'gnac, y'all, what's up?\n Girls, rub on your titties\n Yeah, fuck it, I said it rub on your titties\n New York City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\n In the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n Yo, shut the fuck up\n Luck said, \"Shut the fuck up\"\n Bitches in the back like crack, get it cut up\n I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n Act like a man and get cocked, smacked the fuck up\n Pull the truck up, Luck, you know the name\n Ass out in the bleachers stay shitting on the game\n I suppose what you're spitting is flames, cowards\n Knew your crew was vaginal, I could smell the douche powder\n Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n Stay fly till you get airsick, now that's ill\n Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n\n What the fuck's going on here? Just a minute now, hold up\n Sinister with it, the time, I diminish him, finish him, roll up\n When I'm in a cinematography state of mind\n My rap trip, rip, flip, clip, say the rhyme\n Shit, I spectacular run, hit spit bitches vernacular\n Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the immaculate\n Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son, I'll box you\n Ladies rub the ta-tas, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n (Oww!)\n Fellas, pull your cock out\n On the verge to splurge verbs for third-round knockout\n Uh, I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n Separate him from his fam\n He don't know how to behave now\n Drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n Figure me to give a nigga-y twenty-one gun salute\n That's seven shots for 2Pac, seven for Biggie Smalls\n Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n How's that? Fat action packed rap remain tame\n Pharoahe fuckin' Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n\n Yo, yo, get the fuck up\n Funk Doctor Spock said, \"Get the fuck up\"\n I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\n I leave a nigga hanging like your mom's muffler\n Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n Respect like The Fonz, you see the collar up (Ayeeee)\n I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n I kamikaze your town off a Arab bus\n Karat cut, yeah mami, pull over\n I bend your pussy like for years I knew yoga\n I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\n Off Hennessy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n I need fifty feet when my performance starts\n I push an armored car with Lowenharts\n Nineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\n Doc turning dark off a warning shot\n Drive off and pop, six in your hood\n Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\n Yeah, yeah, my nigga, one rhyme and you fold over\n I'm hot-headed 'cause I walk with cold shoulders\n\n Yeah, get the fuck up\n Simon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\n Throw ya hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\n Jersey in the back, jacking cars, now what's up?\n Girls, rub on your titties (Yeah)\n That's right, I said it, rub on your titties\n Brick City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\n In the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n Yo, yo, get the fuck up\n Yo, yeah, I said it, \"Get the fuck up\"\n Walk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\n Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n You know my name and Pharoahe Monch, why we came, what?\n We off the chain, plus we plotting on the game, what?\n Know your role, by the way, tuck your gold\n And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n Shooting in the sky trying to blast sun\n Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\n Fifty cent flashin', they hate us with a passion\n Mashin', still fresh in three-day old fashion\n You're plaid, I'm stripes, together we be clashin'\n Here's a Tunnel banger\n Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n Slap you like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n Just so you can feel me the same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\n Even if time stands still, I'mma still be\n Underground and filthy, gotta have our way like the Milky\n Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n Never got caught in the game of tag\n Momma never kept a boyfriend with kids this bad\n No justice, raider ruckus\n Underground 'til we under ground\n But y'all first, motherfuckers\n\n My thugs, throw up your set\n And shorties rub on your breasts\n Get the fuck up out of that dress, I palm tits\n You herbs get flipped like Jeeps on mountain cliffs\n I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talon tips\n Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n You sound like B.I.G., you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n And I bet when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet, instant delete\n Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay with the heat\n Stay sticking fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n So toss that link, dummy, should've insured that link\n Straight to Canal, appraise that link, then pawn that link\n You froze up, Sahdeeq says, \"Shut the fuck up\"\n Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n\n Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Duggan\n Been thuggin', lovin' the way we flood jewels for nothin'\n Lay it over, another ambush and take over\n Yo, we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n Or find your picture of your autopsy up on the website\n Yo, if you ever violate my space\n Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you with a fucking fat face, nigga\n Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom and some\n Like the ghost of a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n Bitches, snitches coming out and you know who's showing it\n Like when the British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n Y'all niggas is seamless blends of seamless friends\n Lip on about the results of a bunch of seamless ends\n Colossal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Monch-o\n The head honchos, getting this money like Leonardo (Do-do-do-do)\n Enough substance in the roughness\n Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow, fiend\n Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n Pledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\n Let us control and own the fucking area\n Wild in your whip until you crash the whole truck up\n And if you know what's good for you, nigga\n You better get the fuck up\n"},{"id":19784247,"name":"Simon Says (Feat. Lady Luck, Redman, Method Man, Shabaam Sahdeeq & Busta Rhymes) (Remix)","trackName":"Simon Says (Feat. Lady Luck, Redman, Method Man, Shabaam Sahdeeq & Busta Rhymes) (Remix)","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch","albumName":"Internal Affairs","duration":374.92,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Get the fuck up\nSimon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\nThrow your hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\nQueens is in the back sipping 'gnac, y'all, what's up?\nGirls, rub on your titties\nYeah, fuck it, I said it rub on your titties\nNew York City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\nIn the midst of the calm, the witty\n\nYo, shut the fuck up\nLuck said, \"Shut the fuck up\"\nBitches in the back like crack, get it cut up\nI speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\nAct like a man and get cocked, smacked the fuck up\nPull the truck up, Luck, you know the name\nAss out in the bleachers stay shitting on the game\nI suppose what you're spitting is flames, cowards\nKnew your crew was vaginal, I could smell the douche powder\nSummer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\nCome four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\nStay fly till you get airsick, now that's ill\nTwo choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n\nWhat the fuck's going on here? Just a minute now, hold up\nSinister with it, the time, I diminish him, finish him, roll up\nWhen I'm in a cinematography state of mind\nMy rap trip, rip, flip, clip, say the rhyme\nShit, I spectacular run, hit spit bitches vernacular\nMiraculous rhyme flow, back track to the immaculate\nBinaca blast nigga that's fast, son, I'll box you\nLadies rub the ta-tas, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n(Oww!)\nFellas, pull your cock out\nOn the verge to splurge verbs for third-round knockout\nUh, I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\nDust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\nThe mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\nSeparate him from his fam\nHe don't know how to behave now\nDrag his ass, bag dun for his loot\nFigure me to give a nigga-y twenty-one gun salute\nThat's seven shots for 2Pac, seven for Biggie Smalls\nSeven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\nHow's that? Fat action packed rap remain tame\nPharoahe fuckin' Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n\nYo, yo, get the fuck up\nFunk Doctor Spock said, \"Get the fuck up\"\nI got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\nI leave a nigga hanging like your mom's muffler\nSnuff her, then my boys follow up\nRespect like The Fonz, you see the collar up (Ayeeee)\nI spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\nI kamikaze your town off a Arab bus\nKarat cut, yeah mami, pull over\nI bend your pussy like for years I knew yoga\nI'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\nOff Hennessy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\nI need fifty feet when my performance starts\nI push an armored car with Lowenharts\nNineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\nDoc turning dark off a warning shot\nDrive off and pop, six in your hood\nFuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\nYeah, yeah, my nigga, one rhyme and you fold over\nI'm hot-headed 'cause I walk with cold shoulders\n\nYeah, get the fuck up\nSimon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\nThrow ya hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\nJersey in the back, jacking cars, now what's up?\nGirls, rub on your titties (Yeah)\nThat's right, I said it, rub on your titties\nBrick City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\nIn the midst of the calm, the witty\n\nYo, yo, get the fuck up\nYo, yeah, I said it, \"Get the fuck up\"\nWalk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\nSeek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\nYou know my name and Pharoahe Monch, why we came, what?\nWe off the chain, plus we plotting on the game, what?\nKnow your role, by the way, tuck your gold\nAnd you and your mic can ease on down the road\nAssholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\nShooting in the sky trying to blast sun\nZero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\nFifty cent flashin', they hate us with a passion\nMashin', still fresh in three-day old fashion\nYou're plaid, I'm stripes, together we be clashin'\nHere's a Tunnel banger\nWu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\nThis gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\nSlap you like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\nJust so you can feel me the same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\nEven if time stands still, I'mma still be\nUnderground and filthy, gotta have our way like the Milky\nInnocent until I'm proven guilty\nNever got caught in the game of tag\nMomma never kept a boyfriend with kids this bad\nNo justice, raider ruckus\nUnderground 'til we under ground\nBut y'all first, motherfuckers\n\nMy thugs, throw up your set\nAnd shorties rub on your breasts\nGet the fuck up out of that dress, I palm tits\nYou herbs get flipped like Jeeps on mountain cliffs\nI'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talon tips\nDouble-S, double the threat, double your bet\nDouble up on that cash if you decide to invest\nYou sound like B.I.G., you sound like Jay, you sound like D\nAnd I bet when I go plat, you'll sound like me\nShabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet, instant delete\nY'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\nI stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay with the heat\nStay sticking fools like you for the rocks that gleam\nSo toss that link, dummy, should've insured that link\nStraight to Canal, appraise that link, then pawn that link\nYou froze up, Sahdeeq says, \"Shut the fuck up\"\nPunk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n\nBusta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Duggan\nBeen thuggin', lovin' the way we flood jewels for nothin'\nLay it over, another ambush and take over\nYo, we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\nYou better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\nOr find your picture of your autopsy up on the website\nYo, if you ever violate my space\nFuck a fat lip, I'll leave you with a fucking fat face, nigga\nBusta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom and some\nLike the ghost of a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\nBitches, snitches coming out and you know who's showing it\nLike when the British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\nY'all niggas is seamless blends of seamless friends\nLip on about the results of a bunch of seamless ends\nColossal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Monch-o\nThe head honchos, getting this money like Leonardo (Do-do-do-do)\nEnough substance in the roughness\nNow watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\nNow let me clear the smoke screen you blow, fiend\nLive nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\nPledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\nLet us control and own the fucking area\nWild in your whip until you crash the whole truck up\nAnd if you know what's good for you, nigga\nYou better get the fuck up","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Simon Says (Feat. Lady Luck, Redman, Method Man, Shabaam Sahdeeq & Busta Rhymes) (Remix)\n artist: Pharoahe Monch\n album: Internal Affairs\n duration_ms: 374920\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n Get the fuck up\n Simon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\n Throw your hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\n Queens is in the back sipping 'gnac, y'all, what's up?\n Girls, rub on your titties\n Yeah, fuck it, I said it rub on your titties\n New York City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\n In the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n Yo, shut the fuck up\n Luck said, \"Shut the fuck up\"\n Bitches in the back like crack, get it cut up\n I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n Act like a man and get cocked, smacked the fuck up\n Pull the truck up, Luck, you know the name\n Ass out in the bleachers stay shitting on the game\n I suppose what you're spitting is flames, cowards\n Knew your crew was vaginal, I could smell the douche powder\n Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n Stay fly till you get airsick, now that's ill\n Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n\n What the fuck's going on here? Just a minute now, hold up\n Sinister with it, the time, I diminish him, finish him, roll up\n When I'm in a cinematography state of mind\n My rap trip, rip, flip, clip, say the rhyme\n Shit, I spectacular run, hit spit bitches vernacular\n Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the immaculate\n Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son, I'll box you\n Ladies rub the ta-tas, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n (Oww!)\n Fellas, pull your cock out\n On the verge to splurge verbs for third-round knockout\n Uh, I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n Separate him from his fam\n He don't know how to behave now\n Drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n Figure me to give a nigga-y twenty-one gun salute\n That's seven shots for 2Pac, seven for Biggie Smalls\n Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n How's that? Fat action packed rap remain tame\n Pharoahe fuckin' Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n\n Yo, yo, get the fuck up\n Funk Doctor Spock said, \"Get the fuck up\"\n I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\n I leave a nigga hanging like your mom's muffler\n Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n Respect like The Fonz, you see the collar up (Ayeeee)\n I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n I kamikaze your town off a Arab bus\n Karat cut, yeah mami, pull over\n I bend your pussy like for years I knew yoga\n I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\n Off Hennessy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n I need fifty feet when my performance starts\n I push an armored car with Lowenharts\n Nineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\n Doc turning dark off a warning shot\n Drive off and pop, six in your hood\n Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\n Yeah, yeah, my nigga, one rhyme and you fold over\n I'm hot-headed 'cause I walk with cold shoulders\n\n Yeah, get the fuck up\n Simon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\n Throw ya hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\n Jersey in the back, jacking cars, now what's up?\n Girls, rub on your titties (Yeah)\n That's right, I said it, rub on your titties\n Brick City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\n In the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n Yo, yo, get the fuck up\n Yo, yeah, I said it, \"Get the fuck up\"\n Walk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\n Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n You know my name and Pharoahe Monch, why we came, what?\n We off the chain, plus we plotting on the game, what?\n Know your role, by the way, tuck your gold\n And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n Shooting in the sky trying to blast sun\n Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\n Fifty cent flashin', they hate us with a passion\n Mashin', still fresh in three-day old fashion\n You're plaid, I'm stripes, together we be clashin'\n Here's a Tunnel banger\n Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n Slap you like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n Just so you can feel me the same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\n Even if time stands still, I'mma still be\n Underground and filthy, gotta have our way like the Milky\n Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n Never got caught in the game of tag\n Momma never kept a boyfriend with kids this bad\n No justice, raider ruckus\n Underground 'til we under ground\n But y'all first, motherfuckers\n\n My thugs, throw up your set\n And shorties rub on your breasts\n Get the fuck up out of that dress, I palm tits\n You herbs get flipped like Jeeps on mountain cliffs\n I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talon tips\n Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n You sound like B.I.G., you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n And I bet when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet, instant delete\n Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay with the heat\n Stay sticking fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n So toss that link, dummy, should've insured that link\n Straight to Canal, appraise that link, then pawn that link\n You froze up, Sahdeeq says, \"Shut the fuck up\"\n Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n\n Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Duggan\n Been thuggin', lovin' the way we flood jewels for nothin'\n Lay it over, another ambush and take over\n Yo, we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n Or find your picture of your autopsy up on the website\n Yo, if you ever violate my space\n Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you with a fucking fat face, nigga\n Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom and some\n Like the ghost of a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n Bitches, snitches coming out and you know who's showing it\n Like when the British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n Y'all niggas is seamless blends of seamless friends\n Lip on about the results of a bunch of seamless ends\n Colossal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Monch-o\n The head honchos, getting this money like Leonardo (Do-do-do-do)\n Enough substance in the roughness\n Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow, fiend\n Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n Pledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\n Let us control and own the fucking area\n Wild in your whip until you crash the whole truck up\n And if you know what's good for you, nigga\n You better get the fuck up\n"},{"id":19093903,"name":"Simon Says [Remix] featuring Busta Rhymes, Lady Luck, Method Man, Redman, Shabaam Sahdeeq","trackName":"Simon Says [Remix] featuring Busta Rhymes, Lady Luck, Method Man, Redman, Shabaam Sahdeeq","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch","albumName":"Internal Affairs","duration":374.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Get the fuck up\nSimon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\nThrow your hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\nQueens is in the back sipping 'gnac, y'all, what's up?\nGirls, rub on your titties\nYeah, fuck it, I said it rub on your titties\nNew York City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\nIn the midst of the calm, the witty\n\nYo, shut the fuck up\nLuck said, \"Shut the fuck up\"\nBitches in the back like crack, get it cut up\nI speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\nAct like a man and get cocked, smacked the fuck up\nPull the truck up, Luck, you know the name\nAss out in the bleachers stay shitting on the game\nI suppose what you're spitting is flames, cowards\nKnew your crew was vaginal, I could smell the douche powder\nSummer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\nCome four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\nStay fly till you get airsick, now that's ill\nTwo choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n\nWhat the fuck's going on here? Just a minute now, hold up\nSinister with it, the time, I diminish him, finish him, roll up\nWhen I'm in a cinematography state of mind\nMy rap trip, rip, flip, clip, say the rhyme\nShit, I spectacular run, hit spit bitches vernacular\nMiraculous rhyme flow, back track to the immaculate\nBinaca blast nigga that's fast, son, I'll box you\nLadies rub the ta-tas, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n(Oww!)\nFellas, pull your cock out\nOn the verge to splurge verbs for third-round knockout\nUh, I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\nDust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\nThe mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\nSeparate him from his fam\nHe don't know how to behave now\nDrag his ass, bag dun for his loot\nFigure me to give a nigga-y twenty-one gun salute\nThat's seven shots for 2Pac, seven for Biggie Smalls\nSeven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\nHow's that? Fat action packed rap remain tame\nPharoahe fuckin' Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n\nYo, yo, get the fuck up\nFunk Doctor Spock said, \"Get the fuck up\"\nI got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\nI leave a nigga hanging like your mom's muffler\nSnuff her, then my boys follow up\nRespect like The Fonz, you see the collar up (Ayeeee)\nI spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\nI kamikaze your town off a Arab bus\nKarat cut, yeah mami, pull over\nI bend your pussy like for years I knew yoga\nI'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\nOff Hennessy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\nI need fifty feet when my performance starts\nI push an armored car with Lowenharts\nNineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\nDoc turning dark off a warning shot\nDrive off and pop, six in your hood\nFuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\nYeah, yeah, my nigga, one rhyme and you fold over\nI'm hot-headed 'cause I walk with cold shoulders\n\nYeah, get the fuck up\nSimon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\nThrow ya hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\nJersey in the back, jacking cars, now what's up?\nGirls, rub on your titties (Yeah)\nThat's right, I said it, rub on your titties\nBrick City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\nIn the midst of the calm, the witty\n\nYo, yo, get the fuck up\nYo, yeah, I said it, \"Get the fuck up\"\nWalk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\nSeek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\nYou know my name and Pharoahe Monch, why we came, what?\nWe off the chain, plus we plotting on the game, what?\nKnow your role, by the way, tuck your gold\nAnd you and your mic can ease on down the road\nAssholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\nShooting in the sky trying to blast sun\nZero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\nFifty cent flashin', they hate us with a passion\nMashin', still fresh in three-day old fashion\nYou're plaid, I'm stripes, together we be clashin'\nHere's a Tunnel banger\nWu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\nThis gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\nSlap you like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\nJust so you can feel me the same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\nEven if time stands still, I'mma still be\nUnderground and filthy, gotta have our way like the Milky\nInnocent until I'm proven guilty\nNever got caught in the game of tag\nMomma never kept a boyfriend with kids this bad\nNo justice, raider ruckus\nUnderground 'til we under ground\nBut y'all first, motherfuckers\n\nMy thugs, throw up your set\nAnd shorties rub on your breasts\nGet the fuck up out of that dress, I palm tits\nYou herbs get flipped like Jeeps on mountain cliffs\nI'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talon tips\nDouble-S, double the threat, double your bet\nDouble up on that cash if you decide to invest\nYou sound like B.I.G., you sound like Jay, you sound like D\nAnd I bet when I go plat, you'll sound like me\nShabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet, instant delete\nY'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\nI stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay with the heat\nStay sticking fools like you for the rocks that gleam\nSo toss that link, dummy, should've insured that link\nStraight to Canal, appraise that link, then pawn that link\nYou froze up, Sahdeeq says, \"Shut the fuck up\"\nPunk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n\nBusta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Duggan\nBeen thuggin', lovin' the way we flood jewels for nothin'\nLay it over, another ambush and take over\nYo, we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\nYou better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\nOr find your picture of your autopsy up on the website\nYo, if you ever violate my space\nFuck a fat lip, I'll leave you with a fucking fat face, nigga\nBusta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom and some\nLike the ghost of a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\nBitches, snitches coming out and you know who's showing it\nLike when the British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\nY'all niggas is seamless blends of seamless friends\nLip on about the results of a bunch of seamless ends\nColossal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Monch-o\nThe head honchos, getting this money like Leonardo (Do-do-do-do)\nEnough substance in the roughness\nNow watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\nNow let me clear the smoke screen you blow, fiend\nLive nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\nPledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\nLet us control and own the fucking area\nWild in your whip until you crash the whole truck up\nAnd if you know what's good for you, nigga\nYou better get the fuck up","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Simon Says [Remix] featuring Busta Rhymes, Lady Luck, Method Man, Redman, Shabaam Sahdeeq\n artist: Pharoahe Monch\n album: Internal Affairs\n duration_ms: 374000\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n Get the fuck up\n Simon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\n Throw your hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\n Queens is in the back sipping 'gnac, y'all, what's up?\n Girls, rub on your titties\n Yeah, fuck it, I said it rub on your titties\n New York City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\n In the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n Yo, shut the fuck up\n Luck said, \"Shut the fuck up\"\n Bitches in the back like crack, get it cut up\n I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up\n Act like a man and get cocked, smacked the fuck up\n Pull the truck up, Luck, you know the name\n Ass out in the bleachers stay shitting on the game\n I suppose what you're spitting is flames, cowards\n Knew your crew was vaginal, I could smell the douche powder\n Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill\n Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill\n Stay fly till you get airsick, now that's ill\n Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real\n\n What the fuck's going on here? Just a minute now, hold up\n Sinister with it, the time, I diminish him, finish him, roll up\n When I'm in a cinematography state of mind\n My rap trip, rip, flip, clip, say the rhyme\n Shit, I spectacular run, hit spit bitches vernacular\n Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the immaculate\n Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son, I'll box you\n Ladies rub the ta-tas, bras, titties and knockers on the floor\n (Oww!)\n Fellas, pull your cock out\n On the verge to splurge verbs for third-round knockout\n Uh, I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers\n Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper\n The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave\n Separate him from his fam\n He don't know how to behave now\n Drag his ass, bag dun for his loot\n Figure me to give a nigga-y twenty-one gun salute\n That's seven shots for 2Pac, seven for Biggie Smalls\n Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls\n How's that? Fat action packed rap remain tame\n Pharoahe fuckin' Monch, ain't a damn thing changed\n\n Yo, yo, get the fuck up\n Funk Doctor Spock said, \"Get the fuck up\"\n I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her\n I leave a nigga hanging like your mom's muffler\n Snuff her, then my boys follow up\n Respect like The Fonz, you see the collar up (Ayeeee)\n I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up\n I kamikaze your town off a Arab bus\n Karat cut, yeah mami, pull over\n I bend your pussy like for years I knew yoga\n I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me\n Off Hennessy, that's why I carry Mini-Me\n I need fifty feet when my performance starts\n I push an armored car with Lowenharts\n Nineteen inches, I'm not on the charts\n Doc turning dark off a warning shot\n Drive off and pop, six in your hood\n Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods\n Yeah, yeah, my nigga, one rhyme and you fold over\n I'm hot-headed 'cause I walk with cold shoulders\n\n Yeah, get the fuck up\n Simon says, \"Get the fuck up\"\n Throw ya hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)\n Jersey in the back, jacking cars, now what's up?\n Girls, rub on your titties (Yeah)\n That's right, I said it, rub on your titties\n Brick City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty\n In the midst of the calm, the witty\n\n Yo, yo, get the fuck up\n Yo, yeah, I said it, \"Get the fuck up\"\n Walk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up\n Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up\n You know my name and Pharoahe Monch, why we came, what?\n We off the chain, plus we plotting on the game, what?\n Know your role, by the way, tuck your gold\n And you and your mic can ease on down the road\n Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one\n Shooting in the sky trying to blast sun\n Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one\n Fifty cent flashin', they hate us with a passion\n Mashin', still fresh in three-day old fashion\n You're plaid, I'm stripes, together we be clashin'\n Here's a Tunnel banger\n Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber\n This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you\n Slap you like the doctor the day your momma birthed you\n Just so you can feel me the same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me\n Even if time stands still, I'mma still be\n Underground and filthy, gotta have our way like the Milky\n Innocent until I'm proven guilty\n Never got caught in the game of tag\n Momma never kept a boyfriend with kids this bad\n No justice, raider ruckus\n Underground 'til we under ground\n But y'all first, motherfuckers\n\n My thugs, throw up your set\n And shorties rub on your breasts\n Get the fuck up out of that dress, I palm tits\n You herbs get flipped like Jeeps on mountain cliffs\n I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talon tips\n Double-S, double the threat, double your bet\n Double up on that cash if you decide to invest\n You sound like B.I.G., you sound like Jay, you sound like D\n And I bet when I go plat, you'll sound like me\n Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet, instant delete\n Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique\n I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay with the heat\n Stay sticking fools like you for the rocks that gleam\n So toss that link, dummy, should've insured that link\n Straight to Canal, appraise that link, then pawn that link\n You froze up, Sahdeeq says, \"Shut the fuck up\"\n Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up\n\n Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Duggan\n Been thuggin', lovin' the way we flood jewels for nothin'\n Lay it over, another ambush and take over\n Yo, we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over\n You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night\n Or find your picture of your autopsy up on the website\n Yo, if you ever violate my space\n Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you with a fucking fat face, nigga\n Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom and some\n Like the ghost of a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion\n Bitches, snitches coming out and you know who's showing it\n Like when the British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets\n Y'all niggas is seamless blends of seamless friends\n Lip on about the results of a bunch of seamless ends\n Colossal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Monch-o\n The head honchos, getting this money like Leonardo (Do-do-do-do)\n Enough substance in the roughness\n Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance\n Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow, fiend\n Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem\n Pledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America\n Let us control and own the fucking area\n Wild in your whip until you crash the whole truck up\n And if you know what's good for you, nigga\n You better get the fuck up\n"}]