[{"id":22110697,"name":"Tick, Tock","trackName":"Tick, Tock","artistName":"Pusha T., Raekwon, Joell Ortiz & Danny Brown","albumName":"Pusha T., Raekwon, Joell Ortiz & Danny Brown","duration":378.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"King Push\nRZA\nRazor\nThe devil is a lie\nYou ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\nThey say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\nWhat better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\nThem wings don't fly\nYour traitor is your neighbor\nAt your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\nBathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\nAnd he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\nIt's the mark of the beast\nThe meek shall inherit the Earth\nThe weak shall inherit the dirt\nYou each should have perished at birth\nStill born or aborted\nEvery street tax gotta come with an audit\nEither your life, or your loved ones\nStraight razor or a snub-gun\nFrom the village where the thugs from\nSame corner that you copping all your drugs from\nHe a hero, but he unsung\nI'm the one\nThe chambers is 36, they new and improved\nNow make a move\nThese guns whistle, sizzle up dudes who got big mouths, no power\nRun in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\nWe better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\nAnd all the money we got, remove like the Mexicans\nA cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\nI fuck with golf now, Shala is ill\nYeah, the coke is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\nOr chilling on a beach in Boca, cheefin' with tuna\nSalads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\nPassing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n1984, the blow was just more\nThen we would come trough with rifles rocking Nike boots and war\nA real nigga's invention that came from a henchman\nWho blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\nDrug dealer, been that nigga half my life\nDrug dealer, been that nigga half my life\nYou niggas talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\nImagine being first name basis with the kingpin\nGod, I was Lucifer's neighbor\nYou wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\nMoving with the lasers under Rugers\nMake a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\nSweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\nThe chemists cookwork\nThe runners; footwork\nThe customs took work\nThe soldiers put work in\nOn any of the motherfuckers who fucked up good work\nBosses tell 'em: 'Good work'\nThat's just how the hood work\nNorthface bubble with, eight bundles under it\nGold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\nI lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm fucking with\nMy moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\nMongoose with the pegs\nClap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\nThat's beef nigga, y'all ain't street niggas\nY'all peep niggas, write it down and try to be niggas\nFucking everything, neck heavy swing\nSecond hand swepped across that pretty breathling\nIn that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\nWhatever bring fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\nIn this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\nNiggas get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\nYou know my origins is over when\nFat black bitch singing over organs\nDie for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\nYou say that for the one you buying red bottoms\nYeah, that's the price you gotta pay for it\nAll's fair in love and war, she masquerade for it\nWoo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\nTrick or treat (?), I earned it of the books\nNow listen to me vent\nWhen you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\nShots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\nKnight in shining armor\nMistake me for the villain cause of my vengeance is your karma\nYeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\nThis music to my soul, cause it's death before dishonor\nGone\nGot the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\nThat used the church money to cop a new Beamer\nGot the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\nThat bought his momma the rubbers when a john came through\nIt's the microphone Methadone\nGreatest ever etched in stone\nYou ain't getting pussy like your prom date had a chaperone\nPopping pills got a nigga brain like a labyrinth\nCalled the ho on purpose but I got the brain on accident\nNigga I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of weed\nRolled a blunt so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\nMy manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\nThe insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\nI'm a wet dream, Dry sense of humor\nTravel in class like a high school rumor\nNo one really cares if you embarrass us with style\nCuz when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\nSo tell em why your mad son\nGotta get it off your chest\nLet em know how you feel son\nYou gotta say what you say\nIt don't matter, they gonna say a nigga hating anyway","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Tick, Tock\n  artist: Pusha T., Raekwon, Joell Ortiz & Danny Brown\n  album: Pusha T., Raekwon, Joell Ortiz & Danny Brown\n  duration_ms: 378000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  King Push\n  RZA\n  Razor\n  The devil is a lie\n  You ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\n  They say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\n  What better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\n  Them wings don't fly\n  Your traitor is your neighbor\n  At your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\n  Bathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\n  And he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\n  It's the mark of the beast\n  The meek shall inherit the Earth\n  The weak shall inherit the dirt\n  You each should have perished at birth\n  Still born or aborted\n  Every street tax gotta come with an audit\n  Either your life, or your loved ones\n  Straight razor or a snub-gun\n  From the village where the thugs from\n  Same corner that you copping all your drugs from\n  He a hero, but he unsung\n  I'm the one\n  The chambers is 36, they new and improved\n  Now make a move\n  These guns whistle, sizzle up dudes who got big mouths, no power\n  Run in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\n  We better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\n  And all the money we got, remove like the Mexicans\n  A cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\n  I fuck with golf now, Shala is ill\n  Yeah, the coke is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\n  Or chilling on a beach in Boca, cheefin' with tuna\n  Salads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\n  Passing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n  1984, the blow was just more\n  Then we would come trough with rifles rocking Nike boots and war\n  A real nigga's invention that came from a henchman\n  Who blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\n  Drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\n  Drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\n  You niggas talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\n  Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n  God, I was Lucifer's neighbor\n  You wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\n  Moving with the lasers under Rugers\n  Make a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\n  Sweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\n  The chemists cookwork\n  The runners; footwork\n  The customs took work\n  The soldiers put work in\n  On any of the motherfuckers who fucked up good work\n  Bosses tell 'em: 'Good work'\n  That's just how the hood work\n  Northface bubble with, eight bundles under it\n  Gold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\n  I lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm fucking with\n  My moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\n  Mongoose with the pegs\n  Clap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\n  That's beef nigga, y'all ain't street niggas\n  Y'all peep niggas, write it down and try to be niggas\n  Fucking everything, neck heavy swing\n  Second hand swepped across that pretty breathling\n  In that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\n  Whatever bring fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\n  In this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\n  Niggas get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\n  You know my origins is over when\n  Fat black bitch singing over organs\n  Die for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\n  You say that for the one you buying red bottoms\n  Yeah, that's the price you gotta pay for it\n  All's fair in love and war, she masquerade for it\n  Woo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\n  Trick or treat (?), I earned it of the books\n  Now listen to me vent\n  When you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\n  Shots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\n  Knight in shining armor\n  Mistake me for the villain cause of my vengeance is your karma\n  Yeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\n  This music to my soul, cause it's death before dishonor\n  Gone\n  Got the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\n  That used the church money to cop a new Beamer\n  Got the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\n  That bought his momma the rubbers when a john came through\n  It's the microphone Methadone\n  Greatest ever etched in stone\n  You ain't getting pussy like your prom date had a chaperone\n  Popping pills got a nigga brain like a labyrinth\n  Called the ho on purpose but I got the brain on accident\n  Nigga I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of weed\n  Rolled a blunt so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\n  My manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\n  The insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\n  I'm a wet dream, Dry sense of humor\n  Travel in class like a high school rumor\n  No one really cares if you embarrass us with style\n  Cuz when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\n  So tell em why your mad son\n  Gotta get it off your chest\n  Let em know how you feel son\n  You gotta say what you say\n  It don't matter, they gonna say a nigga hating anyway\n"},{"id":7891096,"name":"Tick, Tock","trackName":"Tick, Tock","artistName":"Pusha T","albumName":"The Man With The Iron Fists [Soundtrack]","duration":378.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"King Push\nRazor\nRazor\nExecution\n\nThe devil is a lie\nYou ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\nThey say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\nWhat better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\nThem wings don't fly, your traitor is your neighbor\nAt your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\nBathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\nAnd he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\nIt's the mark of the beast\n\nThe meek shall inherit the Earth, the weak shall inherit the dirt\nYou each should have perished at birth, stillborn or aborted\nEvery street tax gotta come with an audit\nEither your life, or your loved ones, straight razor or a snub-gun\nFrom the village where the thugs from\nSame corner that you copping all your drugs from\nHe a hero, but he unsung, I'm the one (I'm the one)\nChill out Raekwon (yeah, I'm the one), chill out\nYeah\n\nAyo homie, the chambers is 36, they new and improved\nNow make a move, these guns whistle, sizzle up dudes\nWho got big mouths, no power\nRun in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\nWe better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\nAnd all the money we got, we move like the Mexicans\nA cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\nI f- with golf now, Shallah is ill\n\nYeah, the - is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\nOr chilling on a beach in Boca Chica\nWith tuna salads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\nPassing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n1984, the blow was just more\nThen we would come trough with rifles rockin Nike boots and war\nA real - invention that came from a henchman\nWho blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\n\nDrug dealer, been that - half my life\nDrug, drug dealer, been that - half my life\nYou - talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\nImagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n\nGod, I was Lucifer's neighbor\nYou wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\nMoving with lasers under Rugers\nMake a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\nSweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\nThe chemists cookwork, the runners, footwork\nThe custies took work, the soldiers put work in\n\nOn any of the motherf- who f- up good work\nBosses tell 'em 'Good work,' that's just how the hood work\nNorthface bubble with eight bundles under it\nGold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\nI lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm f- with\nMy moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\nChamp hoodie, Mongoose with the pegs\n\nClap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\nThat's beef -, y'all ain't street -\nY'all peep -, write it down and try to be -\nF- everything, neck heavy swing\nSecond-hand swept across that pretty Breitling\nIn that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\nWhatever bring 'fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\n\nDrug dealer, been that - half my life\nDrug, drug dealer, been that -half my life\nYou - talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\nImagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n\nIn this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\n- Get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\nYou know my origins is over when\nFat black - singing over organs\nDie for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\nYou save that for the one you buying red bottoms\nYuugh! That's the price you gotta pay for it\nAll's fair in love and war, she masquerades for it\nWoo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\n\nTrick or treat, - your -, I earned it off the books\nNow listen to me vent\nWhen you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\nShots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\nKnight in shining armor\nMistake me for the villain 'cause my vengeance is your karma\nYeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\nThis music to my soul, 'cause it's death before dishonor\nGone (gone, gone)\n\nCheck!\nGot the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\nThat used the church money to cop a new Beamer\nGot the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\nThat bought his momma the rubbers when a John came through\nIt's the microphone methadone, greatest ever etched in stone\nYou ain't getting - like your prom date had a chaperone\nPopping - got a - brain like a labyrinth\nCalled the - on purpose but I got the brain on accident\n\nN- I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of -\nRolled a b- so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\nMy manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\nThe insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\nI'm a wet dream, dry sense of humor\nTravel in class like a high school rumor\nNo one really cares if you embarrass us with style\n\n'Cause when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\nSo tell em why you're mad son\nGotta get it off your chest, let 'em know how you feel son\nYou gotta say what you say\nIt don't matter, they gonna say a - hating anyway (anyway, anyway)","syncedLyrics":"[00:08.32] King Push\n[00:15.53] Razor\n[00:19.54] Razor\n[00:25.14] Execution\n[00:26.81] The devil is a lie\n[00:28.56] You ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\n[00:31.68] They say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\n[00:34.77] What better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\n[00:38.09] Them wings don't fly, your traitor is your neighbor\n[00:41.37] At your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\n[00:44.45] Bathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\n[00:47.18] And he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\n[00:50.44] It's the mark of the beast\n[00:52.12] The meek shall inherit the Earth, the weak shall inherit the dirt\n[00:56.82] You each should have perished at birth, stillborn or aborted\n[01:01.08] Every street tax gotta come with an audit\n[01:04.27] Either your life, or your loved ones, straight razor or a snub-gun\n[01:09.25] From the village where the thugs from\n[01:11.56] Same corner that you copping all your drugs from\n[01:14.95] He a hero, but he unsung, I'm the one (I'm the one)\n[01:23.04] Chill out Raekwon (yeah, I'm the one), chill out\n[01:26.30] Yeah\n[01:26.66] Ayo homie, the chambers is 36, they new and improved\n[01:32.71] Now make a move, these guns whistle, sizzle up dudes\n[01:36.07] Who got big mouths, no power\n[01:38.93] Run in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\n[01:42.78] We better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\n[01:45.91] And all the money we got, we move like the Mexicans\n[01:48.94] A cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\n[01:53.42] I f- with golf now, Shallah is ill\n[01:55.51] Yeah, the - is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\n[01:58.56] Or chilling on a beach in Boca Chica\n[02:00.66] With tuna salads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\n[02:05.05] Passing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n[02:08.91] 1984, the blow was just more\n[02:10.87] Then we would come trough with rifles rockin Nike boots and war\n[02:14.22] A real - invention that came from a henchman\n[02:17.50] Who blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\n[02:21.03] Drug dealer, been that - half my life\n[02:23.82] Drug, drug dealer, been that - half my life\n[02:27.18] You - talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\n[02:30.19] Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n[02:33.60] God, I was Lucifer's neighbor\n[02:35.31] You wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\n[02:38.52] Moving with lasers under Rugers\n[02:40.23] Make a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\n[02:43.41] Sweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\n[02:45.99] The chemists cookwork, the runners, footwork\n[02:49.06] The custies took work, the soldiers put work in\n[02:51.96] On any of the motherf- who f- up good work\n[02:55.14] Bosses tell 'em 'Good work,' that's just how the hood work\n[02:59.31] Northface bubble with eight bundles under it\n[03:01.97] Gold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\n[03:04.71] I lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm f- with\n[03:08.02] My moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\n[03:11.74] Champ hoodie, Mongoose with the pegs\n[03:14.54] Clap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\n[03:17.31] That's beef -, y'all ain't street -\n[03:20.95] Y'all peep -, write it down and try to be -\n[03:24.78] F- everything, neck heavy swing\n[03:27.43] Second-hand swept across that pretty Breitling\n[03:30.26] In that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\n[03:32.85] Whatever bring 'fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\n[03:36.89] Drug dealer, been that - half my life\n[03:39.62] Drug, drug dealer, been that -half my life\n[03:42.96] You - talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\n[03:45.67] Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n[03:49.55] In this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\n[03:53.46] - get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\n[03:56.40] You know my origins is over when\n[03:59.07] Fat black - singing over organs\n[04:01.83] Die for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\n[04:04.80] You save that for the one you buying red bottoms\n[04:09.27] Yuugh! That's the price you gotta pay for it\n[04:11.65] All's fair in love and war, she masquerades for it\n[04:14.72] Woo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\n[04:17.60] Trick or treat, - your -, I earned it off the books\n[04:20.65] Now listen to me vent\n[04:22.31] When you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\n[04:25.47] Shots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\n[04:28.61] Knight in shining armor\n[04:30.06] Mistake me for the villain 'cause my vengeance is your karma\n[04:33.68] Yeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\n[04:36.39] This music to my soul, 'cause it's death before dishonor\n[04:39.57] Gone (gone, gone)\n[04:47.40] Check!\n[04:48.84] Got the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\n[04:52.11] That used the church money to cop a new Beamer\n[04:55.01] Got the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\n[04:58.28] That bought his momma the rubbers when a John came through\n[05:01.50] It's the microphone methadone, greatest ever etched in stone\n[05:05.05] You ain't getting - like your prom date had a chaperone\n[05:08.15] Popping - got a - brain like a labyrinth\n[05:11.25] Called the - on purpose but I got the brain on accident\n[05:14.45] N- I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of -\n[05:17.68] Rolled a b- so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\n[05:20.93] My manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\n[05:24.22] The insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\n[05:27.43] I'm a wet dream, dry sense of humor\n[05:30.28] Travel in class like a high school rumor\n[05:33.23] No one really cares if you embarrass us with style\n[05:35.90] 'Cause when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\n[05:39.42] So tell em why you're mad son\n[05:41.63] Gotta get it off your chest, let 'em know how you feel son\n[05:46.98] You gotta say what you say\n[05:48.77] It don't matter, they gonna say a - hating anyway (anyway, anyway)\n[06:18.25] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Tick, Tock\n  artist: Pusha T\n  album: The Man With The Iron Fists [Soundtrack]\n  duration_ms: 378000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: King Push\n  start_ms: 8320\n  end_ms: 15530\n- text: Razor\n  start_ms: 15530\n  end_ms: 19540\n- text: Razor\n  start_ms: 19540\n  end_ms: 25140\n- text: Execution\n  start_ms: 25140\n  end_ms: 26810\n- text: The devil is a lie\n  start_ms: 26810\n  end_ms: 28560\n- text: You ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\n  start_ms: 28560\n  end_ms: 31680\n- text: They say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\n  start_ms: 31680\n  end_ms: 34770\n- text: What better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\n  start_ms: 34770\n  end_ms: 38090\n- text: Them wings don't fly, your traitor is your neighbor\n  start_ms: 38090\n  end_ms: 41370\n- text: At your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\n  start_ms: 41370\n  end_ms: 44450\n- text: Bathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\n  start_ms: 44450\n  end_ms: 47180\n- text: And he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\n  start_ms: 47180\n  end_ms: 50440\n- text: It's the mark of the beast\n  start_ms: 50440\n  end_ms: 52120\n- text: The meek shall inherit the Earth, the weak shall inherit the dirt\n  start_ms: 52120\n  end_ms: 56820\n- text: You each should have perished at birth, stillborn or aborted\n  start_ms: 56820\n  end_ms: 61080\n- text: Every street tax gotta come with an audit\n  start_ms: 61080\n  end_ms: 64270\n- text: Either your life, or your loved ones, straight razor or a snub-gun\n  start_ms: 64270\n  end_ms: 69250\n- text: From the village where the thugs from\n  start_ms: 69250\n  end_ms: 71560\n- text: Same corner that you copping all your drugs from\n  start_ms: 71560\n  end_ms: 74950\n- text: He a hero, but he unsung, I'm the one (I'm the one)\n  start_ms: 74950\n  end_ms: 83040\n- text: Chill out Raekwon (yeah, I'm the one), chill out\n  start_ms: 83040\n  end_ms: 86300\n- text: Yeah\n  start_ms: 86300\n  end_ms: 86660\n- text: Ayo homie, the chambers is 36, they new and improved\n  start_ms: 86660\n  end_ms: 92710\n- text: Now make a move, these guns whistle, sizzle up dudes\n  start_ms: 92710\n  end_ms: 96070\n- text: Who got big mouths, no power\n  start_ms: 96070\n  end_ms: 98930\n- text: Run in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\n  start_ms: 98930\n  end_ms: 102780\n- text: We better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\n  start_ms: 102780\n  end_ms: 105910\n- text: And all the money we got, we move like the Mexicans\n  start_ms: 105910\n  end_ms: 108940\n- text: A cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\n  start_ms: 108940\n  end_ms: 113420\n- text: I f- with golf now, Shallah is ill\n  start_ms: 113420\n  end_ms: 115510\n- text: Yeah, the - is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\n  start_ms: 115510\n  end_ms: 118560\n- text: Or chilling on a beach in Boca Chica\n  start_ms: 118560\n  end_ms: 120660\n- text: With tuna salads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\n  start_ms: 120660\n  end_ms: 125050\n- text: Passing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n  start_ms: 125050\n  end_ms: 128910\n- text: 1984, the blow was just more\n  start_ms: 128910\n  end_ms: 130870\n- text: Then we would come trough with rifles rockin Nike boots and war\n  start_ms: 130870\n  end_ms: 134220\n- text: A real - invention that came from a henchman\n  start_ms: 134220\n  end_ms: 137500\n- text: Who blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\n  start_ms: 137500\n  end_ms: 141030\n- text: Drug dealer, been that - half my life\n  start_ms: 141030\n  end_ms: 143820\n- text: Drug, drug dealer, been that - half my life\n  start_ms: 143820\n  end_ms: 147180\n- text: You - talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\n  start_ms: 147180\n  end_ms: 150190\n- text: Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n  start_ms: 150190\n  end_ms: 153600\n- text: God, I was Lucifer's neighbor\n  start_ms: 153600\n  end_ms: 155310\n- text: You wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\n  start_ms: 155310\n  end_ms: 158520\n- text: Moving with lasers under Rugers\n  start_ms: 158520\n  end_ms: 160230\n- text: Make a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\n  start_ms: 160230\n  end_ms: 163410\n- text: Sweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\n  start_ms: 163410\n  end_ms: 165990\n- text: The chemists cookwork, the runners, footwork\n  start_ms: 165990\n  end_ms: 169060\n- text: The custies took work, the soldiers put work in\n  start_ms: 169060\n  end_ms: 171960\n- text: On any of the motherf- who f- up good work\n  start_ms: 171960\n  end_ms: 175140\n- text: Bosses tell 'em 'Good work,' that's just how the hood work\n  start_ms: 175140\n  end_ms: 179310\n- text: Northface bubble with eight bundles under it\n  start_ms: 179310\n  end_ms: 181970\n- text: Gold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\n  start_ms: 181970\n  end_ms: 184710\n- text: I lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm f- with\n  start_ms: 184710\n  end_ms: 188020\n- text: My moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\n  start_ms: 188020\n  end_ms: 191740\n- text: Champ hoodie, Mongoose with the pegs\n  start_ms: 191740\n  end_ms: 194540\n- text: Clap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\n  start_ms: 194540\n  end_ms: 197310\n- text: That's beef -, y'all ain't street -\n  start_ms: 197310\n  end_ms: 200950\n- text: Y'all peep -, write it down and try to be -\n  start_ms: 200950\n  end_ms: 204780\n- text: F- everything, neck heavy swing\n  start_ms: 204780\n  end_ms: 207430\n- text: Second-hand swept across that pretty Breitling\n  start_ms: 207430\n  end_ms: 210260\n- text: In that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\n  start_ms: 210260\n  end_ms: 212850\n- text: Whatever bring 'fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\n  start_ms: 212850\n  end_ms: 216890\n- text: Drug dealer, been that - half my life\n  start_ms: 216890\n  end_ms: 219620\n- text: Drug, drug dealer, been that -half my life\n  start_ms: 219620\n  end_ms: 222960\n- text: You - talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\n  start_ms: 222960\n  end_ms: 225670\n- text: Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n  start_ms: 225670\n  end_ms: 229550\n- text: In this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\n  start_ms: 229550\n  end_ms: 233460\n- text: '- get the picture I ain''t got to paint the nostrils'\n  start_ms: 233460\n  end_ms: 236400\n- text: You know my origins is over when\n  start_ms: 236400\n  end_ms: 239070\n- text: Fat black - singing over organs\n  start_ms: 239070\n  end_ms: 241830\n- text: Die for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\n  start_ms: 241830\n  end_ms: 244800\n- text: You save that for the one you buying red bottoms\n  start_ms: 244800\n  end_ms: 249270\n- text: Yuugh! That's the price you gotta pay for it\n  start_ms: 249270\n  end_ms: 251650\n- text: All's fair in love and war, she masquerades for it\n  start_ms: 251650\n  end_ms: 254720\n- text: Woo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\n  start_ms: 254720\n  end_ms: 257600\n- text: Trick or treat, - your -, I earned it off the books\n  start_ms: 257600\n  end_ms: 260650\n- text: Now listen to me vent\n  start_ms: 260650\n  end_ms: 262310\n- text: When you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\n  start_ms: 262310\n  end_ms: 265470\n- text: Shots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\n  start_ms: 265470\n  end_ms: 268610\n- text: Knight in shining armor\n  start_ms: 268610\n  end_ms: 270060\n- text: Mistake me for the villain 'cause my vengeance is your karma\n  start_ms: 270060\n  end_ms: 273680\n- text: Yeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\n  start_ms: 273680\n  end_ms: 276390\n- text: This music to my soul, 'cause it's death before dishonor\n  start_ms: 276390\n  end_ms: 279570\n- text: Gone (gone, gone)\n  start_ms: 279570\n  end_ms: 287400\n- text: Check!\n  start_ms: 287400\n  end_ms: 288840\n- text: Got the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\n  start_ms: 288840\n  end_ms: 292110\n- text: That used the church money to cop a new Beamer\n  start_ms: 292110\n  end_ms: 295010\n- text: Got the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\n  start_ms: 295010\n  end_ms: 298280\n- text: That bought his momma the rubbers when a John came through\n  start_ms: 298280\n  end_ms: 301500\n- text: It's the microphone methadone, greatest ever etched in stone\n  start_ms: 301500\n  end_ms: 305050\n- text: You ain't getting - like your prom date had a chaperone\n  start_ms: 305050\n  end_ms: 308150\n- text: Popping - got a - brain like a labyrinth\n  start_ms: 308150\n  end_ms: 311250\n- text: Called the - on purpose but I got the brain on accident\n  start_ms: 311250\n  end_ms: 314450\n- text: N- I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of -\n  start_ms: 314450\n  end_ms: 317680\n- text: Rolled a b- so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\n  start_ms: 317680\n  end_ms: 320930\n- text: My manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\n  start_ms: 320930\n  end_ms: 324220\n- text: The insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\n  start_ms: 324220\n  end_ms: 327430\n- text: I'm a wet dream, dry sense of humor\n  start_ms: 327430\n  end_ms: 330280\n- text: Travel in class like a high school rumor\n  start_ms: 330280\n  end_ms: 333230\n- text: No one really cares if you embarrass us with style\n  start_ms: 333230\n  end_ms: 335900\n- text: '''Cause when it comes to them raps you been letting us down'\n  start_ms: 335900\n  end_ms: 339420\n- text: So tell em why you're mad son\n  start_ms: 339420\n  end_ms: 341630\n- text: Gotta get it off your chest, let 'em know how you feel son\n  start_ms: 341630\n  end_ms: 346980\n- text: You gotta say what you say\n  start_ms: 346980\n  end_ms: 348770\n- text: It don't matter, they gonna say a - hating anyway (anyway, anyway)\n  start_ms: 348770\n  end_ms: 378250\nplain: |-\n  King Push\n  Razor\n  Razor\n  Execution\n\n  The devil is a lie\n  You ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\n  They say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\n  What better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\n  Them wings don't fly, your traitor is your neighbor\n  At your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\n  Bathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\n  And he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\n  It's the mark of the beast\n\n  The meek shall inherit the Earth, the weak shall inherit the dirt\n  You each should have perished at birth, stillborn or aborted\n  Every street tax gotta come with an audit\n  Either your life, or your loved ones, straight razor or a snub-gun\n  From the village where the thugs from\n  Same corner that you copping all your drugs from\n  He a hero, but he unsung, I'm the one (I'm the one)\n  Chill out Raekwon (yeah, I'm the one), chill out\n  Yeah\n\n  Ayo homie, the chambers is 36, they new and improved\n  Now make a move, these guns whistle, sizzle up dudes\n  Who got big mouths, no power\n  Run in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\n  We better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\n  And all the money we got, we move like the Mexicans\n  A cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\n  I f- with golf now, Shallah is ill\n\n  Yeah, the - is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\n  Or chilling on a beach in Boca Chica\n  With tuna salads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\n  Passing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n  1984, the blow was just more\n  Then we would come trough with rifles rockin Nike boots and war\n  A real - invention that came from a henchman\n  Who blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\n\n  Drug dealer, been that - half my life\n  Drug, drug dealer, been that - half my life\n  You - talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\n  Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n\n  God, I was Lucifer's neighbor\n  You wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\n  Moving with lasers under Rugers\n  Make a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\n  Sweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\n  The chemists cookwork, the runners, footwork\n  The custies took work, the soldiers put work in\n\n  On any of the motherf- who f- up good work\n  Bosses tell 'em 'Good work,' that's just how the hood work\n  Northface bubble with eight bundles under it\n  Gold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\n  I lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm f- with\n  My moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\n  Champ hoodie, Mongoose with the pegs\n\n  Clap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\n  That's beef -, y'all ain't street -\n  Y'all peep -, write it down and try to be -\n  F- everything, neck heavy swing\n  Second-hand swept across that pretty Breitling\n  In that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\n  Whatever bring 'fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\n\n  Drug dealer, been that - half my life\n  Drug, drug dealer, been that -half my life\n  You - talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\n  Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n\n  In this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\n  - Get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\n  You know my origins is over when\n  Fat black - singing over organs\n  Die for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\n  You save that for the one you buying red bottoms\n  Yuugh! That's the price you gotta pay for it\n  All's fair in love and war, she masquerades for it\n  Woo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\n\n  Trick or treat, - your -, I earned it off the books\n  Now listen to me vent\n  When you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\n  Shots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\n  Knight in shining armor\n  Mistake me for the villain 'cause my vengeance is your karma\n  Yeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\n  This music to my soul, 'cause it's death before dishonor\n  Gone (gone, gone)\n\n  Check!\n  Got the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\n  That used the church money to cop a new Beamer\n  Got the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\n  That bought his momma the rubbers when a John came through\n  It's the microphone methadone, greatest ever etched in stone\n  You ain't getting - like your prom date had a chaperone\n  Popping - got a - brain like a labyrinth\n  Called the - on purpose but I got the brain on accident\n\n  N- I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of -\n  Rolled a b- so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\n  My manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\n  The insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\n  I'm a wet dream, dry sense of humor\n  Travel in class like a high school rumor\n  No one really cares if you embarrass us with style\n\n  'Cause when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\n  So tell em why you're mad son\n  Gotta get it off your chest, let 'em know how you feel son\n  You gotta say what you say\n  It don't matter, they gonna say a - hating anyway (anyway, anyway)\n"},{"id":7891095,"name":"Tick, Tock","trackName":"Tick, Tock","artistName":"Pusha T","albumName":"The Man with the Iron Fists (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)","duration":378.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"King Push\nRazor\nRazor\nExecution\n\nThe devil is a lie\nYou ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\nThey say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\nWhat better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\nThem wings don't fly, your traitor is your neighbor\nAt your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\nBathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\nAnd he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\nIt's the mark of the beast\n\nThe meek shall inherit the Earth, the weak shall inherit the dirt\nYou each should have perished at birth, stillborn or aborted\nEvery street tax gotta come with an audit\nEither your life, or your loved ones, straight razor or a snub-gun\nFrom the village where the thugs from\nSame corner that you copping all your drugs from\nHe a hero, but he unsung, I'm the one (I'm the one)\nChill out Raekwon (yeah, I'm the one), chill out\nYeah\n\nAyo homie, the chambers is 36, they new and improved\nNow make a move, these guns whistle, sizzle up dudes\nWho got big mouths, no power\nRun in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\nWe better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\nAnd all the money we got, we move like the Mexicans\nA cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\nI f- with golf now, Shallah is ill\n\nYeah, the - is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\nOr chilling on a beach in Boca Chica\nWith tuna salads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\nPassing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n1984, the blow was just more\nThen we would come trough with rifles rockin Nike boots and war\nA real - invention that came from a henchman\nWho blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\n\nDrug dealer, been that - half my life\nDrug, drug dealer, been that - half my life\nYou - talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\nImagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n\nGod, I was Lucifer's neighbor\nYou wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\nMoving with lasers under Rugers\nMake a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\nSweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\nThe chemists cookwork, the runners, footwork\nThe custies took work, the soldiers put work in\n\nOn any of the motherf- who f- up good work\nBosses tell 'em 'Good work,' that's just how the hood work\nNorthface bubble with eight bundles under it\nGold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\nI lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm f- with\nMy moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\nChamp hoodie, Mongoose with the pegs\n\nClap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\nThat's beef -, y'all ain't street -\nY'all peep -, write it down and try to be -\nF- everything, neck heavy swing\nSecond-hand swept across that pretty Breitling\nIn that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\nWhatever bring 'fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\n\nDrug dealer, been that - half my life\nDrug, drug dealer, been that -half my life\nYou - talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\nImagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n\nIn this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\n- Get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\nYou know my origins is over when\nFat black - singing over organs\nDie for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\nYou save that for the one you buying red bottoms\nYuugh! That's the price you gotta pay for it\nAll's fair in love and war, she masquerades for it\nWoo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\n\nTrick or treat, - your -, I earned it off the books\nNow listen to me vent\nWhen you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\nShots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\nKnight in shining armor\nMistake me for the villain 'cause my vengeance is your karma\nYeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\nThis music to my soul, 'cause it's death before dishonor\nGone (gone, gone)\n\nCheck!\nGot the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\nThat used the church money to cop a new Beamer\nGot the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\nThat bought his momma the rubbers when a John came through\nIt's the microphone methadone, greatest ever etched in stone\nYou ain't getting - like your prom date had a chaperone\nPopping - got a - brain like a labyrinth\nCalled the - on purpose but I got the brain on accident\n\nN- I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of -\nRolled a b- so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\nMy manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\nThe insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\nI'm a wet dream, dry sense of humor\nTravel in class like a high school rumor\nNo one really cares if you embarrass us with style\n\n'Cause when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\nSo tell em why you're mad son\nGotta get it off your chest, let 'em know how you feel son\nYou gotta say what you say\nIt don't matter, they gonna say a - hating anyway (anyway, anyway)","syncedLyrics":"[00:08.32] King Push\n[00:15.53] Razor\n[00:19.54] Razor\n[00:25.14] Execution\n[00:26.81] The devil is a lie\n[00:28.56] You ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\n[00:31.68] They say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\n[00:34.77] What better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\n[00:38.09] Them wings don't fly, your traitor is your neighbor\n[00:41.37] At your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\n[00:44.45] Bathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\n[00:47.18] And he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\n[00:50.44] It's the mark of the beast\n[00:52.12] The meek shall inherit the Earth, the weak shall inherit the dirt\n[00:56.82] You each should have perished at birth, stillborn or aborted\n[01:01.08] Every street tax gotta come with an audit\n[01:04.27] Either your life, or your loved ones, straight razor or a snub-gun\n[01:09.25] From the village where the thugs from\n[01:11.56] Same corner that you copping all your drugs from\n[01:14.95] He a hero, but he unsung, I'm the one (I'm the one)\n[01:23.04] Chill out Raekwon (yeah, I'm the one), chill out\n[01:26.30] Yeah\n[01:26.66] Ayo homie, the chambers is 36, they new and improved\n[01:32.71] Now make a move, these guns whistle, sizzle up dudes\n[01:36.07] Who got big mouths, no power\n[01:38.93] Run in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\n[01:42.78] We better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\n[01:45.91] And all the money we got, we move like the Mexicans\n[01:48.94] A cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\n[01:53.42] I f- with golf now, Shallah is ill\n[01:55.51] Yeah, the - is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\n[01:58.56] Or chilling on a beach in Boca Chica\n[02:00.66] With tuna salads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\n[02:05.05] Passing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n[02:08.91] 1984, the blow was just more\n[02:10.87] Then we would come trough with rifles rockin Nike boots and war\n[02:14.22] A real - invention that came from a henchman\n[02:17.50] Who blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\n[02:21.03] Drug dealer, been that - half my life\n[02:23.82] Drug, drug dealer, been that - half my life\n[02:27.18] You - talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\n[02:30.19] Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n[02:33.60] God, I was Lucifer's neighbor\n[02:35.31] You wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\n[02:38.52] Moving with lasers under Rugers\n[02:40.23] Make a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\n[02:43.41] Sweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\n[02:45.99] The chemists cookwork, the runners, footwork\n[02:49.06] The custies took work, the soldiers put work in\n[02:51.96] On any of the motherf- who f- up good work\n[02:55.14] Bosses tell 'em 'Good work,' that's just how the hood work\n[02:59.31] Northface bubble with eight bundles under it\n[03:01.97] Gold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\n[03:04.71] I lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm f- with\n[03:08.02] My moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\n[03:11.74] Champ hoodie, Mongoose with the pegs\n[03:14.54] Clap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\n[03:17.31] That's beef -, y'all ain't street -\n[03:20.95] Y'all peep -, write it down and try to be -\n[03:24.78] F- everything, neck heavy swing\n[03:27.43] Second-hand swept across that pretty Breitling\n[03:30.26] In that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\n[03:32.85] Whatever bring 'fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\n[03:36.89] Drug dealer, been that - half my life\n[03:39.62] Drug, drug dealer, been that -half my life\n[03:42.96] You - talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\n[03:45.67] Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n[03:49.55] In this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\n[03:53.46] - get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\n[03:56.40] You know my origins is over when\n[03:59.07] Fat black - singing over organs\n[04:01.83] Die for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\n[04:04.80] You save that for the one you buying red bottoms\n[04:09.27] Yuugh! That's the price you gotta pay for it\n[04:11.65] All's fair in love and war, she masquerades for it\n[04:14.72] Woo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\n[04:17.60] Trick or treat, - your -, I earned it off the books\n[04:20.65] Now listen to me vent\n[04:22.31] When you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\n[04:25.47] Shots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\n[04:28.61] Knight in shining armor\n[04:30.06] Mistake me for the villain 'cause my vengeance is your karma\n[04:33.68] Yeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\n[04:36.39] This music to my soul, 'cause it's death before dishonor\n[04:39.57] Gone (gone, gone)\n[04:47.40] Check!\n[04:48.84] Got the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\n[04:52.11] That used the church money to cop a new Beamer\n[04:55.01] Got the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\n[04:58.28] That bought his momma the rubbers when a John came through\n[05:01.50] It's the microphone methadone, greatest ever etched in stone\n[05:05.05] You ain't getting - like your prom date had a chaperone\n[05:08.15] Popping - got a - brain like a labyrinth\n[05:11.25] Called the - on purpose but I got the brain on accident\n[05:14.45] N- I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of -\n[05:17.68] Rolled a b- so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\n[05:20.93] My manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\n[05:24.22] The insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\n[05:27.43] I'm a wet dream, dry sense of humor\n[05:30.28] Travel in class like a high school rumor\n[05:33.23] No one really cares if you embarrass us with style\n[05:35.90] 'Cause when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\n[05:39.42] So tell em why you're mad son\n[05:41.63] Gotta get it off your chest, let 'em know how you feel son\n[05:46.98] You gotta say what you say\n[05:48.77] It don't matter, they gonna say a - hating anyway (anyway, anyway)\n[06:18.25] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Tick, Tock\n  artist: Pusha T\n  album: The Man with the Iron Fists (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)\n  duration_ms: 378000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: King Push\n  start_ms: 8320\n  end_ms: 15530\n- text: Razor\n  start_ms: 15530\n  end_ms: 19540\n- text: Razor\n  start_ms: 19540\n  end_ms: 25140\n- text: Execution\n  start_ms: 25140\n  end_ms: 26810\n- text: The devil is a lie\n  start_ms: 26810\n  end_ms: 28560\n- text: You ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\n  start_ms: 28560\n  end_ms: 31680\n- text: They say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\n  start_ms: 31680\n  end_ms: 34770\n- text: What better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\n  start_ms: 34770\n  end_ms: 38090\n- text: Them wings don't fly, your traitor is your neighbor\n  start_ms: 38090\n  end_ms: 41370\n- text: At your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\n  start_ms: 41370\n  end_ms: 44450\n- text: Bathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\n  start_ms: 44450\n  end_ms: 47180\n- text: And he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\n  start_ms: 47180\n  end_ms: 50440\n- text: It's the mark of the beast\n  start_ms: 50440\n  end_ms: 52120\n- text: The meek shall inherit the Earth, the weak shall inherit the dirt\n  start_ms: 52120\n  end_ms: 56820\n- text: You each should have perished at birth, stillborn or aborted\n  start_ms: 56820\n  end_ms: 61080\n- text: Every street tax gotta come with an audit\n  start_ms: 61080\n  end_ms: 64270\n- text: Either your life, or your loved ones, straight razor or a snub-gun\n  start_ms: 64270\n  end_ms: 69250\n- text: From the village where the thugs from\n  start_ms: 69250\n  end_ms: 71560\n- text: Same corner that you copping all your drugs from\n  start_ms: 71560\n  end_ms: 74950\n- text: He a hero, but he unsung, I'm the one (I'm the one)\n  start_ms: 74950\n  end_ms: 83040\n- text: Chill out Raekwon (yeah, I'm the one), chill out\n  start_ms: 83040\n  end_ms: 86300\n- text: Yeah\n  start_ms: 86300\n  end_ms: 86660\n- text: Ayo homie, the chambers is 36, they new and improved\n  start_ms: 86660\n  end_ms: 92710\n- text: Now make a move, these guns whistle, sizzle up dudes\n  start_ms: 92710\n  end_ms: 96070\n- text: Who got big mouths, no power\n  start_ms: 96070\n  end_ms: 98930\n- text: Run in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\n  start_ms: 98930\n  end_ms: 102780\n- text: We better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\n  start_ms: 102780\n  end_ms: 105910\n- text: And all the money we got, we move like the Mexicans\n  start_ms: 105910\n  end_ms: 108940\n- text: A cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\n  start_ms: 108940\n  end_ms: 113420\n- text: I f- with golf now, Shallah is ill\n  start_ms: 113420\n  end_ms: 115510\n- text: Yeah, the - is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\n  start_ms: 115510\n  end_ms: 118560\n- text: Or chilling on a beach in Boca Chica\n  start_ms: 118560\n  end_ms: 120660\n- text: With tuna salads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\n  start_ms: 120660\n  end_ms: 125050\n- text: Passing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n  start_ms: 125050\n  end_ms: 128910\n- text: 1984, the blow was just more\n  start_ms: 128910\n  end_ms: 130870\n- text: Then we would come trough with rifles rockin Nike boots and war\n  start_ms: 130870\n  end_ms: 134220\n- text: A real - invention that came from a henchman\n  start_ms: 134220\n  end_ms: 137500\n- text: Who blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\n  start_ms: 137500\n  end_ms: 141030\n- text: Drug dealer, been that - half my life\n  start_ms: 141030\n  end_ms: 143820\n- text: Drug, drug dealer, been that - half my life\n  start_ms: 143820\n  end_ms: 147180\n- text: You - talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\n  start_ms: 147180\n  end_ms: 150190\n- text: Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n  start_ms: 150190\n  end_ms: 153600\n- text: God, I was Lucifer's neighbor\n  start_ms: 153600\n  end_ms: 155310\n- text: You wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\n  start_ms: 155310\n  end_ms: 158520\n- text: Moving with lasers under Rugers\n  start_ms: 158520\n  end_ms: 160230\n- text: Make a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\n  start_ms: 160230\n  end_ms: 163410\n- text: Sweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\n  start_ms: 163410\n  end_ms: 165990\n- text: The chemists cookwork, the runners, footwork\n  start_ms: 165990\n  end_ms: 169060\n- text: The custies took work, the soldiers put work in\n  start_ms: 169060\n  end_ms: 171960\n- text: On any of the motherf- who f- up good work\n  start_ms: 171960\n  end_ms: 175140\n- text: Bosses tell 'em 'Good work,' that's just how the hood work\n  start_ms: 175140\n  end_ms: 179310\n- text: Northface bubble with eight bundles under it\n  start_ms: 179310\n  end_ms: 181970\n- text: Gold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\n  start_ms: 181970\n  end_ms: 184710\n- text: I lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm f- with\n  start_ms: 184710\n  end_ms: 188020\n- text: My moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\n  start_ms: 188020\n  end_ms: 191740\n- text: Champ hoodie, Mongoose with the pegs\n  start_ms: 191740\n  end_ms: 194540\n- text: Clap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\n  start_ms: 194540\n  end_ms: 197310\n- text: That's beef -, y'all ain't street -\n  start_ms: 197310\n  end_ms: 200950\n- text: Y'all peep -, write it down and try to be -\n  start_ms: 200950\n  end_ms: 204780\n- text: F- everything, neck heavy swing\n  start_ms: 204780\n  end_ms: 207430\n- text: Second-hand swept across that pretty Breitling\n  start_ms: 207430\n  end_ms: 210260\n- text: In that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\n  start_ms: 210260\n  end_ms: 212850\n- text: Whatever bring 'fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\n  start_ms: 212850\n  end_ms: 216890\n- text: Drug dealer, been that - half my life\n  start_ms: 216890\n  end_ms: 219620\n- text: Drug, drug dealer, been that -half my life\n  start_ms: 219620\n  end_ms: 222960\n- text: You - talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\n  start_ms: 222960\n  end_ms: 225670\n- text: Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n  start_ms: 225670\n  end_ms: 229550\n- text: In this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\n  start_ms: 229550\n  end_ms: 233460\n- text: '- get the picture I ain''t got to paint the nostrils'\n  start_ms: 233460\n  end_ms: 236400\n- text: You know my origins is over when\n  start_ms: 236400\n  end_ms: 239070\n- text: Fat black - singing over organs\n  start_ms: 239070\n  end_ms: 241830\n- text: Die for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\n  start_ms: 241830\n  end_ms: 244800\n- text: You save that for the one you buying red bottoms\n  start_ms: 244800\n  end_ms: 249270\n- text: Yuugh! That's the price you gotta pay for it\n  start_ms: 249270\n  end_ms: 251650\n- text: All's fair in love and war, she masquerades for it\n  start_ms: 251650\n  end_ms: 254720\n- text: Woo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\n  start_ms: 254720\n  end_ms: 257600\n- text: Trick or treat, - your -, I earned it off the books\n  start_ms: 257600\n  end_ms: 260650\n- text: Now listen to me vent\n  start_ms: 260650\n  end_ms: 262310\n- text: When you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\n  start_ms: 262310\n  end_ms: 265470\n- text: Shots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\n  start_ms: 265470\n  end_ms: 268610\n- text: Knight in shining armor\n  start_ms: 268610\n  end_ms: 270060\n- text: Mistake me for the villain 'cause my vengeance is your karma\n  start_ms: 270060\n  end_ms: 273680\n- text: Yeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\n  start_ms: 273680\n  end_ms: 276390\n- text: This music to my soul, 'cause it's death before dishonor\n  start_ms: 276390\n  end_ms: 279570\n- text: Gone (gone, gone)\n  start_ms: 279570\n  end_ms: 287400\n- text: Check!\n  start_ms: 287400\n  end_ms: 288840\n- text: Got the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\n  start_ms: 288840\n  end_ms: 292110\n- text: That used the church money to cop a new Beamer\n  start_ms: 292110\n  end_ms: 295010\n- text: Got the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\n  start_ms: 295010\n  end_ms: 298280\n- text: That bought his momma the rubbers when a John came through\n  start_ms: 298280\n  end_ms: 301500\n- text: It's the microphone methadone, greatest ever etched in stone\n  start_ms: 301500\n  end_ms: 305050\n- text: You ain't getting - like your prom date had a chaperone\n  start_ms: 305050\n  end_ms: 308150\n- text: Popping - got a - brain like a labyrinth\n  start_ms: 308150\n  end_ms: 311250\n- text: Called the - on purpose but I got the brain on accident\n  start_ms: 311250\n  end_ms: 314450\n- text: N- I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of -\n  start_ms: 314450\n  end_ms: 317680\n- text: Rolled a b- so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\n  start_ms: 317680\n  end_ms: 320930\n- text: My manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\n  start_ms: 320930\n  end_ms: 324220\n- text: The insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\n  start_ms: 324220\n  end_ms: 327430\n- text: I'm a wet dream, dry sense of humor\n  start_ms: 327430\n  end_ms: 330280\n- text: Travel in class like a high school rumor\n  start_ms: 330280\n  end_ms: 333230\n- text: No one really cares if you embarrass us with style\n  start_ms: 333230\n  end_ms: 335900\n- text: '''Cause when it comes to them raps you been letting us down'\n  start_ms: 335900\n  end_ms: 339420\n- text: So tell em why you're mad son\n  start_ms: 339420\n  end_ms: 341630\n- text: Gotta get it off your chest, let 'em know how you feel son\n  start_ms: 341630\n  end_ms: 346980\n- text: You gotta say what you say\n  start_ms: 346980\n  end_ms: 348770\n- text: It don't matter, they gonna say a - hating anyway (anyway, anyway)\n  start_ms: 348770\n  end_ms: 378250\nplain: |-\n  King Push\n  Razor\n  Razor\n  Execution\n\n  The devil is a lie\n  You ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\n  They say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\n  What better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\n  Them wings don't fly, your traitor is your neighbor\n  At your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\n  Bathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\n  And he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\n  It's the mark of the beast\n\n  The meek shall inherit the Earth, the weak shall inherit the dirt\n  You each should have perished at birth, stillborn or aborted\n  Every street tax gotta come with an audit\n  Either your life, or your loved ones, straight razor or a snub-gun\n  From the village where the thugs from\n  Same corner that you copping all your drugs from\n  He a hero, but he unsung, I'm the one (I'm the one)\n  Chill out Raekwon (yeah, I'm the one), chill out\n  Yeah\n\n  Ayo homie, the chambers is 36, they new and improved\n  Now make a move, these guns whistle, sizzle up dudes\n  Who got big mouths, no power\n  Run in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\n  We better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\n  And all the money we got, we move like the Mexicans\n  A cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\n  I f- with golf now, Shallah is ill\n\n  Yeah, the - is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\n  Or chilling on a beach in Boca Chica\n  With tuna salads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\n  Passing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n  1984, the blow was just more\n  Then we would come trough with rifles rockin Nike boots and war\n  A real - invention that came from a henchman\n  Who blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\n\n  Drug dealer, been that - half my life\n  Drug, drug dealer, been that - half my life\n  You - talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\n  Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n\n  God, I was Lucifer's neighbor\n  You wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\n  Moving with lasers under Rugers\n  Make a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\n  Sweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\n  The chemists cookwork, the runners, footwork\n  The custies took work, the soldiers put work in\n\n  On any of the motherf- who f- up good work\n  Bosses tell 'em 'Good work,' that's just how the hood work\n  Northface bubble with eight bundles under it\n  Gold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\n  I lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm f- with\n  My moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\n  Champ hoodie, Mongoose with the pegs\n\n  Clap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\n  That's beef -, y'all ain't street -\n  Y'all peep -, write it down and try to be -\n  F- everything, neck heavy swing\n  Second-hand swept across that pretty Breitling\n  In that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\n  Whatever bring 'fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\n\n  Drug dealer, been that - half my life\n  Drug, drug dealer, been that -half my life\n  You - talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\n  Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n\n  In this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\n  - Get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\n  You know my origins is over when\n  Fat black - singing over organs\n  Die for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\n  You save that for the one you buying red bottoms\n  Yuugh! That's the price you gotta pay for it\n  All's fair in love and war, she masquerades for it\n  Woo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\n\n  Trick or treat, - your -, I earned it off the books\n  Now listen to me vent\n  When you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\n  Shots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\n  Knight in shining armor\n  Mistake me for the villain 'cause my vengeance is your karma\n  Yeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\n  This music to my soul, 'cause it's death before dishonor\n  Gone (gone, gone)\n\n  Check!\n  Got the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\n  That used the church money to cop a new Beamer\n  Got the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\n  That bought his momma the rubbers when a John came through\n  It's the microphone methadone, greatest ever etched in stone\n  You ain't getting - like your prom date had a chaperone\n  Popping - got a - brain like a labyrinth\n  Called the - on purpose but I got the brain on accident\n\n  N- I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of -\n  Rolled a b- so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\n  My manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\n  The insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\n  I'm a wet dream, dry sense of humor\n  Travel in class like a high school rumor\n  No one really cares if you embarrass us with style\n\n  'Cause when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\n  So tell em why you're mad son\n  Gotta get it off your chest, let 'em know how you feel son\n  You gotta say what you say\n  It don't matter, they gonna say a - hating anyway (anyway, anyway)\n"},{"id":9031129,"name":"Tick, Tock","trackName":"Tick, Tock","artistName":"Pusha T","albumName":"The Man With The Iron Fists","duration":376.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"King Push\nRazor\nRazor\nExecution\n\nThe devil is a lie\nYou ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\nThey say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\nWhat better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\nThem wings don't fly, your traitor is your neighbor\nAt your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\nBathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\nAnd he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\nIt's the mark of the beast\n\nThe meek shall inherit the Earth, the weak shall inherit the dirt\nYou each should have perished at birth, stillborn or aborted\nEvery street tax gotta come with an audit\nEither your life, or your loved ones, straight razor or a snub-gun\nFrom the village where the thugs from\nSame corner that you copping all your drugs from\nHe a hero, but he unsung, I'm the one (I'm the one)\nChill out Raekwon (yeah, I'm the one), chill out\nYeah\n\nAyo homie, the chambers is 36, they new and improved\nNow make a move, these guns whistle, sizzle up dudes\nWho got big mouths, no power\nRun in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\nWe better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\nAnd all the money we got, we move like the Mexicans\nA cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\nI f- with golf now, Shallah is ill\n\nYeah, the - is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\nOr chilling on a beach in Boca Chica\nWith tuna salads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\nPassing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n1984, the blow was just more\nThen we would come trough with rifles rockin Nike boots and war\nA real - invention that came from a henchman\nWho blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\n\nDrug dealer, been that - half my life\nDrug, drug dealer, been that - half my life\nYou - talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\nImagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n\nGod, I was Lucifer's neighbor\nYou wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\nMoving with lasers under Rugers\nMake a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\nSweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\nThe chemists cookwork, the runners, footwork\nThe custies took work, the soldiers put work in\n\nOn any of the motherf- who f- up good work\nBosses tell 'em 'Good work,' that's just how the hood work\nNorthface bubble with eight bundles under it\nGold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\nI lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm f- with\nMy moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\nChamp hoodie, Mongoose with the pegs\n\nClap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\nThat's beef -, y'all ain't street -\nY'all peep -, write it down and try to be -\nF- everything, neck heavy swing\nSecond-hand swept across that pretty Breitling\nIn that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\nWhatever bring 'fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\n\nDrug dealer, been that - half my life\nDrug, drug dealer, been that -half my life\nYou - talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\nImagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n\nIn this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\n- get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\nYou know my origins is over when\nFat black - singing over organs\nDie for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\nYou save that for the one you buying red bottoms\nYuugh! That's the price you gotta pay for it\nAll's fair in love and war, she masquerades for it\nWoo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\n\nTrick or treat, - your -, I earned it off the books\nNow listen to me vent\nWhen you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\nShots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\nKnight in shining armor\nMistake me for the villain 'cause my vengeance is your karma\nYeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\nThis music to my soul, 'cause it's death before dishonor\nGone (gone, gone)\n\nCheck!\nGot the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\nThat used the church money to cop a new Beamer\nGot the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\nThat bought his momma the rubbers when a John came through\nIt's the microphone methadone, greatest ever etched in stone\nYou ain't getting - like your prom date had a chaperone\nPopping - got a - brain like a labyrinth\nCalled the - on purpose but I got the brain on accident\n\nN- I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of -\nRolled a b- so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\nMy manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\nThe insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\nI'm a wet dream, dry sense of humor\nTravel in class like a high school rumor\nNo one really cares if you embarrass us with style\n\n'Cause when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\nSo tell em why you're mad son\nGotta get it off your chest, let 'em know how you feel son\nYou gotta say what you say\nIt don't matter, they gonna say a - hating anyway (anyway, anyway)","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Tick, Tock\n  artist: Pusha T\n  album: The Man With The Iron Fists\n  duration_ms: 376000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  King Push\n  Razor\n  Razor\n  Execution\n\n  The devil is a lie\n  You ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\n  They say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\n  What better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\n  Them wings don't fly, your traitor is your neighbor\n  At your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\n  Bathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\n  And he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\n  It's the mark of the beast\n\n  The meek shall inherit the Earth, the weak shall inherit the dirt\n  You each should have perished at birth, stillborn or aborted\n  Every street tax gotta come with an audit\n  Either your life, or your loved ones, straight razor or a snub-gun\n  From the village where the thugs from\n  Same corner that you copping all your drugs from\n  He a hero, but he unsung, I'm the one (I'm the one)\n  Chill out Raekwon (yeah, I'm the one), chill out\n  Yeah\n\n  Ayo homie, the chambers is 36, they new and improved\n  Now make a move, these guns whistle, sizzle up dudes\n  Who got big mouths, no power\n  Run in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\n  We better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\n  And all the money we got, we move like the Mexicans\n  A cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\n  I f- with golf now, Shallah is ill\n\n  Yeah, the - is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\n  Or chilling on a beach in Boca Chica\n  With tuna salads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\n  Passing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n  1984, the blow was just more\n  Then we would come trough with rifles rockin Nike boots and war\n  A real - invention that came from a henchman\n  Who blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\n\n  Drug dealer, been that - half my life\n  Drug, drug dealer, been that - half my life\n  You - talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\n  Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n\n  God, I was Lucifer's neighbor\n  You wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\n  Moving with lasers under Rugers\n  Make a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\n  Sweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\n  The chemists cookwork, the runners, footwork\n  The custies took work, the soldiers put work in\n\n  On any of the motherf- who f- up good work\n  Bosses tell 'em 'Good work,' that's just how the hood work\n  Northface bubble with eight bundles under it\n  Gold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\n  I lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm f- with\n  My moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\n  Champ hoodie, Mongoose with the pegs\n\n  Clap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\n  That's beef -, y'all ain't street -\n  Y'all peep -, write it down and try to be -\n  F- everything, neck heavy swing\n  Second-hand swept across that pretty Breitling\n  In that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\n  Whatever bring 'fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\n\n  Drug dealer, been that - half my life\n  Drug, drug dealer, been that -half my life\n  You - talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\n  Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n\n  In this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\n  - get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\n  You know my origins is over when\n  Fat black - singing over organs\n  Die for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\n  You save that for the one you buying red bottoms\n  Yuugh! That's the price you gotta pay for it\n  All's fair in love and war, she masquerades for it\n  Woo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\n\n  Trick or treat, - your -, I earned it off the books\n  Now listen to me vent\n  When you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\n  Shots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\n  Knight in shining armor\n  Mistake me for the villain 'cause my vengeance is your karma\n  Yeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\n  This music to my soul, 'cause it's death before dishonor\n  Gone (gone, gone)\n\n  Check!\n  Got the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\n  That used the church money to cop a new Beamer\n  Got the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\n  That bought his momma the rubbers when a John came through\n  It's the microphone methadone, greatest ever etched in stone\n  You ain't getting - like your prom date had a chaperone\n  Popping - got a - brain like a labyrinth\n  Called the - on purpose but I got the brain on accident\n\n  N- I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of -\n  Rolled a b- so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\n  My manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\n  The insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\n  I'm a wet dream, dry sense of humor\n  Travel in class like a high school rumor\n  No one really cares if you embarrass us with style\n\n  'Cause when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\n  So tell em why you're mad son\n  Gotta get it off your chest, let 'em know how you feel son\n  You gotta say what you say\n  It don't matter, they gonna say a - hating anyway (anyway, anyway)\n"},{"id":31840782,"name":"Tick, Tock","trackName":"Tick, Tock","artistName":"Pusha T","albumName":"The Man With the Iron Fists: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack","duration":290.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"King Push\nRazor\nRazor\nExecution\n\nThe devil is a lie\nYou ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\nThey say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\nWhat better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\nThem wings don't fly, your traitor is your neighbor\nAt your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\nBathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\nAnd he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\nIt's the mark of the beast\n\nThe meek shall inherit the Earth, the weak shall inherit the dirt\nYou each should have perished at birth, stillborn or aborted\nEvery street tax gotta come with an audit\nEither your life, or your loved ones, straight razor or a snub-gun\nFrom the village where the thugs from\nSame corner that you copping all your drugs from\nHe a hero, but he unsung, I'm the one (I'm the one)\nChill out Raekwon (yeah, I'm the one), chill out\nYeah\n\nAyo homie, the chambers is 36, they new and improved\nNow make a move, these guns whistle, sizzle up dudes\nWho got big mouths, no power\nRun in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\nWe better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\nAnd all the money we got, we move like the Mexicans\nA cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\nI f- with golf now, Shallah is ill\n\nYeah, the - is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\nOr chilling on a beach in Boca Chica\nWith tuna salads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\nPassing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n1984, the blow was just more\nThen we would come trough with rifles rockin Nike boots and war\nA real - invention that came from a henchman\nWho blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\n\nDrug dealer, been that - half my life\nDrug, drug dealer, been that - half my life\nYou - talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\nImagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n\nGod, I was Lucifer's neighbor\nYou wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\nMoving with lasers under Rugers\nMake a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\nSweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\nThe chemists cookwork, the runners, footwork\nThe custies took work, the soldiers put work in\n\nOn any of the motherf- who f- up good work\nBosses tell 'em 'Good work,' that's just how the hood work\nNorthface bubble with eight bundles under it\nGold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\nI lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm f- with\nMy moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\nChamp hoodie, Mongoose with the pegs\n\nClap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\nThat's beef -, y'all ain't street -\nY'all peep -, write it down and try to be -\nF- everything, neck heavy swing\nSecond-hand swept across that pretty Breitling\nIn that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\nWhatever bring 'fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\n\nDrug dealer, been that - half my life\nDrug, drug dealer, been that -half my life\nYou - talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\nImagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n\nIn this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\n- Get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\nYou know my origins is over when\nFat black - singing over organs\nDie for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\nYou save that for the one you buying red bottoms\nYuugh! That's the price you gotta pay for it\nAll's fair in love and war, she masquerades for it\nWoo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\n\nTrick or treat, - your -, I earned it off the books\nNow listen to me vent\nWhen you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\nShots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\nKnight in shining armor\nMistake me for the villain 'cause my vengeance is your karma\nYeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\nThis music to my soul, 'cause it's death before dishonor\nGone (gone, gone)\n\nCheck!\nGot the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\nThat used the church money to cop a new Beamer\nGot the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\nThat bought his momma the rubbers when a John came through\nIt's the microphone methadone, greatest ever etched in stone\nYou ain't getting - like your prom date had a chaperone\nPopping - got a - brain like a labyrinth\nCalled the - on purpose but I got the brain on accident\n\nN- I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of -\nRolled a b- so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\nMy manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\nThe insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\nI'm a wet dream, dry sense of humor\nTravel in class like a high school rumor\nNo one really cares if you embarrass us with style\n\n'Cause when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\nSo tell em why you're mad son\nGotta get it off your chest, let 'em know how you feel son\nYou gotta say what you say\nIt don't matter, they gonna say a - hating anyway (anyway, anyway)","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Tick, Tock\n  artist: Pusha T\n  album: 'The Man With the Iron Fists: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack'\n  duration_ms: 290000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  King Push\n  Razor\n  Razor\n  Execution\n\n  The devil is a lie\n  You ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\n  They say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\n  What better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\n  Them wings don't fly, your traitor is your neighbor\n  At your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\n  Bathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\n  And he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\n  It's the mark of the beast\n\n  The meek shall inherit the Earth, the weak shall inherit the dirt\n  You each should have perished at birth, stillborn or aborted\n  Every street tax gotta come with an audit\n  Either your life, or your loved ones, straight razor or a snub-gun\n  From the village where the thugs from\n  Same corner that you copping all your drugs from\n  He a hero, but he unsung, I'm the one (I'm the one)\n  Chill out Raekwon (yeah, I'm the one), chill out\n  Yeah\n\n  Ayo homie, the chambers is 36, they new and improved\n  Now make a move, these guns whistle, sizzle up dudes\n  Who got big mouths, no power\n  Run in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\n  We better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\n  And all the money we got, we move like the Mexicans\n  A cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\n  I f- with golf now, Shallah is ill\n\n  Yeah, the - is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\n  Or chilling on a beach in Boca Chica\n  With tuna salads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\n  Passing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n  1984, the blow was just more\n  Then we would come trough with rifles rockin Nike boots and war\n  A real - invention that came from a henchman\n  Who blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\n\n  Drug dealer, been that - half my life\n  Drug, drug dealer, been that - half my life\n  You - talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\n  Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n\n  God, I was Lucifer's neighbor\n  You wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\n  Moving with lasers under Rugers\n  Make a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\n  Sweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\n  The chemists cookwork, the runners, footwork\n  The custies took work, the soldiers put work in\n\n  On any of the motherf- who f- up good work\n  Bosses tell 'em 'Good work,' that's just how the hood work\n  Northface bubble with eight bundles under it\n  Gold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\n  I lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm f- with\n  My moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\n  Champ hoodie, Mongoose with the pegs\n\n  Clap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\n  That's beef -, y'all ain't street -\n  Y'all peep -, write it down and try to be -\n  F- everything, neck heavy swing\n  Second-hand swept across that pretty Breitling\n  In that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\n  Whatever bring 'fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\n\n  Drug dealer, been that - half my life\n  Drug, drug dealer, been that -half my life\n  You - talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\n  Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n\n  In this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\n  - Get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\n  You know my origins is over when\n  Fat black - singing over organs\n  Die for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\n  You save that for the one you buying red bottoms\n  Yuugh! That's the price you gotta pay for it\n  All's fair in love and war, she masquerades for it\n  Woo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\n\n  Trick or treat, - your -, I earned it off the books\n  Now listen to me vent\n  When you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\n  Shots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\n  Knight in shining armor\n  Mistake me for the villain 'cause my vengeance is your karma\n  Yeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\n  This music to my soul, 'cause it's death before dishonor\n  Gone (gone, gone)\n\n  Check!\n  Got the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\n  That used the church money to cop a new Beamer\n  Got the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\n  That bought his momma the rubbers when a John came through\n  It's the microphone methadone, greatest ever etched in stone\n  You ain't getting - like your prom date had a chaperone\n  Popping - got a - brain like a labyrinth\n  Called the - on purpose but I got the brain on accident\n\n  N- I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of -\n  Rolled a b- so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\n  My manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\n  The insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\n  I'm a wet dream, dry sense of humor\n  Travel in class like a high school rumor\n  No one really cares if you embarrass us with style\n\n  'Cause when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\n  So tell em why you're mad son\n  Gotta get it off your chest, let 'em know how you feel son\n  You gotta say what you say\n  It don't matter, they gonna say a - hating anyway (anyway, anyway)\n"},{"id":18176913,"name":"Tick, Tock","trackName":"Tick, Tock","artistName":"T. Pusha","albumName":"The Man with the Iron Fists (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)","duration":378.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"RZA\nRazor\nExecution\nThe devil is a lie\nYou ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\nThey say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\nWhat better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\nThem wings don't fly\nYour traitor is your neighbor\nAt your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\nBathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\nAnd he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\nIt's the mark of the beast\nThe meek shall inherit the Earth\nThe weak shall inherit the dirt\nYou each should have perished at birth\nStill born or aborted\nEvery street tax gotta come with an audit\nEither your life, or your loved ones\nStraight razor or a snub-gun\nFrom the village where the thugs from\nSame corner that you copping all your drugs from\nHe a hero, but he unsung\nI'm the one\nI'm the one\nAyo homie, the chambers is 36, they new and improved\nNow make a move\nThese guns whistle, sizzle up dudes who got big mouths, no power\nRun in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\nWe better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\nAnd all the money we got, remove like the Mexicans\nA cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\nI fuck with golf now, Shala is ill\nYeah, the coke is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\nOr chilling on a beach in Boca, cheefin' with tuna\nSalads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\nPassing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n1984, the (?) was just more\nThen we would come trough with rifles rocking Nike boots and war\nA real nigga's invention that came from a henchman\nWho blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\nDrug dealer, been that nigga half my life\nDrug dealer, been that nigga half my life\nYou niggas talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\nImagine being first name basis with the kingpin\nGod, I was Lucifer's neighbor\nYou wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\nMoving with the lasers under Rugers\nMake a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\nSweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\nThe chemists cookwork\nThe runners; footwork\nThe customs took work\nThe soldiers put work in\nOn any of the motherfuckers who fucked up good work\nBosses tell 'em: 'Good work'\nThat's just how the hood work\nNorthface bubble with, eight bundles under it\nGold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\nI lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm fucking with\nMy moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\nChamp hoodie, Mongoose with the bags\nClap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\nThat's beef, y'all ain't street\nY'all peep, write it down and try to beat\nFucking everything, neck heavy swing\nSecond hand swepped across that pretty breathling\nAnd then that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing pendling\nWhatever bring fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\nDrug dealer, been that nigga half my life\nDrug dealer, been that nigga half my life\nYou niggas talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\nImagine being first name basis with the kingpin\nIn this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\nTo get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\nYou know my origins is over when\nFat black bitch singing over organs\nDie for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\nYou say that for the one you buying red bottoms\nYeah, that's the price you gotta pay for it\nAll's fair in love and war, she masquerade for it\nWoo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\nTrick or treat (?), I earned it of the books\nNow listen to me vent\nWhen you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\nShots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\nKnight in shining armor\nMistake me for the villain cause of my vengeance is your karma\nYeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\nThis is music to my soul, cause it's death before dishonor\nGone\nCheck!\nGot the Tongue of a Pimp\nRaised by a dirty preacher\nThat used the church money to cop a new Beamer\nGot the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\nThat bought his momma the rubbers when a job came through\nIt’s the microphone Methadone\nGreatest ever etched in stone\nYou ain’t getting pussy like your prom date had a chaperone\nPopping pills got a nigga brain like a labyrinth\nCalled the ho on purpose\nBut I got the brain on accident\nNigga I’m your majesty\nShow up with a bag of weed\nRolled a blunt so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\nMy manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\nThe insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\nI’m a wet dream, Dry sense of humor\nTravel in Class like a high school rumor\nNo one really cares if you embarrass us with style\nCuzz when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\nSo tell em why your mad son\nGotta get it off your chest\nLet em know how you feel son\nYou gotta say what you say\nIt don’t matter, they gonna say a nigga hating anyway","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Tick, Tock\n  artist: T. Pusha\n  album: The Man with the Iron Fists (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)\n  duration_ms: 378000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  RZA\n  Razor\n  Execution\n  The devil is a lie\n  You ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\n  They say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\n  What better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\n  Them wings don't fly\n  Your traitor is your neighbor\n  At your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\n  Bathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\n  And he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\n  It's the mark of the beast\n  The meek shall inherit the Earth\n  The weak shall inherit the dirt\n  You each should have perished at birth\n  Still born or aborted\n  Every street tax gotta come with an audit\n  Either your life, or your loved ones\n  Straight razor or a snub-gun\n  From the village where the thugs from\n  Same corner that you copping all your drugs from\n  He a hero, but he unsung\n  I'm the one\n  I'm the one\n  Ayo homie, the chambers is 36, they new and improved\n  Now make a move\n  These guns whistle, sizzle up dudes who got big mouths, no power\n  Run in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\n  We better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\n  And all the money we got, remove like the Mexicans\n  A cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\n  I fuck with golf now, Shala is ill\n  Yeah, the coke is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\n  Or chilling on a beach in Boca, cheefin' with tuna\n  Salads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\n  Passing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n  1984, the (?) was just more\n  Then we would come trough with rifles rocking Nike boots and war\n  A real nigga's invention that came from a henchman\n  Who blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\n  Drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\n  Drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\n  You niggas talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\n  Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n  God, I was Lucifer's neighbor\n  You wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\n  Moving with the lasers under Rugers\n  Make a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\n  Sweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\n  The chemists cookwork\n  The runners; footwork\n  The customs took work\n  The soldiers put work in\n  On any of the motherfuckers who fucked up good work\n  Bosses tell 'em: 'Good work'\n  That's just how the hood work\n  Northface bubble with, eight bundles under it\n  Gold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\n  I lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm fucking with\n  My moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\n  Champ hoodie, Mongoose with the bags\n  Clap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\n  That's beef, y'all ain't street\n  Y'all peep, write it down and try to beat\n  Fucking everything, neck heavy swing\n  Second hand swepped across that pretty breathling\n  And then that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing pendling\n  Whatever bring fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\n  Drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\n  Drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\n  You niggas talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\n  Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n  In this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\n  To get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\n  You know my origins is over when\n  Fat black bitch singing over organs\n  Die for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\n  You say that for the one you buying red bottoms\n  Yeah, that's the price you gotta pay for it\n  All's fair in love and war, she masquerade for it\n  Woo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\n  Trick or treat (?), I earned it of the books\n  Now listen to me vent\n  When you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\n  Shots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\n  Knight in shining armor\n  Mistake me for the villain cause of my vengeance is your karma\n  Yeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\n  This is music to my soul, cause it's death before dishonor\n  Gone\n  Check!\n  Got the Tongue of a Pimp\n  Raised by a dirty preacher\n  That used the church money to cop a new Beamer\n  Got the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\n  That bought his momma the rubbers when a job came through\n  It’s the microphone Methadone\n  Greatest ever etched in stone\n  You ain’t getting pussy like your prom date had a chaperone\n  Popping pills got a nigga brain like a labyrinth\n  Called the ho on purpose\n  But I got the brain on accident\n  Nigga I’m your majesty\n  Show up with a bag of weed\n  Rolled a blunt so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\n  My manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\n  The insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\n  I’m a wet dream, Dry sense of humor\n  Travel in Class like a high school rumor\n  No one really cares if you embarrass us with style\n  Cuzz when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\n  So tell em why your mad son\n  Gotta get it off your chest\n  Let em know how you feel son\n  You gotta say what you say\n  It don’t matter, they gonna say a nigga hating anyway\n"},{"id":25978913,"name":"Tick, Tock","trackName":"Tick, Tock","artistName":"Pusha T","albumName":"The Man With The Iron Fists","duration":378.122449,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"King Push\nRazor\nRazor\nExecution\n\nThe devil is a lie\nYou ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\nThey say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\nWhat better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\nThem wings don't fly, your traitor is your neighbor\nAt your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\nBathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\nAnd he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\nIt's the mark of the beast\n\nThe meek shall inherit the Earth, the weak shall inherit the dirt\nYou each should have perished at birth, stillborn or aborted\nEvery street tax gotta come with an audit\nEither your life, or your loved ones, straight razor or a snub-gun\nFrom the village where the thugs from\nSame corner that you copping all your drugs from\nHe a hero, but he unsung, I'm the one (I'm the one)\nChill out Raekwon (yeah, I'm the one), chill out\nYeah\n\nAyo homie, the chambers is 36, they new and improved\nNow make a move, these guns whistle, sizzle up dudes\nWho got big mouths, no power\nRun in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\nWe better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\nAnd all the money we got, we move like the Mexicans\nA cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\nI f- with golf now, Shallah is ill\n\nYeah, the - is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\nOr chilling on a beach in Boca Chica\nWith tuna salads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\nPassing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n1984, the blow was just more\nThen we would come trough with rifles rockin Nike boots and war\nA real - invention that came from a henchman\nWho blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\n\nDrug dealer, been that - half my life\nDrug, drug dealer, been that - half my life\nYou - talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\nImagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n\nGod, I was Lucifer's neighbor\nYou wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\nMoving with lasers under Rugers\nMake a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\nSweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\nThe chemists cookwork, the runners, footwork\nThe custies took work, the soldiers put work in\n\nOn any of the motherf- who f- up good work\nBosses tell 'em 'Good work,' that's just how the hood work\nNorthface bubble with eight bundles under it\nGold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\nI lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm f- with\nMy moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\nChamp hoodie, Mongoose with the pegs\n\nClap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\nThat's beef -, y'all ain't street -\nY'all peep -, write it down and try to be -\nF- everything, neck heavy swing\nSecond-hand swept across that pretty Breitling\nIn that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\nWhatever bring 'fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\n\nDrug dealer, been that - half my life\nDrug, drug dealer, been that -half my life\nYou - talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\nImagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n\nIn this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\n- Get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\nYou know my origins is over when\nFat black - singing over organs\nDie for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\nYou save that for the one you buying red bottoms\nYuugh! That's the price you gotta pay for it\nAll's fair in love and war, she masquerades for it\nWoo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\n\nTrick or treat, - your -, I earned it off the books\nNow listen to me vent\nWhen you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\nShots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\nKnight in shining armor\nMistake me for the villain 'cause my vengeance is your karma\nYeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\nThis music to my soul, 'cause it's death before dishonor\nGone (gone, gone)\n\nCheck!\nGot the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\nThat used the church money to cop a new Beamer\nGot the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\nThat bought his momma the rubbers when a John came through\nIt's the microphone methadone, greatest ever etched in stone\nYou ain't getting - like your prom date had a chaperone\nPopping - got a - brain like a labyrinth\nCalled the - on purpose but I got the brain on accident\n\nN- I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of -\nRolled a b- so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\nMy manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\nThe insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\nI'm a wet dream, dry sense of humor\nTravel in class like a high school rumor\nNo one really cares if you embarrass us with style\n\n'Cause when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\nSo tell em why you're mad son\nGotta get it off your chest, let 'em know how you feel son\nYou gotta say what you say\nIt don't matter, they gonna say a - hating anyway (anyway, anyway)","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Tick, Tock\n  artist: Pusha T\n  album: The Man With The Iron Fists\n  duration_ms: 378122\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  King Push\n  Razor\n  Razor\n  Execution\n\n  The devil is a lie\n  You ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\n  They say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\n  What better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\n  Them wings don't fly, your traitor is your neighbor\n  At your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\n  Bathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\n  And he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\n  It's the mark of the beast\n\n  The meek shall inherit the Earth, the weak shall inherit the dirt\n  You each should have perished at birth, stillborn or aborted\n  Every street tax gotta come with an audit\n  Either your life, or your loved ones, straight razor or a snub-gun\n  From the village where the thugs from\n  Same corner that you copping all your drugs from\n  He a hero, but he unsung, I'm the one (I'm the one)\n  Chill out Raekwon (yeah, I'm the one), chill out\n  Yeah\n\n  Ayo homie, the chambers is 36, they new and improved\n  Now make a move, these guns whistle, sizzle up dudes\n  Who got big mouths, no power\n  Run in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\n  We better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\n  And all the money we got, we move like the Mexicans\n  A cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\n  I f- with golf now, Shallah is ill\n\n  Yeah, the - is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\n  Or chilling on a beach in Boca Chica\n  With tuna salads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\n  Passing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n  1984, the blow was just more\n  Then we would come trough with rifles rockin Nike boots and war\n  A real - invention that came from a henchman\n  Who blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\n\n  Drug dealer, been that - half my life\n  Drug, drug dealer, been that - half my life\n  You - talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\n  Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n\n  God, I was Lucifer's neighbor\n  You wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\n  Moving with lasers under Rugers\n  Make a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\n  Sweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\n  The chemists cookwork, the runners, footwork\n  The custies took work, the soldiers put work in\n\n  On any of the motherf- who f- up good work\n  Bosses tell 'em 'Good work,' that's just how the hood work\n  Northface bubble with eight bundles under it\n  Gold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\n  I lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm f- with\n  My moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\n  Champ hoodie, Mongoose with the pegs\n\n  Clap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\n  That's beef -, y'all ain't street -\n  Y'all peep -, write it down and try to be -\n  F- everything, neck heavy swing\n  Second-hand swept across that pretty Breitling\n  In that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\n  Whatever bring 'fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\n\n  Drug dealer, been that - half my life\n  Drug, drug dealer, been that -half my life\n  You - talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\n  Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n\n  In this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\n  - Get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\n  You know my origins is over when\n  Fat black - singing over organs\n  Die for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\n  You save that for the one you buying red bottoms\n  Yuugh! That's the price you gotta pay for it\n  All's fair in love and war, she masquerades for it\n  Woo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\n\n  Trick or treat, - your -, I earned it off the books\n  Now listen to me vent\n  When you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\n  Shots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\n  Knight in shining armor\n  Mistake me for the villain 'cause my vengeance is your karma\n  Yeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\n  This music to my soul, 'cause it's death before dishonor\n  Gone (gone, gone)\n\n  Check!\n  Got the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\n  That used the church money to cop a new Beamer\n  Got the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\n  That bought his momma the rubbers when a John came through\n  It's the microphone methadone, greatest ever etched in stone\n  You ain't getting - like your prom date had a chaperone\n  Popping - got a - brain like a labyrinth\n  Called the - on purpose but I got the brain on accident\n\n  N- I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of -\n  Rolled a b- so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\n  My manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\n  The insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\n  I'm a wet dream, dry sense of humor\n  Travel in class like a high school rumor\n  No one really cares if you embarrass us with style\n\n  'Cause when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\n  So tell em why you're mad son\n  Gotta get it off your chest, let 'em know how you feel son\n  You gotta say what you say\n  It don't matter, they gonna say a - hating anyway (anyway, anyway)\n"},{"id":38678691,"name":"Tick, Tock","trackName":"Tick, Tock","artistName":"Pusha T","albumName":"The Man with the Iron Fists: Soundtrack Instrumental","duration":290.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"King Push\nRazor\nRazor\nExecution\n\nThe devil is a lie\nYou ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\nThey say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\nWhat better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\nThem wings don't fly, your traitor is your neighbor\nAt your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\nBathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\nAnd he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\nIt's the mark of the beast\n\nThe meek shall inherit the Earth, the weak shall inherit the dirt\nYou each should have perished at birth, stillborn or aborted\nEvery street tax gotta come with an audit\nEither your life, or your loved ones, straight razor or a snub-gun\nFrom the village where the thugs from\nSame corner that you copping all your drugs from\nHe a hero, but he unsung, I'm the one (I'm the one)\nChill out Raekwon (yeah, I'm the one), chill out\nYeah\n\nAyo homie, the chambers is 36, they new and improved\nNow make a move, these guns whistle, sizzle up dudes\nWho got big mouths, no power\nRun in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\nWe better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\nAnd all the money we got, we move like the Mexicans\nA cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\nI f- with golf now, Shallah is ill\n\nYeah, the - is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\nOr chilling on a beach in Boca Chica\nWith tuna salads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\nPassing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n1984, the blow was just more\nThen we would come trough with rifles rockin Nike boots and war\nA real - invention that came from a henchman\nWho blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\n\nDrug dealer, been that - half my life\nDrug, drug dealer, been that - half my life\nYou - talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\nImagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n\nGod, I was Lucifer's neighbor\nYou wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\nMoving with lasers under Rugers\nMake a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\nSweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\nThe chemists cookwork, the runners, footwork\nThe custies took work, the soldiers put work in\n\nOn any of the motherf- who f- up good work\nBosses tell 'em 'Good work,' that's just how the hood work\nNorthface bubble with eight bundles under it\nGold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\nI lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm f- with\nMy moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\nChamp hoodie, Mongoose with the pegs\n\nClap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\nThat's beef -, y'all ain't street -\nY'all peep -, write it down and try to be -\nF- everything, neck heavy swing\nSecond-hand swept across that pretty Breitling\nIn that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\nWhatever bring 'fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\n\nDrug dealer, been that - half my life\nDrug, drug dealer, been that -half my life\nYou - talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\nImagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n\nIn this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\n- Get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\nYou know my origins is over when\nFat black - singing over organs\nDie for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\nYou save that for the one you buying red bottoms\nYuugh! That's the price you gotta pay for it\nAll's fair in love and war, she masquerades for it\nWoo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\n\nTrick or treat, - your -, I earned it off the books\nNow listen to me vent\nWhen you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\nShots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\nKnight in shining armor\nMistake me for the villain 'cause my vengeance is your karma\nYeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\nThis music to my soul, 'cause it's death before dishonor\nGone (gone, gone)\n\nCheck!\nGot the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\nThat used the church money to cop a new Beamer\nGot the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\nThat bought his momma the rubbers when a John came through\nIt's the microphone methadone, greatest ever etched in stone\nYou ain't getting - like your prom date had a chaperone\nPopping - got a - brain like a labyrinth\nCalled the - on purpose but I got the brain on accident\n\nN- I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of -\nRolled a b- so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\nMy manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\nThe insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\nI'm a wet dream, dry sense of humor\nTravel in class like a high school rumor\nNo one really cares if you embarrass us with style\n\n'Cause when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\nSo tell em why you're mad son\nGotta get it off your chest, let 'em know how you feel son\nYou gotta say what you say\nIt don't matter, they gonna say a - hating anyway (anyway, anyway)","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Tick, Tock\n  artist: Pusha T\n  album: 'The Man with the Iron Fists: Soundtrack Instrumental'\n  duration_ms: 290000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  King Push\n  Razor\n  Razor\n  Execution\n\n  The devil is a lie\n  You ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\n  They say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\n  What better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\n  Them wings don't fly, your traitor is your neighbor\n  At your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\n  Bathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\n  And he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\n  It's the mark of the beast\n\n  The meek shall inherit the Earth, the weak shall inherit the dirt\n  You each should have perished at birth, stillborn or aborted\n  Every street tax gotta come with an audit\n  Either your life, or your loved ones, straight razor or a snub-gun\n  From the village where the thugs from\n  Same corner that you copping all your drugs from\n  He a hero, but he unsung, I'm the one (I'm the one)\n  Chill out Raekwon (yeah, I'm the one), chill out\n  Yeah\n\n  Ayo homie, the chambers is 36, they new and improved\n  Now make a move, these guns whistle, sizzle up dudes\n  Who got big mouths, no power\n  Run in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\n  We better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\n  And all the money we got, we move like the Mexicans\n  A cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\n  I f- with golf now, Shallah is ill\n\n  Yeah, the - is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\n  Or chilling on a beach in Boca Chica\n  With tuna salads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\n  Passing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n  1984, the blow was just more\n  Then we would come trough with rifles rockin Nike boots and war\n  A real - invention that came from a henchman\n  Who blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\n\n  Drug dealer, been that - half my life\n  Drug, drug dealer, been that - half my life\n  You - talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\n  Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n\n  God, I was Lucifer's neighbor\n  You wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\n  Moving with lasers under Rugers\n  Make a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\n  Sweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\n  The chemists cookwork, the runners, footwork\n  The custies took work, the soldiers put work in\n\n  On any of the motherf- who f- up good work\n  Bosses tell 'em 'Good work,' that's just how the hood work\n  Northface bubble with eight bundles under it\n  Gold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\n  I lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm f- with\n  My moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\n  Champ hoodie, Mongoose with the pegs\n\n  Clap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\n  That's beef -, y'all ain't street -\n  Y'all peep -, write it down and try to be -\n  F- everything, neck heavy swing\n  Second-hand swept across that pretty Breitling\n  In that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\n  Whatever bring 'fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\n\n  Drug dealer, been that - half my life\n  Drug, drug dealer, been that -half my life\n  You - talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\n  Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n\n  In this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\n  - Get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\n  You know my origins is over when\n  Fat black - singing over organs\n  Die for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\n  You save that for the one you buying red bottoms\n  Yuugh! That's the price you gotta pay for it\n  All's fair in love and war, she masquerades for it\n  Woo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\n\n  Trick or treat, - your -, I earned it off the books\n  Now listen to me vent\n  When you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\n  Shots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\n  Knight in shining armor\n  Mistake me for the villain 'cause my vengeance is your karma\n  Yeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\n  This music to my soul, 'cause it's death before dishonor\n  Gone (gone, gone)\n\n  Check!\n  Got the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\n  That used the church money to cop a new Beamer\n  Got the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\n  That bought his momma the rubbers when a John came through\n  It's the microphone methadone, greatest ever etched in stone\n  You ain't getting - like your prom date had a chaperone\n  Popping - got a - brain like a labyrinth\n  Called the - on purpose but I got the brain on accident\n\n  N- I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of -\n  Rolled a b- so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\n  My manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\n  The insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\n  I'm a wet dream, dry sense of humor\n  Travel in class like a high school rumor\n  No one really cares if you embarrass us with style\n\n  'Cause when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\n  So tell em why you're mad son\n  Gotta get it off your chest, let 'em know how you feel son\n  You gotta say what you say\n  It don't matter, they gonna say a - hating anyway (anyway, anyway)\n"},{"id":39219128,"name":"Tick Tock","trackName":"Tick Tock","artistName":"Pusha T & Raekwon","albumName":"The Man With The Iron Fists","duration":378.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"The devil is a lie\nYou ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\nThey say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\nWhat better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\nThem wings don't fly\nYour traitor is your neighbor\nAt your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\nBathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\nAnd he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\nIt's the mark of the beast\nThe meek shall inherit the Earth\nThe weak shall inherit the dirt\nYou each should have perished at birth\nStill born or aborted\nEvery street tax gotta come with an audit\nEither your life, or your loved ones\nStraight razor or a snub-gun\nFrom the village where the thugs from\nSame corner that you copping all your drugs from\nHe a hero, but he unsung\nI'm the one\n\nI'm the one\nAyo homie, the chambers is 36, they new and improved\nNow make a move\nThese guns whistle, sizzle up dudes who got big mouths, no power\nRun in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\nWe better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\nAnd all the money we got, we move like the Mexicans\nA cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\nI fuck with golf now, Shala is ill\nYeah, the coke is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\nOr chilling on a beach in Boca Chica with tuna\nSalads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\nPassing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n1984, the blow was just more\nThen we would come trough with rifles rocking Nike boots and war\nA real nigga's invention that came from a henchman\nWho blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\n\nDrug dealer, been that nigga half my life\nDrug dealer, been that nigga half my life\nYou niggas talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\nImagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n\nGod, I was Lucifer's neighbor\nYou wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\nMoving with the lasers under Rugers\nMake a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\nSweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\nThe chemists cookwork\nThe runners; footwork\nThe custies took work\nThe soldiers put work in\nOn any of the motherfuckers who fucked up good work\nBosses tell 'em: 'Good work'\nThat's just how the hood work\nNorthface bubble with, eight bundles under it\nGold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\nI lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm fucking with\nMy moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\nChamp hoodie, Mongoose with the pegs\nClap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\nThat's beef nigga, y'all ain't street niggas\nY'all peep niggas, write it down and try to be niggas\nFucking everything, neck heavy swing\nSecond hand swepped across that pretty Breitling\nIn that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\nWhatever bring 'fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\n\nIn this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\nNiggas get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\nYou know my origins is over when\nFat black bitch singing over organs\nDie for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\nYou save that for the one you buying red bottoms\nYuugh! That's the price you gotta pay for it\nAll's fair in love and war, she masquerade for it\nWoo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\nTrick or treat, fuck your shit, I earned it off the books\nNow listen to me vent\nWhen you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\nShots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\nKnight in shining armor\nMistake me for the villain cause my vengeance is your karma\nYeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\nThis music to my soul, cause it's death before dishonor\nGone\n\nCheck!\nGot the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\nThat used the church money to cop a new Beamer\nGot the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\nThat bought his momma the rubbers when a John came through\nIt's the microphone Methadone\nGreatest ever etched in stone\nYou ain't getting pussy like your prom date had a chaperone\nPopping pills got a nigga brain like a labyrinth\nCalled the ho on purpose but I got the brain on accident\nNigga I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of weed\nRolled a blunt so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\nMy manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\nThe insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\nI'm a wet dream's, Dry sense of humor\nTravel in class like a high school rumor\nNo one really cares if you embarrass us with style\nCuz when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\nSo tell em why your mad son\nGotta get it off your chest\nLet em know how you feel son\nYou gotta say what you say\nIt don't matter, they gonna say a nigga hating anyway","syncedLyrics":"[00:26.58] The devil is a lie\n[00:28.32] You ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\n[00:31.02] They say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\n[00:34.68] What better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\n[00:37.48] Them wings don't fly\n[00:39.20] Your traitor is your neighbor\n[00:41.00] At your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\n[00:43.76] Bathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\n[00:46.43] And he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\n[00:50.06] It's the mark of the beast\n[00:51.82] The meek shall inherit the Earth\n[00:53.65] The weak shall inherit the dirt\n[00:56.35] You each should have perished at birth\n[00:59.08] Still born or aborted\n[01:00.97] Every street tax gotta come with an audit\n[01:03.66] Either your life, or your loved ones\n[01:06.38] Straight razor or a snub-gun\n[01:09.06] From the village where the thugs from\n[01:11.72] Same corner that you copping all your drugs from\n[01:14.41] He a hero, but he unsung\n[01:17.15] I'm the one\n[01:24.54] I'm the one\n[01:28.18] Ayo homie, the chambers is 36, they new and improved\n[01:32.65] Now make a move\n[01:33.59] These guns whistle, sizzle up dudes who got big mouths, no power\n[01:38.12] Run in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\n[01:42.68] We better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\n[01:45.33] And all the money we got, we move like the Mexicans\n[01:48.98] A cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\n[01:53.45] I fuck with golf now, Shala is ill\n[01:55.23] Yeah, the coke is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\n[01:57.97] Or chilling on a beach in Boca Chica with tuna\n[02:01.67] Salads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\n[02:04.35] Passing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n[02:07.96] 1984, the blow was just more\n[02:10.66] Then we would come trough with rifles rocking Nike boots and war\n[02:14.25] A real nigga's invention that came from a henchman\n[02:16.96] Who blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\n[02:20.52] Drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\n[02:23.39] Drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\n[02:26.94] You niggas talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\n[02:30.55] Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n[02:34.14] God, I was Lucifer's neighbor\n[02:35.08] You wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\n[02:38.64] Moving with the lasers under Rugers\n[02:39.52] Make a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\n[02:43.14] Sweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\n[02:45.90] The chemists cookwork\n[02:46.78] The runners; footwork\n[02:48.67] The custies took work\n[02:50.42] The soldiers put work in\n[02:52.23] On any of the motherfuckers who fucked up good work\n[02:54.92] Bosses tell 'em: 'Good work'\n[02:56.71] That's just how the hood work\n[02:58.59] Northface bubble with, eight bundles under it\n[03:01.21] Gold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\n[03:04.83] I lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm fucking with\n[03:07.57] My moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\n[03:11.15] Champ hoodie, Mongoose with the pegs\n[03:13.92] Clap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\n[03:17.52] That's beef nigga, y'all ain't street niggas\n[03:21.18] Y'all peep niggas, write it down and try to be niggas\n[03:23.89] Fucking everything, neck heavy swing\n[03:27.40] Second hand swepped across that pretty Breitling\n[03:30.13] In that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\n[03:32.86] Whatever bring 'fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\n[03:50.06] In this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\n[03:52.79] Niggas get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\n[03:56.32] You know my origins is over when\n[03:59.08] Fat black bitch singing over organs\n[04:01.78] Die for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\n[04:04.56] You save that for the one you buying red bottoms\n[04:08.13] Yuugh! That's the price you gotta pay for it\n[04:10.83] All's fair in love and war, she masquerade for it\n[04:14.44] Woo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\n[04:17.18] Trick or treat, fuck your shit, I earned it off the books\n[04:19.85] Now listen to me vent\n[04:21.69] When you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\n[04:25.38] Shots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\n[04:28.03] Knight in shining armor\n[04:29.86] Mistake me for the villain cause my vengeance is your karma\n[04:33.40] Yeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\n[04:36.17] This music to my soul, cause it's death before dishonor\n[04:39.78] Gone\n[04:46.91] Check!\n[04:48.77] Got the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\n[04:52.40] That used the church money to cop a new Beamer\n[04:54.25] Got the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\n[04:57.84] That bought his momma the rubbers when a John came through\n[05:01.45] It's the microphone Methadone\n[05:03.27] Greatest ever etched in stone\n[05:04.17] You ain't getting pussy like your prom date had a chaperone\n[05:07.75] Popping pills got a nigga brain like a labyrinth\n[05:11.37] Called the ho on purpose but I got the brain on accident\n[05:14.17] Nigga I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of weed\n[05:17.79] Rolled a blunt so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\n[05:20.43] My manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\n[05:24.03] The insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\n[05:27.68] I'm a wet dream's, Dry sense of humor\n[05:30.36] Travel in class like a high school rumor\n[05:33.02] No one really cares if you embarrass us with style\n[05:35.77] Cuz when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\n[05:39.32] So tell em why your mad son\n[05:41.26] Gotta get it off your chest\n[05:43.90] Let em know how you feel son\n[05:46.67] You gotta say what you say\n[05:48.43] It don't matter, they gonna say a nigga hating anyway\n[06:15.86] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Tick Tock\n  artist: Pusha T & Raekwon\n  album: The Man With The Iron Fists\n  duration_ms: 378348\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: The devil is a lie\n  start_ms: 26580\n  end_ms: 28320\n- text: You ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\n  start_ms: 28320\n  end_ms: 31020\n- text: They say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\n  start_ms: 31020\n  end_ms: 34680\n- text: What better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\n  start_ms: 34680\n  end_ms: 37480\n- text: Them wings don't fly\n  start_ms: 37480\n  end_ms: 39200\n- text: Your traitor is your neighbor\n  start_ms: 39200\n  end_ms: 41000\n- text: At your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\n  start_ms: 41000\n  end_ms: 43760\n- text: Bathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\n  start_ms: 43760\n  end_ms: 46430\n- text: And he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\n  start_ms: 46430\n  end_ms: 50060\n- text: It's the mark of the beast\n  start_ms: 50060\n  end_ms: 51820\n- text: The meek shall inherit the Earth\n  start_ms: 51820\n  end_ms: 53650\n- text: The weak shall inherit the dirt\n  start_ms: 53650\n  end_ms: 56350\n- text: You each should have perished at birth\n  start_ms: 56350\n  end_ms: 59080\n- text: Still born or aborted\n  start_ms: 59080\n  end_ms: 60970\n- text: Every street tax gotta come with an audit\n  start_ms: 60970\n  end_ms: 63660\n- text: Either your life, or your loved ones\n  start_ms: 63660\n  end_ms: 66380\n- text: Straight razor or a snub-gun\n  start_ms: 66380\n  end_ms: 69060\n- text: From the village where the thugs from\n  start_ms: 69060\n  end_ms: 71720\n- text: Same corner that you copping all your drugs from\n  start_ms: 71720\n  end_ms: 74410\n- text: He a hero, but he unsung\n  start_ms: 74410\n  end_ms: 77150\n- text: I'm the one\n  start_ms: 77150\n  end_ms: 84540\n- text: I'm the one\n  start_ms: 84540\n  end_ms: 88180\n- text: Ayo homie, the chambers is 36, they new and improved\n  start_ms: 88180\n  end_ms: 92650\n- text: Now make a move\n  start_ms: 92650\n  end_ms: 93590\n- text: These guns whistle, sizzle up dudes who got big mouths, no power\n  start_ms: 93590\n  end_ms: 98120\n- text: Run in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\n  start_ms: 98120\n  end_ms: 102680\n- text: We better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\n  start_ms: 102680\n  end_ms: 105330\n- text: And all the money we got, we move like the Mexicans\n  start_ms: 105330\n  end_ms: 108980\n- text: A cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\n  start_ms: 108980\n  end_ms: 113450\n- text: I fuck with golf now, Shala is ill\n  start_ms: 113450\n  end_ms: 115230\n- text: Yeah, the coke is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\n  start_ms: 115230\n  end_ms: 117970\n- text: Or chilling on a beach in Boca Chica with tuna\n  start_ms: 117970\n  end_ms: 121670\n- text: Salads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\n  start_ms: 121670\n  end_ms: 124350\n- text: Passing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n  start_ms: 124350\n  end_ms: 127960\n- text: 1984, the blow was just more\n  start_ms: 127960\n  end_ms: 130660\n- text: Then we would come trough with rifles rocking Nike boots and war\n  start_ms: 130660\n  end_ms: 134250\n- text: A real nigga's invention that came from a henchman\n  start_ms: 134250\n  end_ms: 136960\n- text: Who blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\n  start_ms: 136960\n  end_ms: 140520\n- text: Drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\n  start_ms: 140520\n  end_ms: 143390\n- text: Drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\n  start_ms: 143390\n  end_ms: 146940\n- text: You niggas talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\n  start_ms: 146940\n  end_ms: 150550\n- text: Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n  start_ms: 150550\n  end_ms: 154140\n- text: God, I was Lucifer's neighbor\n  start_ms: 154140\n  end_ms: 155080\n- text: You wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\n  start_ms: 155080\n  end_ms: 158640\n- text: Moving with the lasers under Rugers\n  start_ms: 158640\n  end_ms: 159520\n- text: Make a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\n  start_ms: 159520\n  end_ms: 163140\n- text: Sweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\n  start_ms: 163140\n  end_ms: 165900\n- text: The chemists cookwork\n  start_ms: 165900\n  end_ms: 166780\n- text: The runners; footwork\n  start_ms: 166780\n  end_ms: 168670\n- text: The custies took work\n  start_ms: 168670\n  end_ms: 170420\n- text: The soldiers put work in\n  start_ms: 170420\n  end_ms: 172230\n- text: On any of the motherfuckers who fucked up good work\n  start_ms: 172230\n  end_ms: 174920\n- text: 'Bosses tell ''em: ''Good work'''\n  start_ms: 174920\n  end_ms: 176710\n- text: That's just how the hood work\n  start_ms: 176710\n  end_ms: 178590\n- text: Northface bubble with, eight bundles under it\n  start_ms: 178590\n  end_ms: 181210\n- text: Gold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\n  start_ms: 181210\n  end_ms: 184830\n- text: I lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm fucking with\n  start_ms: 184830\n  end_ms: 187570\n- text: My moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\n  start_ms: 187570\n  end_ms: 191150\n- text: Champ hoodie, Mongoose with the pegs\n  start_ms: 191150\n  end_ms: 193920\n- text: Clap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\n  start_ms: 193920\n  end_ms: 197520\n- text: That's beef nigga, y'all ain't street niggas\n  start_ms: 197520\n  end_ms: 201180\n- text: Y'all peep niggas, write it down and try to be niggas\n  start_ms: 201180\n  end_ms: 203890\n- text: Fucking everything, neck heavy swing\n  start_ms: 203890\n  end_ms: 207400\n- text: Second hand swepped across that pretty Breitling\n  start_ms: 207400\n  end_ms: 210130\n- text: In that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\n  start_ms: 210130\n  end_ms: 212860\n- text: Whatever bring 'fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\n  start_ms: 212860\n  end_ms: 230060\n- text: In this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\n  start_ms: 230060\n  end_ms: 232790\n- text: Niggas get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\n  start_ms: 232790\n  end_ms: 236320\n- text: You know my origins is over when\n  start_ms: 236320\n  end_ms: 239080\n- text: Fat black bitch singing over organs\n  start_ms: 239080\n  end_ms: 241780\n- text: Die for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\n  start_ms: 241780\n  end_ms: 244560\n- text: You save that for the one you buying red bottoms\n  start_ms: 244560\n  end_ms: 248130\n- text: Yuugh! That's the price you gotta pay for it\n  start_ms: 248130\n  end_ms: 250830\n- text: All's fair in love and war, she masquerade for it\n  start_ms: 250830\n  end_ms: 254440\n- text: Woo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\n  start_ms: 254440\n  end_ms: 257180\n- text: Trick or treat, fuck your shit, I earned it off the books\n  start_ms: 257180\n  end_ms: 259850\n- text: Now listen to me vent\n  start_ms: 259850\n  end_ms: 261690\n- text: When you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\n  start_ms: 261690\n  end_ms: 265380\n- text: Shots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\n  start_ms: 265380\n  end_ms: 268030\n- text: Knight in shining armor\n  start_ms: 268030\n  end_ms: 269860\n- text: Mistake me for the villain cause my vengeance is your karma\n  start_ms: 269860\n  end_ms: 273400\n- text: Yeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\n  start_ms: 273400\n  end_ms: 276170\n- text: This music to my soul, cause it's death before dishonor\n  start_ms: 276170\n  end_ms: 279780\n- text: Gone\n  start_ms: 279780\n  end_ms: 286910\n- text: Check!\n  start_ms: 286910\n  end_ms: 288770\n- text: Got the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\n  start_ms: 288770\n  end_ms: 292400\n- text: That used the church money to cop a new Beamer\n  start_ms: 292400\n  end_ms: 294250\n- text: Got the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\n  start_ms: 294250\n  end_ms: 297840\n- text: That bought his momma the rubbers when a John came through\n  start_ms: 297840\n  end_ms: 301450\n- text: It's the microphone Methadone\n  start_ms: 301450\n  end_ms: 303270\n- text: Greatest ever etched in stone\n  start_ms: 303270\n  end_ms: 304170\n- text: You ain't getting pussy like your prom date had a chaperone\n  start_ms: 304170\n  end_ms: 307750\n- text: Popping pills got a nigga brain like a labyrinth\n  start_ms: 307750\n  end_ms: 311370\n- text: Called the ho on purpose but I got the brain on accident\n  start_ms: 311370\n  end_ms: 314170\n- text: Nigga I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of weed\n  start_ms: 314170\n  end_ms: 317790\n- text: Rolled a blunt so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\n  start_ms: 317790\n  end_ms: 320430\n- text: My manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\n  start_ms: 320430\n  end_ms: 324030\n- text: The insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\n  start_ms: 324030\n  end_ms: 327680\n- text: I'm a wet dream's, Dry sense of humor\n  start_ms: 327680\n  end_ms: 330360\n- text: Travel in class like a high school rumor\n  start_ms: 330360\n  end_ms: 333020\n- text: No one really cares if you embarrass us with style\n  start_ms: 333020\n  end_ms: 335770\n- text: Cuz when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\n  start_ms: 335770\n  end_ms: 339320\n- text: So tell em why your mad son\n  start_ms: 339320\n  end_ms: 341260\n- text: Gotta get it off your chest\n  start_ms: 341260\n  end_ms: 343900\n- text: Let em know how you feel son\n  start_ms: 343900\n  end_ms: 346670\n- text: You gotta say what you say\n  start_ms: 346670\n  end_ms: 348430\n- text: It don't matter, they gonna say a nigga hating anyway\n  start_ms: 348430\n  end_ms: 375860\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 375860\nplain: |-\n  The devil is a lie\n  You ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\n  They say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\n  What better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\n  Them wings don't fly\n  Your traitor is your neighbor\n  At your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\n  Bathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\n  And he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\n  It's the mark of the beast\n  The meek shall inherit the Earth\n  The weak shall inherit the dirt\n  You each should have perished at birth\n  Still born or aborted\n  Every street tax gotta come with an audit\n  Either your life, or your loved ones\n  Straight razor or a snub-gun\n  From the village where the thugs from\n  Same corner that you copping all your drugs from\n  He a hero, but he unsung\n  I'm the one\n\n  I'm the one\n  Ayo homie, the chambers is 36, they new and improved\n  Now make a move\n  These guns whistle, sizzle up dudes who got big mouths, no power\n  Run in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\n  We better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\n  And all the money we got, we move like the Mexicans\n  A cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\n  I fuck with golf now, Shala is ill\n  Yeah, the coke is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\n  Or chilling on a beach in Boca Chica with tuna\n  Salads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\n  Passing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n  1984, the blow was just more\n  Then we would come trough with rifles rocking Nike boots and war\n  A real nigga's invention that came from a henchman\n  Who blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\n\n  Drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\n  Drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\n  You niggas talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\n  Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n\n  God, I was Lucifer's neighbor\n  You wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\n  Moving with the lasers under Rugers\n  Make a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\n  Sweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\n  The chemists cookwork\n  The runners; footwork\n  The custies took work\n  The soldiers put work in\n  On any of the motherfuckers who fucked up good work\n  Bosses tell 'em: 'Good work'\n  That's just how the hood work\n  Northface bubble with, eight bundles under it\n  Gold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\n  I lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm fucking with\n  My moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\n  Champ hoodie, Mongoose with the pegs\n  Clap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\n  That's beef nigga, y'all ain't street niggas\n  Y'all peep niggas, write it down and try to be niggas\n  Fucking everything, neck heavy swing\n  Second hand swepped across that pretty Breitling\n  In that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\n  Whatever bring 'fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\n\n  In this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\n  Niggas get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\n  You know my origins is over when\n  Fat black bitch singing over organs\n  Die for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\n  You save that for the one you buying red bottoms\n  Yuugh! That's the price you gotta pay for it\n  All's fair in love and war, she masquerade for it\n  Woo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\n  Trick or treat, fuck your shit, I earned it off the books\n  Now listen to me vent\n  When you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\n  Shots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\n  Knight in shining armor\n  Mistake me for the villain cause my vengeance is your karma\n  Yeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\n  This music to my soul, cause it's death before dishonor\n  Gone\n\n  Check!\n  Got the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\n  That used the church money to cop a new Beamer\n  Got the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\n  That bought his momma the rubbers when a John came through\n  It's the microphone Methadone\n  Greatest ever etched in stone\n  You ain't getting pussy like your prom date had a chaperone\n  Popping pills got a nigga brain like a labyrinth\n  Called the ho on purpose but I got the brain on accident\n  Nigga I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of weed\n  Rolled a blunt so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\n  My manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\n  The insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\n  I'm a wet dream's, Dry sense of humor\n  Travel in class like a high school rumor\n  No one really cares if you embarrass us with style\n  Cuz when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\n  So tell em why your mad son\n  Gotta get it off your chest\n  Let em know how you feel son\n  You gotta say what you say\n  It don't matter, they gonna say a nigga hating anyway\n"},{"id":13863465,"name":"Tick, Tock","trackName":"Tick, Tock","artistName":"Pusha T, Raekwon, Joell Ortiz","albumName":"The Man With the Iron Fists: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack","duration":378.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"King Push\nRZA\nRazor\nThe devil is a lie\nYou ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\nThey say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\nWhat better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\nThem wings don't fly\nYour traitor is your neighbor\nAt your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\nBathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\nAnd he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\nIt's the mark of the beast\nThe meek shall inherit the Earth\nThe weak shall inherit the dirt\nYou each should have perished at birth\nStill born or aborted\nEvery street tax gotta come with an audit\nEither your life, or your loved ones\nStraight razor or a snub-gun\nFrom the village where the thugs from\nSame corner that you copping all your drugs from\nHe a hero, but he unsung\nI'm the one\nthe chambers is 36, they new and improved\nNow make a move\nThese guns whistle, sizzle up dudes who got big mouths, no power\nRun in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\nWe better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\nAnd all the money we got, remove like the Mexicans\nA cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\nI fuck with golf now, Shala is ill\nYeah, the coke is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\nOr chilling on a beach in Boca, cheefin' with tuna\nSalads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\nPassing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n1984, the blow was just more\nThen we would come trough with rifles rocking Nike boots and war\nA real nigga's invention that came from a henchman\nWho blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\nDrug dealer, been that nigga half my life\nDrug dealer, been that nigga half my life\nYou niggas talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\nImagine being first name basis with the kingpin\nGod, I was Lucifer's neighbor\nYou wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\nMoving with the lasers under Rugers\nMake a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\nSweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\nThe chemists cookwork\nThe runners; footwork\nThe customs took work\nThe soldiers put work in\nOn any of the motherfuckers who fucked up good work\nBosses tell 'em: 'Good work'\nThat's just how the hood work\nNorthface bubble with, eight bundles under it\nGold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\nI lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm fucking with\nMy moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\nMongoose with the pegs\nClap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\nThat's beef nigga, y'all ain't street niggas\nY'all peep niggas, write it down and try to be niggas\nFucking everything, neck heavy swing\nSecond hand swepped across that pretty breathling\nIn that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\nWhatever bring fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\nIn this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\nNiggas get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\nYou know my origins is over when\nFat black bitch singing over organs\nDie for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\nYou say that for the one you buying red bottoms\nYeah, that's the price you gotta pay for it\nAll's fair in love and war, she masquerade for it\nWoo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\nTrick or treat (?), I earned it of the books\nNow listen to me vent\nWhen you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\nShots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\nKnight in shining armor\nMistake me for the villain cause of my vengeance is your karma\nYeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\nThis music to my soul, cause it's death before dishonor\nGone\nGot the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\nThat used the church money to cop a new Beamer\nGot the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\nThat bought his momma the rubbers when a john came through\nIt's the microphone Methadone\nGreatest ever etched in stone\nYou ain't getting pussy like your prom date had a chaperone\nPopping pills got a nigga brain like a labyrinth\nCalled the ho on purpose but I got the brain on accident\nNigga I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of weed\nRolled a blunt so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\nMy manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\nThe insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\nI'm a wet dream, Dry sense of humor\nTravel in class like a high school rumor\nNo one really cares if you embarrass us with style\nCuz when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\nSo tell em why your mad son\nGotta get it off your chest\nLet em know how you feel son\nYou gotta say what you say\nIt don't matter, they gonna say a nigga hating anyway","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Tick, Tock\n  artist: Pusha T, Raekwon, Joell Ortiz\n  album: 'The Man With the Iron Fists: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack'\n  duration_ms: 378000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  King Push\n  RZA\n  Razor\n  The devil is a lie\n  You ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\n  They say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\n  What better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\n  Them wings don't fly\n  Your traitor is your neighbor\n  At your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\n  Bathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\n  And he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\n  It's the mark of the beast\n  The meek shall inherit the Earth\n  The weak shall inherit the dirt\n  You each should have perished at birth\n  Still born or aborted\n  Every street tax gotta come with an audit\n  Either your life, or your loved ones\n  Straight razor or a snub-gun\n  From the village where the thugs from\n  Same corner that you copping all your drugs from\n  He a hero, but he unsung\n  I'm the one\n  the chambers is 36, they new and improved\n  Now make a move\n  These guns whistle, sizzle up dudes who got big mouths, no power\n  Run in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\n  We better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\n  And all the money we got, remove like the Mexicans\n  A cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\n  I fuck with golf now, Shala is ill\n  Yeah, the coke is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\n  Or chilling on a beach in Boca, cheefin' with tuna\n  Salads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\n  Passing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n  1984, the blow was just more\n  Then we would come trough with rifles rocking Nike boots and war\n  A real nigga's invention that came from a henchman\n  Who blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\n  Drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\n  Drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\n  You niggas talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\n  Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n  God, I was Lucifer's neighbor\n  You wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\n  Moving with the lasers under Rugers\n  Make a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\n  Sweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\n  The chemists cookwork\n  The runners; footwork\n  The customs took work\n  The soldiers put work in\n  On any of the motherfuckers who fucked up good work\n  Bosses tell 'em: 'Good work'\n  That's just how the hood work\n  Northface bubble with, eight bundles under it\n  Gold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\n  I lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm fucking with\n  My moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\n  Mongoose with the pegs\n  Clap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\n  That's beef nigga, y'all ain't street niggas\n  Y'all peep niggas, write it down and try to be niggas\n  Fucking everything, neck heavy swing\n  Second hand swepped across that pretty breathling\n  In that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\n  Whatever bring fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\n  In this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\n  Niggas get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\n  You know my origins is over when\n  Fat black bitch singing over organs\n  Die for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\n  You say that for the one you buying red bottoms\n  Yeah, that's the price you gotta pay for it\n  All's fair in love and war, she masquerade for it\n  Woo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\n  Trick or treat (?), I earned it of the books\n  Now listen to me vent\n  When you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\n  Shots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\n  Knight in shining armor\n  Mistake me for the villain cause of my vengeance is your karma\n  Yeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\n  This music to my soul, cause it's death before dishonor\n  Gone\n  Got the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\n  That used the church money to cop a new Beamer\n  Got the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\n  That bought his momma the rubbers when a john came through\n  It's the microphone Methadone\n  Greatest ever etched in stone\n  You ain't getting pussy like your prom date had a chaperone\n  Popping pills got a nigga brain like a labyrinth\n  Called the ho on purpose but I got the brain on accident\n  Nigga I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of weed\n  Rolled a blunt so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\n  My manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\n  The insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\n  I'm a wet dream, Dry sense of humor\n  Travel in class like a high school rumor\n  No one really cares if you embarrass us with style\n  Cuz when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\n  So tell em why your mad son\n  Gotta get it off your chest\n  Let em know how you feel son\n  You gotta say what you say\n  It don't matter, they gonna say a nigga hating anyway\n"},{"id":6839872,"name":"Tick, Tock","trackName":"Tick, Tock","artistName":"Pusha T, Raekwon, Joell Ortiz & Danny Brown","albumName":"The Man With the Iron Fists (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)","duration":378.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"King Push\nRZA\nRazor\nThe devil is a lie\nYou ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\nThey say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\nWhat better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\nThem wings don't fly\nYour traitor is your neighbor\nAt your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\nBathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\nAnd he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\nIt's the mark of the beast\nThe meek shall inherit the Earth\nThe weak shall inherit the dirt\nYou each should have perished at birth\nStill born or aborted\nEvery street tax gotta come with an audit\nEither your life, or your loved ones\nStraight razor or a snub-gun\nFrom the village where the thugs from\nSame corner that you copping all your drugs from\nHe a hero, but he unsung\nI'm the one\nThe chambers is 36, they new and improved\nNow make a move\nThese guns whistle, sizzle up dudes who got big mouths, no power\nRun in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\nWe better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\nAnd all the money we got, remove like the Mexicans\nA cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\nI fuck with golf now, Shala is ill\nYeah, the coke is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\nOr chilling on a beach in Boca, cheefin' with tuna\nSalads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\nPassing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n1984, the blow was just more\nThen we would come trough with rifles rocking Nike boots and war\nA real nigga's invention that came from a henchman\nWho blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\nDrug dealer, been that nigga half my life\nDrug dealer, been that nigga half my life\nYou niggas talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\nImagine being first name basis with the kingpin\nGod, I was Lucifer's neighbor\nYou wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\nMoving with the lasers under Rugers\nMake a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\nSweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\nThe chemists cookwork\nThe runners; footwork\nThe customs took work\nThe soldiers put work in\nOn any of the motherfuckers who fucked up good work\nBosses tell 'em: 'Good work'\nThat's just how the hood work\nNorthface bubble with, eight bundles under it\nGold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\nI lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm fucking with\nMy moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\nMongoose with the pegs\nClap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\nThat's beef nigga, y'all ain't street niggas\nY'all peep niggas, write it down and try to be niggas\nFucking everything, neck heavy swing\nSecond hand swepped across that pretty breathling\nIn that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\nWhatever bring fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\nIn this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\nNiggas get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\nYou know my origins is over when\nFat black bitch singing over organs\nDie for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\nYou say that for the one you buying red bottoms\nYeah, that's the price you gotta pay for it\nAll's fair in love and war, she masquerade for it\nWoo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\nTrick or treat (?), I earned it of the books\nNow listen to me vent\nWhen you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\nShots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\nKnight in shining armor\nMistake me for the villain cause of my vengeance is your karma\nYeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\nThis music to my soul, cause it's death before dishonor\nGone\nGot the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\nThat used the church money to cop a new Beamer\nGot the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\nThat bought his momma the rubbers when a john came through\nIt's the microphone Methadone\nGreatest ever etched in stone\nYou ain't getting pussy like your prom date had a chaperone\nPopping pills got a nigga brain like a labyrinth\nCalled the ho on purpose but I got the brain on accident\nNigga I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of weed\nRolled a blunt so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\nMy manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\nThe insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\nI'm a wet dream, Dry sense of humor\nTravel in class like a high school rumor\nNo one really cares if you embarrass us with style\nCuz when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\nSo tell em why your mad son\nGotta get it off your chest\nLet em know how you feel son\nYou gotta say what you say\nIt don't matter, they gonna say a nigga hating anyway","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Tick, Tock\n  artist: Pusha T, Raekwon, Joell Ortiz & Danny Brown\n  album: The Man With the Iron Fists (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)\n  duration_ms: 378000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  King Push\n  RZA\n  Razor\n  The devil is a lie\n  You ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\n  They say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\n  What better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\n  Them wings don't fly\n  Your traitor is your neighbor\n  At your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\n  Bathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\n  And he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\n  It's the mark of the beast\n  The meek shall inherit the Earth\n  The weak shall inherit the dirt\n  You each should have perished at birth\n  Still born or aborted\n  Every street tax gotta come with an audit\n  Either your life, or your loved ones\n  Straight razor or a snub-gun\n  From the village where the thugs from\n  Same corner that you copping all your drugs from\n  He a hero, but he unsung\n  I'm the one\n  The chambers is 36, they new and improved\n  Now make a move\n  These guns whistle, sizzle up dudes who got big mouths, no power\n  Run in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\n  We better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\n  And all the money we got, remove like the Mexicans\n  A cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\n  I fuck with golf now, Shala is ill\n  Yeah, the coke is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\n  Or chilling on a beach in Boca, cheefin' with tuna\n  Salads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\n  Passing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n  1984, the blow was just more\n  Then we would come trough with rifles rocking Nike boots and war\n  A real nigga's invention that came from a henchman\n  Who blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\n  Drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\n  Drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\n  You niggas talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\n  Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n  God, I was Lucifer's neighbor\n  You wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\n  Moving with the lasers under Rugers\n  Make a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\n  Sweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\n  The chemists cookwork\n  The runners; footwork\n  The customs took work\n  The soldiers put work in\n  On any of the motherfuckers who fucked up good work\n  Bosses tell 'em: 'Good work'\n  That's just how the hood work\n  Northface bubble with, eight bundles under it\n  Gold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\n  I lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm fucking with\n  My moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\n  Mongoose with the pegs\n  Clap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\n  That's beef nigga, y'all ain't street niggas\n  Y'all peep niggas, write it down and try to be niggas\n  Fucking everything, neck heavy swing\n  Second hand swepped across that pretty breathling\n  In that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\n  Whatever bring fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\n  In this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\n  Niggas get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\n  You know my origins is over when\n  Fat black bitch singing over organs\n  Die for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\n  You say that for the one you buying red bottoms\n  Yeah, that's the price you gotta pay for it\n  All's fair in love and war, she masquerade for it\n  Woo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\n  Trick or treat (?), I earned it of the books\n  Now listen to me vent\n  When you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\n  Shots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\n  Knight in shining armor\n  Mistake me for the villain cause of my vengeance is your karma\n  Yeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\n  This music to my soul, cause it's death before dishonor\n  Gone\n  Got the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\n  That used the church money to cop a new Beamer\n  Got the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\n  That bought his momma the rubbers when a john came through\n  It's the microphone Methadone\n  Greatest ever etched in stone\n  You ain't getting pussy like your prom date had a chaperone\n  Popping pills got a nigga brain like a labyrinth\n  Called the ho on purpose but I got the brain on accident\n  Nigga I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of weed\n  Rolled a blunt so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\n  My manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\n  The insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\n  I'm a wet dream, Dry sense of humor\n  Travel in class like a high school rumor\n  No one really cares if you embarrass us with style\n  Cuz when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\n  So tell em why your mad son\n  Gotta get it off your chest\n  Let em know how you feel son\n  You gotta say what you say\n  It don't matter, they gonna say a nigga hating anyway\n"},{"id":17834221,"name":"Tick, Tock","trackName":"Tick, Tock","artistName":"Pusha T, Raekwon, Ortiz, Joell & Brown, Danny","albumName":"The Man With the Iron Fists","duration":378.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"King Push\nRZA\nRazor\nThe devil is a lie\nYou ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\nThey say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\nWhat better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\nThem wings don't fly\nYour traitor is your neighbor\nAt your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\nBathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\nAnd he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\nIt's the mark of the beast\nThe meek shall inherit the Earth\nThe weak shall inherit the dirt\nYou each should have perished at birth\nStill born or aborted\nEvery street tax gotta come with an audit\nEither your life, or your loved ones\nStraight razor or a snub-gun\nFrom the village where the thugs from\nSame corner that you copping all your drugs from\nHe a hero, but he unsung\nI'm the one\nthe chambers is 36, they new and improved\nNow make a move\nThese guns whistle, sizzle up dudes who got big mouths, no power\nRun in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\nWe better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\nAnd all the money we got, remove like the Mexicans\nA cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\nI fuck with golf now, Shala is ill\nYeah, the coke is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\nOr chilling on a beach in Boca, cheefin' with tuna\nSalads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\nPassing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n1984, the blow was just more\nThen we would come trough with rifles rocking Nike boots and war\nA real nigga's invention that came from a henchman\nWho blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\nDrug dealer, been that nigga half my life\nDrug dealer, been that nigga half my life\nYou niggas talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\nImagine being first name basis with the kingpin\nGod, I was Lucifer's neighbor\nYou wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\nMoving with the lasers under Rugers\nMake a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\nSweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\nThe chemists cookwork\nThe runners; footwork\nThe customs took work\nThe soldiers put work in\nOn any of the motherfuckers who fucked up good work\nBosses tell 'em: 'Good work'\nThat's just how the hood work\nNorthface bubble with, eight bundles under it\nGold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\nI lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm fucking with\nMy moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\nMongoose with the pegs\nClap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\nThat's beef nigga, y'all ain't street niggas\nY'all peep niggas, write it down and try to be niggas\nFucking everything, neck heavy swing\nSecond hand swepped across that pretty breathling\nIn that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\nWhatever bring fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\nIn this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\nNiggas get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\nYou know my origins is over when\nFat black bitch singing over organs\nDie for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\nYou say that for the one you buying red bottoms\nYeah, that's the price you gotta pay for it\nAll's fair in love and war, she masquerade for it\nWoo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\nTrick or treat (?), I earned it of the books\nNow listen to me vent\nWhen you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\nShots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\nKnight in shining armor\nMistake me for the villain cause of my vengeance is your karma\nYeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\nThis music to my soul, cause it's death before dishonor\nGone\nGot the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\nThat used the church money to cop a new Beamer\nGot the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\nThat bought his momma the rubbers when a john came through\nIt's the microphone Methadone\nGreatest ever etched in stone\nYou ain't getting pussy like your prom date had a chaperone\nPopping pills got a nigga brain like a labyrinth\nCalled the ho on purpose but I got the brain on accident\nNigga I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of weed\nRolled a blunt so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\nMy manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\nThe insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\nI'm a wet dream, Dry sense of humor\nTravel in class like a high school rumor\nNo one really cares if you embarrass us with style\nCuz when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\nSo tell em why your mad son\nGotta get it off your chest\nLet em know how you feel son\nYou gotta say what you say\nIt don't matter, they gonna say a nigga hating anyway","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Tick, Tock\n  artist: Pusha T, Raekwon, Ortiz, Joell & Brown, Danny\n  album: The Man With the Iron Fists\n  duration_ms: 378000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  King Push\n  RZA\n  Razor\n  The devil is a lie\n  You ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\n  They say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\n  What better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\n  Them wings don't fly\n  Your traitor is your neighbor\n  At your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\n  Bathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\n  And he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\n  It's the mark of the beast\n  The meek shall inherit the Earth\n  The weak shall inherit the dirt\n  You each should have perished at birth\n  Still born or aborted\n  Every street tax gotta come with an audit\n  Either your life, or your loved ones\n  Straight razor or a snub-gun\n  From the village where the thugs from\n  Same corner that you copping all your drugs from\n  He a hero, but he unsung\n  I'm the one\n  the chambers is 36, they new and improved\n  Now make a move\n  These guns whistle, sizzle up dudes who got big mouths, no power\n  Run in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\n  We better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\n  And all the money we got, remove like the Mexicans\n  A cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\n  I fuck with golf now, Shala is ill\n  Yeah, the coke is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\n  Or chilling on a beach in Boca, cheefin' with tuna\n  Salads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\n  Passing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n  1984, the blow was just more\n  Then we would come trough with rifles rocking Nike boots and war\n  A real nigga's invention that came from a henchman\n  Who blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\n  Drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\n  Drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\n  You niggas talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\n  Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n  God, I was Lucifer's neighbor\n  You wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\n  Moving with the lasers under Rugers\n  Make a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\n  Sweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\n  The chemists cookwork\n  The runners; footwork\n  The customs took work\n  The soldiers put work in\n  On any of the motherfuckers who fucked up good work\n  Bosses tell 'em: 'Good work'\n  That's just how the hood work\n  Northface bubble with, eight bundles under it\n  Gold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\n  I lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm fucking with\n  My moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\n  Mongoose with the pegs\n  Clap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\n  That's beef nigga, y'all ain't street niggas\n  Y'all peep niggas, write it down and try to be niggas\n  Fucking everything, neck heavy swing\n  Second hand swepped across that pretty breathling\n  In that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\n  Whatever bring fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\n  In this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\n  Niggas get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\n  You know my origins is over when\n  Fat black bitch singing over organs\n  Die for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\n  You say that for the one you buying red bottoms\n  Yeah, that's the price you gotta pay for it\n  All's fair in love and war, she masquerade for it\n  Woo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\n  Trick or treat (?), I earned it of the books\n  Now listen to me vent\n  When you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\n  Shots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\n  Knight in shining armor\n  Mistake me for the villain cause of my vengeance is your karma\n  Yeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\n  This music to my soul, cause it's death before dishonor\n  Gone\n  Got the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\n  That used the church money to cop a new Beamer\n  Got the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\n  That bought his momma the rubbers when a john came through\n  It's the microphone Methadone\n  Greatest ever etched in stone\n  You ain't getting pussy like your prom date had a chaperone\n  Popping pills got a nigga brain like a labyrinth\n  Called the ho on purpose but I got the brain on accident\n  Nigga I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of weed\n  Rolled a blunt so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\n  My manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\n  The insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\n  I'm a wet dream, Dry sense of humor\n  Travel in class like a high school rumor\n  No one really cares if you embarrass us with style\n  Cuz when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\n  So tell em why your mad son\n  Gotta get it off your chest\n  Let em know how you feel son\n  You gotta say what you say\n  It don't matter, they gonna say a nigga hating anyway\n"},{"id":16401724,"name":"Tick, Tock","trackName":"Tick, Tock","artistName":"Pusha T, Raekwon, Joell Ortiz & Danny Brown","albumName":"The Man With the Iron Fists Soundtrack","duration":378.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"King Push\nRZA\nRazor\nThe devil is a lie\nYou ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\nThey say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\nWhat better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\nThem wings don't fly\nYour traitor is your neighbor\nAt your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\nBathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\nAnd he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\nIt's the mark of the beast\nThe meek shall inherit the Earth\nThe weak shall inherit the dirt\nYou each should have perished at birth\nStill born or aborted\nEvery street tax gotta come with an audit\nEither your life, or your loved ones\nStraight razor or a snub-gun\nFrom the village where the thugs from\nSame corner that you copping all your drugs from\nHe a hero, but he unsung\nI'm the one\nthe chambers is 36, they new and improved\nNow make a move\nThese guns whistle, sizzle up dudes who got big mouths, no power\nRun in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\nWe better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\nAnd all the money we got, remove like the Mexicans\nA cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\nI fuck with golf now, Shala is ill\nYeah, the coke is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\nOr chilling on a beach in Boca, cheefin' with tuna\nSalads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\nPassing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n1984, the blow was just more\nThen we would come trough with rifles rocking Nike boots and war\nA real nigga's invention that came from a henchman\nWho blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\nDrug dealer, been that nigga half my life\nDrug dealer, been that nigga half my life\nYou niggas talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\nImagine being first name basis with the kingpin\nGod, I was Lucifer's neighbor\nYou wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\nMoving with the lasers under Rugers\nMake a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\nSweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\nThe chemists cookwork\nThe runners; footwork\nThe customs took work\nThe soldiers put work in\nOn any of the motherfuckers who fucked up good work\nBosses tell 'em: 'Good work'\nThat's just how the hood work\nNorthface bubble with, eight bundles under it\nGold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\nI lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm fucking with\nMy moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\nMongoose with the pegs\nClap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\nThat's beef nigga, y'all ain't street niggas\nY'all peep niggas, write it down and try to be niggas\nFucking everything, neck heavy swing\nSecond hand swepped across that pretty breathling\nIn that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\nWhatever bring fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\nIn this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\nNiggas get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\nYou know my origins is over when\nFat black bitch singing over organs\nDie for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\nYou say that for the one you buying red bottoms\nYeah, that's the price you gotta pay for it\nAll's fair in love and war, she masquerade for it\nWoo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\nTrick or treat (?), I earned it of the books\nNow listen to me vent\nWhen you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\nShots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\nKnight in shining armor\nMistake me for the villain cause of my vengeance is your karma\nYeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\nThis music to my soul, cause it's death before dishonor\nGone\nGot the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\nThat used the church money to cop a new Beamer\nGot the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\nThat bought his momma the rubbers when a john came through\nIt's the microphone Methadone\nGreatest ever etched in stone\nYou ain't getting pussy like your prom date had a chaperone\nPopping pills got a nigga brain like a labyrinth\nCalled the ho on purpose but I got the brain on accident\nNigga I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of weed\nRolled a blunt so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\nMy manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\nThe insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\nI'm a wet dream, Dry sense of humor\nTravel in class like a high school rumor\nNo one really cares if you embarrass us with style\nCuz when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\nSo tell em why your mad son\nGotta get it off your chest\nLet em know how you feel son\nYou gotta say what you say\nIt don't matter, they gonna say a nigga hating anyway","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Tick, Tock\n  artist: Pusha T, Raekwon, Joell Ortiz & Danny Brown\n  album: The Man With the Iron Fists Soundtrack\n  duration_ms: 378000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  King Push\n  RZA\n  Razor\n  The devil is a lie\n  You ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\n  They say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\n  What better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\n  Them wings don't fly\n  Your traitor is your neighbor\n  At your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\n  Bathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\n  And he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\n  It's the mark of the beast\n  The meek shall inherit the Earth\n  The weak shall inherit the dirt\n  You each should have perished at birth\n  Still born or aborted\n  Every street tax gotta come with an audit\n  Either your life, or your loved ones\n  Straight razor or a snub-gun\n  From the village where the thugs from\n  Same corner that you copping all your drugs from\n  He a hero, but he unsung\n  I'm the one\n  the chambers is 36, they new and improved\n  Now make a move\n  These guns whistle, sizzle up dudes who got big mouths, no power\n  Run in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\n  We better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\n  And all the money we got, remove like the Mexicans\n  A cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\n  I fuck with golf now, Shala is ill\n  Yeah, the coke is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\n  Or chilling on a beach in Boca, cheefin' with tuna\n  Salads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\n  Passing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n  1984, the blow was just more\n  Then we would come trough with rifles rocking Nike boots and war\n  A real nigga's invention that came from a henchman\n  Who blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\n  Drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\n  Drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\n  You niggas talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\n  Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n  God, I was Lucifer's neighbor\n  You wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\n  Moving with the lasers under Rugers\n  Make a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\n  Sweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\n  The chemists cookwork\n  The runners; footwork\n  The customs took work\n  The soldiers put work in\n  On any of the motherfuckers who fucked up good work\n  Bosses tell 'em: 'Good work'\n  That's just how the hood work\n  Northface bubble with, eight bundles under it\n  Gold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\n  I lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm fucking with\n  My moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\n  Mongoose with the pegs\n  Clap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\n  That's beef nigga, y'all ain't street niggas\n  Y'all peep niggas, write it down and try to be niggas\n  Fucking everything, neck heavy swing\n  Second hand swepped across that pretty breathling\n  In that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\n  Whatever bring fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\n  In this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\n  Niggas get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\n  You know my origins is over when\n  Fat black bitch singing over organs\n  Die for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\n  You say that for the one you buying red bottoms\n  Yeah, that's the price you gotta pay for it\n  All's fair in love and war, she masquerade for it\n  Woo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\n  Trick or treat (?), I earned it of the books\n  Now listen to me vent\n  When you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\n  Shots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\n  Knight in shining armor\n  Mistake me for the villain cause of my vengeance is your karma\n  Yeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\n  This music to my soul, cause it's death before dishonor\n  Gone\n  Got the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\n  That used the church money to cop a new Beamer\n  Got the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\n  That bought his momma the rubbers when a john came through\n  It's the microphone Methadone\n  Greatest ever etched in stone\n  You ain't getting pussy like your prom date had a chaperone\n  Popping pills got a nigga brain like a labyrinth\n  Called the ho on purpose but I got the brain on accident\n  Nigga I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of weed\n  Rolled a blunt so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\n  My manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\n  The insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\n  I'm a wet dream, Dry sense of humor\n  Travel in class like a high school rumor\n  No one really cares if you embarrass us with style\n  Cuz when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\n  So tell em why your mad son\n  Gotta get it off your chest\n  Let em know how you feel son\n  You gotta say what you say\n  It don't matter, they gonna say a nigga hating anyway\n"},{"id":13863471,"name":"Tick, Tock","trackName":"Tick, Tock","artistName":"Pusha T, Raekwon, Ortiz, Joell & Brown, Danny","albumName":"The Man With the Iron Fists: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack","duration":378.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"King Push\nRZA\nRazor\nThe devil is a lie\nYou ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\nThey say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\nWhat better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\nThem wings don't fly\nYour traitor is your neighbor\nAt your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\nBathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\nAnd he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\nIt's the mark of the beast\nThe meek shall inherit the Earth\nThe weak shall inherit the dirt\nYou each should have perished at birth\nStill born or aborted\nEvery street tax gotta come with an audit\nEither your life, or your loved ones\nStraight razor or a snub-gun\nFrom the village where the thugs from\nSame corner that you copping all your drugs from\nHe a hero, but he unsung\nI'm the one\nthe chambers is 36, they new and improved\nNow make a move\nThese guns whistle, sizzle up dudes who got big mouths, no power\nRun in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\nWe better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\nAnd all the money we got, remove like the Mexicans\nA cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\nI fuck with golf now, Shala is ill\nYeah, the coke is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\nOr chilling on a beach in Boca, cheefin' with tuna\nSalads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\nPassing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n1984, the blow was just more\nThen we would come trough with rifles rocking Nike boots and war\nA real nigga's invention that came from a henchman\nWho blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\nDrug dealer, been that nigga half my life\nDrug dealer, been that nigga half my life\nYou niggas talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\nImagine being first name basis with the kingpin\nGod, I was Lucifer's neighbor\nYou wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\nMoving with the lasers under Rugers\nMake a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\nSweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\nThe chemists cookwork\nThe runners; footwork\nThe customs took work\nThe soldiers put work in\nOn any of the motherfuckers who fucked up good work\nBosses tell 'em: 'Good work'\nThat's just how the hood work\nNorthface bubble with, eight bundles under it\nGold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\nI lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm fucking with\nMy moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\nMongoose with the pegs\nClap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\nThat's beef nigga, y'all ain't street niggas\nY'all peep niggas, write it down and try to be niggas\nFucking everything, neck heavy swing\nSecond hand swepped across that pretty breathling\nIn that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\nWhatever bring fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\nIn this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\nNiggas get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\nYou know my origins is over when\nFat black bitch singing over organs\nDie for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\nYou say that for the one you buying red bottoms\nYeah, that's the price you gotta pay for it\nAll's fair in love and war, she masquerade for it\nWoo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\nTrick or treat (?), I earned it of the books\nNow listen to me vent\nWhen you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\nShots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\nKnight in shining armor\nMistake me for the villain cause of my vengeance is your karma\nYeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\nThis music to my soul, cause it's death before dishonor\nGone\nGot the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\nThat used the church money to cop a new Beamer\nGot the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\nThat bought his momma the rubbers when a john came through\nIt's the microphone Methadone\nGreatest ever etched in stone\nYou ain't getting pussy like your prom date had a chaperone\nPopping pills got a nigga brain like a labyrinth\nCalled the ho on purpose but I got the brain on accident\nNigga I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of weed\nRolled a blunt so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\nMy manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\nThe insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\nI'm a wet dream, Dry sense of humor\nTravel in class like a high school rumor\nNo one really cares if you embarrass us with style\nCuz when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\nSo tell em why your mad son\nGotta get it off your chest\nLet em know how you feel son\nYou gotta say what you say\nIt don't matter, they gonna say a nigga hating anyway","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Tick, Tock\n  artist: Pusha T, Raekwon, Ortiz, Joell & Brown, Danny\n  album: 'The Man With the Iron Fists: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack'\n  duration_ms: 378000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  King Push\n  RZA\n  Razor\n  The devil is a lie\n  You ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\n  They say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\n  What better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\n  Them wings don't fly\n  Your traitor is your neighbor\n  At your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\n  Bathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\n  And he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\n  It's the mark of the beast\n  The meek shall inherit the Earth\n  The weak shall inherit the dirt\n  You each should have perished at birth\n  Still born or aborted\n  Every street tax gotta come with an audit\n  Either your life, or your loved ones\n  Straight razor or a snub-gun\n  From the village where the thugs from\n  Same corner that you copping all your drugs from\n  He a hero, but he unsung\n  I'm the one\n  the chambers is 36, they new and improved\n  Now make a move\n  These guns whistle, sizzle up dudes who got big mouths, no power\n  Run in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\n  We better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\n  And all the money we got, remove like the Mexicans\n  A cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\n  I fuck with golf now, Shala is ill\n  Yeah, the coke is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\n  Or chilling on a beach in Boca, cheefin' with tuna\n  Salads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\n  Passing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n  1984, the blow was just more\n  Then we would come trough with rifles rocking Nike boots and war\n  A real nigga's invention that came from a henchman\n  Who blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\n  Drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\n  Drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\n  You niggas talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\n  Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n  God, I was Lucifer's neighbor\n  You wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\n  Moving with the lasers under Rugers\n  Make a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\n  Sweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\n  The chemists cookwork\n  The runners; footwork\n  The customs took work\n  The soldiers put work in\n  On any of the motherfuckers who fucked up good work\n  Bosses tell 'em: 'Good work'\n  That's just how the hood work\n  Northface bubble with, eight bundles under it\n  Gold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\n  I lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm fucking with\n  My moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\n  Mongoose with the pegs\n  Clap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\n  That's beef nigga, y'all ain't street niggas\n  Y'all peep niggas, write it down and try to be niggas\n  Fucking everything, neck heavy swing\n  Second hand swepped across that pretty breathling\n  In that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\n  Whatever bring fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\n  In this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\n  Niggas get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\n  You know my origins is over when\n  Fat black bitch singing over organs\n  Die for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\n  You say that for the one you buying red bottoms\n  Yeah, that's the price you gotta pay for it\n  All's fair in love and war, she masquerade for it\n  Woo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\n  Trick or treat (?), I earned it of the books\n  Now listen to me vent\n  When you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\n  Shots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\n  Knight in shining armor\n  Mistake me for the villain cause of my vengeance is your karma\n  Yeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\n  This music to my soul, cause it's death before dishonor\n  Gone\n  Got the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\n  That used the church money to cop a new Beamer\n  Got the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\n  That bought his momma the rubbers when a john came through\n  It's the microphone Methadone\n  Greatest ever etched in stone\n  You ain't getting pussy like your prom date had a chaperone\n  Popping pills got a nigga brain like a labyrinth\n  Called the ho on purpose but I got the brain on accident\n  Nigga I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of weed\n  Rolled a blunt so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\n  My manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\n  The insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\n  I'm a wet dream, Dry sense of humor\n  Travel in class like a high school rumor\n  No one really cares if you embarrass us with style\n  Cuz when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\n  So tell em why your mad son\n  Gotta get it off your chest\n  Let em know how you feel son\n  You gotta say what you say\n  It don't matter, they gonna say a nigga hating anyway\n"},{"id":24580380,"name":"Tick, Tock","trackName":"Tick, Tock","artistName":"Pusha T; Raekwon; Joell Ortiz; Danny Brown","albumName":"The Man with the Iron Fists: Soundtrack Instrumental","duration":290.133333,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"King Push\nRZA\nRazor\nThe devil is a lie\nYou ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\nThey say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\nWhat better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\nThem wings don't fly\nYour traitor is your neighbor\nAt your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\nBathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\nAnd he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\nIt's the mark of the beast\nThe meek shall inherit the Earth\nThe weak shall inherit the dirt\nYou each should have perished at birth\nStill born or aborted\nEvery street tax gotta come with an audit\nEither your life, or your loved ones\nStraight razor or a snub-gun\nFrom the village where the thugs from\nSame corner that you copping all your drugs from\nHe a hero, but he unsung\nI'm the one\nThe chambers is 36, they new and improved\nNow make a move\nThese guns whistle, sizzle up dudes who got big mouths, no power\nRun in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\nWe better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\nAnd all the money we got, remove like the Mexicans\nA cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\nI fuck with golf now, Shala is ill\nYeah, the coke is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\nOr chilling on a beach in Boca, cheefin' with tuna\nSalads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\nPassing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n1984, the blow was just more\nThen we would come trough with rifles rocking Nike boots and war\nA real nigga's invention that came from a henchman\nWho blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\nDrug dealer, been that nigga half my life\nDrug dealer, been that nigga half my life\nYou niggas talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\nImagine being first name basis with the kingpin\nGod, I was Lucifer's neighbor\nYou wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\nMoving with the lasers under Rugers\nMake a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\nSweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\nThe chemists cookwork\nThe runners; footwork\nThe customs took work\nThe soldiers put work in\nOn any of the motherfuckers who fucked up good work\nBosses tell 'em: 'Good work'\nThat's just how the hood work\nNorthface bubble with, eight bundles under it\nGold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\nI lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm fucking with\nMy moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\nMongoose with the pegs\nClap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\nThat's beef nigga, y'all ain't street niggas\nY'all peep niggas, write it down and try to be niggas\nFucking everything, neck heavy swing\nSecond hand swepped across that pretty breathling\nIn that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\nWhatever bring fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\nIn this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\nNiggas get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\nYou know my origins is over when\nFat black bitch singing over organs\nDie for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\nYou say that for the one you buying red bottoms\nYeah, that's the price you gotta pay for it\nAll's fair in love and war, she masquerade for it\nWoo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\nTrick or treat (?), I earned it of the books\nNow listen to me vent\nWhen you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\nShots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\nKnight in shining armor\nMistake me for the villain cause of my vengeance is your karma\nYeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\nThis music to my soul, cause it's death before dishonor\nGone\nGot the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\nThat used the church money to cop a new Beamer\nGot the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\nThat bought his momma the rubbers when a john came through\nIt's the microphone Methadone\nGreatest ever etched in stone\nYou ain't getting pussy like your prom date had a chaperone\nPopping pills got a nigga brain like a labyrinth\nCalled the ho on purpose but I got the brain on accident\nNigga I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of weed\nRolled a blunt so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\nMy manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\nThe insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\nI'm a wet dream, Dry sense of humor\nTravel in class like a high school rumor\nNo one really cares if you embarrass us with style\nCuz when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\nSo tell em why your mad son\nGotta get it off your chest\nLet em know how you feel son\nYou gotta say what you say\nIt don't matter, they gonna say a nigga hating anyway","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Tick, Tock\n  artist: Pusha T; Raekwon; Joell Ortiz; Danny Brown\n  album: 'The Man with the Iron Fists: Soundtrack Instrumental'\n  duration_ms: 290133\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  King Push\n  RZA\n  Razor\n  The devil is a lie\n  You ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\n  They say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\n  What better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\n  Them wings don't fly\n  Your traitor is your neighbor\n  At your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\n  Bathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\n  And he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\n  It's the mark of the beast\n  The meek shall inherit the Earth\n  The weak shall inherit the dirt\n  You each should have perished at birth\n  Still born or aborted\n  Every street tax gotta come with an audit\n  Either your life, or your loved ones\n  Straight razor or a snub-gun\n  From the village where the thugs from\n  Same corner that you copping all your drugs from\n  He a hero, but he unsung\n  I'm the one\n  The chambers is 36, they new and improved\n  Now make a move\n  These guns whistle, sizzle up dudes who got big mouths, no power\n  Run in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\n  We better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\n  And all the money we got, remove like the Mexicans\n  A cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\n  I fuck with golf now, Shala is ill\n  Yeah, the coke is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\n  Or chilling on a beach in Boca, cheefin' with tuna\n  Salads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\n  Passing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n  1984, the blow was just more\n  Then we would come trough with rifles rocking Nike boots and war\n  A real nigga's invention that came from a henchman\n  Who blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\n  Drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\n  Drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\n  You niggas talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\n  Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n  God, I was Lucifer's neighbor\n  You wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\n  Moving with the lasers under Rugers\n  Make a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\n  Sweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\n  The chemists cookwork\n  The runners; footwork\n  The customs took work\n  The soldiers put work in\n  On any of the motherfuckers who fucked up good work\n  Bosses tell 'em: 'Good work'\n  That's just how the hood work\n  Northface bubble with, eight bundles under it\n  Gold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\n  I lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm fucking with\n  My moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\n  Mongoose with the pegs\n  Clap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\n  That's beef nigga, y'all ain't street niggas\n  Y'all peep niggas, write it down and try to be niggas\n  Fucking everything, neck heavy swing\n  Second hand swepped across that pretty breathling\n  In that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\n  Whatever bring fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\n  In this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\n  Niggas get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\n  You know my origins is over when\n  Fat black bitch singing over organs\n  Die for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\n  You say that for the one you buying red bottoms\n  Yeah, that's the price you gotta pay for it\n  All's fair in love and war, she masquerade for it\n  Woo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\n  Trick or treat (?), I earned it of the books\n  Now listen to me vent\n  When you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\n  Shots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\n  Knight in shining armor\n  Mistake me for the villain cause of my vengeance is your karma\n  Yeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\n  This music to my soul, cause it's death before dishonor\n  Gone\n  Got the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\n  That used the church money to cop a new Beamer\n  Got the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\n  That bought his momma the rubbers when a john came through\n  It's the microphone Methadone\n  Greatest ever etched in stone\n  You ain't getting pussy like your prom date had a chaperone\n  Popping pills got a nigga brain like a labyrinth\n  Called the ho on purpose but I got the brain on accident\n  Nigga I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of weed\n  Rolled a blunt so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\n  My manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\n  The insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\n  I'm a wet dream, Dry sense of humor\n  Travel in class like a high school rumor\n  No one really cares if you embarrass us with style\n  Cuz when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\n  So tell em why your mad son\n  Gotta get it off your chest\n  Let em know how you feel son\n  You gotta say what you say\n  It don't matter, they gonna say a nigga hating anyway\n"},{"id":11188887,"name":"Tick, Tock","trackName":"Tick, Tock","artistName":"Pusha T, Raekwon, Joell Ortiz & Danny Brown","albumName":"The Man With the Iron Fists","duration":378.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"King Push\nRZA\nRazor\nThe devil is a lie\nYou ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\nThey say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\nWhat better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\nThem wings don't fly\nYour traitor is your neighbor\nAt your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\nBathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\nAnd he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\nIt's the mark of the beast\nThe meek shall inherit the Earth\nThe weak shall inherit the dirt\nYou each should have perished at birth\nStill born or aborted\nEvery street tax gotta come with an audit\nEither your life, or your loved ones\nStraight razor or a snub-gun\nFrom the village where the thugs from\nSame corner that you copping all your drugs from\nHe a hero, but he unsung\nI'm the one\nthe chambers is 36, they new and improved\nNow make a move\nThese guns whistle, sizzle up dudes who got big mouths, no power\nRun in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\nWe better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\nAnd all the money we got, remove like the Mexicans\nA cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\nI fuck with golf now, Shala is ill\nYeah, the coke is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\nOr chilling on a beach in Boca, cheefin' with tuna\nSalads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\nPassing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n1984, the blow was just more\nThen we would come trough with rifles rocking Nike boots and war\nA real nigga's invention that came from a henchman\nWho blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\nDrug dealer, been that nigga half my life\nDrug dealer, been that nigga half my life\nYou niggas talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\nImagine being first name basis with the kingpin\nGod, I was Lucifer's neighbor\nYou wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\nMoving with the lasers under Rugers\nMake a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\nSweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\nThe chemists cookwork\nThe runners; footwork\nThe customs took work\nThe soldiers put work in\nOn any of the motherfuckers who fucked up good work\nBosses tell 'em: 'Good work'\nThat's just how the hood work\nNorthface bubble with, eight bundles under it\nGold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\nI lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm fucking with\nMy moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\nMongoose with the pegs\nClap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\nThat's beef nigga, y'all ain't street niggas\nY'all peep niggas, write it down and try to be niggas\nFucking everything, neck heavy swing\nSecond hand swepped across that pretty breathling\nIn that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\nWhatever bring fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\nIn this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\nNiggas get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\nYou know my origins is over when\nFat black bitch singing over organs\nDie for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\nYou say that for the one you buying red bottoms\nYeah, that's the price you gotta pay for it\nAll's fair in love and war, she masquerade for it\nWoo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\nTrick or treat (?), I earned it of the books\nNow listen to me vent\nWhen you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\nShots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\nKnight in shining armor\nMistake me for the villain cause of my vengeance is your karma\nYeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\nThis music to my soul, cause it's death before dishonor\nGone\nGot the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\nThat used the church money to cop a new Beamer\nGot the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\nThat bought his momma the rubbers when a john came through\nIt's the microphone Methadone\nGreatest ever etched in stone\nYou ain't getting pussy like your prom date had a chaperone\nPopping pills got a nigga brain like a labyrinth\nCalled the ho on purpose but I got the brain on accident\nNigga I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of weed\nRolled a blunt so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\nMy manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\nThe insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\nI'm a wet dream, Dry sense of humor\nTravel in class like a high school rumor\nNo one really cares if you embarrass us with style\nCuz when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\nSo tell em why your mad son\nGotta get it off your chest\nLet em know how you feel son\nYou gotta say what you say\nIt don't matter, they gonna say a nigga hating anyway","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Tick, Tock\n  artist: Pusha T, Raekwon, Joell Ortiz & Danny Brown\n  album: The Man With the Iron Fists\n  duration_ms: 378000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  King Push\n  RZA\n  Razor\n  The devil is a lie\n  You ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\n  They say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\n  What better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\n  Them wings don't fly\n  Your traitor is your neighbor\n  At your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\n  Bathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\n  And he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\n  It's the mark of the beast\n  The meek shall inherit the Earth\n  The weak shall inherit the dirt\n  You each should have perished at birth\n  Still born or aborted\n  Every street tax gotta come with an audit\n  Either your life, or your loved ones\n  Straight razor or a snub-gun\n  From the village where the thugs from\n  Same corner that you copping all your drugs from\n  He a hero, but he unsung\n  I'm the one\n  the chambers is 36, they new and improved\n  Now make a move\n  These guns whistle, sizzle up dudes who got big mouths, no power\n  Run in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\n  We better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\n  And all the money we got, remove like the Mexicans\n  A cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\n  I fuck with golf now, Shala is ill\n  Yeah, the coke is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\n  Or chilling on a beach in Boca, cheefin' with tuna\n  Salads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\n  Passing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n  1984, the blow was just more\n  Then we would come trough with rifles rocking Nike boots and war\n  A real nigga's invention that came from a henchman\n  Who blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\n  Drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\n  Drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\n  You niggas talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\n  Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n  God, I was Lucifer's neighbor\n  You wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\n  Moving with the lasers under Rugers\n  Make a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\n  Sweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\n  The chemists cookwork\n  The runners; footwork\n  The customs took work\n  The soldiers put work in\n  On any of the motherfuckers who fucked up good work\n  Bosses tell 'em: 'Good work'\n  That's just how the hood work\n  Northface bubble with, eight bundles under it\n  Gold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\n  I lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm fucking with\n  My moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\n  Mongoose with the pegs\n  Clap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\n  That's beef nigga, y'all ain't street niggas\n  Y'all peep niggas, write it down and try to be niggas\n  Fucking everything, neck heavy swing\n  Second hand swepped across that pretty breathling\n  In that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\n  Whatever bring fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\n  In this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\n  Niggas get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\n  You know my origins is over when\n  Fat black bitch singing over organs\n  Die for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\n  You say that for the one you buying red bottoms\n  Yeah, that's the price you gotta pay for it\n  All's fair in love and war, she masquerade for it\n  Woo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\n  Trick or treat (?), I earned it of the books\n  Now listen to me vent\n  When you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\n  Shots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\n  Knight in shining armor\n  Mistake me for the villain cause of my vengeance is your karma\n  Yeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\n  This music to my soul, cause it's death before dishonor\n  Gone\n  Got the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\n  That used the church money to cop a new Beamer\n  Got the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\n  That bought his momma the rubbers when a john came through\n  It's the microphone Methadone\n  Greatest ever etched in stone\n  You ain't getting pussy like your prom date had a chaperone\n  Popping pills got a nigga brain like a labyrinth\n  Called the ho on purpose but I got the brain on accident\n  Nigga I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of weed\n  Rolled a blunt so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\n  My manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\n  The insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\n  I'm a wet dream, Dry sense of humor\n  Travel in class like a high school rumor\n  No one really cares if you embarrass us with style\n  Cuz when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\n  So tell em why your mad son\n  Gotta get it off your chest\n  Let em know how you feel son\n  You gotta say what you say\n  It don't matter, they gonna say a nigga hating anyway\n"},{"id":37413055,"name":"Tick, Tock - MusicFire.in","trackName":"Tick, Tock - MusicFire.in","artistName":"Danny Brown/Joell Ortiz/Raekwon/Pusha T/MusicFire.in","albumName":"The Man with the Iron Fists [Original Motion Picture Soundtrack] - MusicFire.in","duration":378.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"King Push\nRZA\nRazor\nExecution\n\nThe devil is a lie\nYou ain't broke bread 'til you taste the devil's pie\nThey say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\nWhat better camouflage when the halo's your disguise?\nThem wings don't fly, your traitor is your neighbor\n\nAt your front porch and he's handing you your paper\n\nBathrobe on but the sword's underneath\nAnd he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\nIt's the mark of the beast\nThe meek shall inherit the Earth\n\nThe weak shall inherit the dirt\nYou each should've perished at birth\nStillborn or aborted\nEvery street tax gotta come with an audit\nEither your life or your loved ones\nStraight razor or a snub gun\nFrom the village where the thugs from\n\nSame corner that you copping all your drugs from\n\nHe a hero but he unsung\n\nI'm the one\n\nYeah\nI'm the one\nYeah\nAyo, homie\n\nThe Chambers is 36, the new and improved\nNow make a move, these guns whistle, sizzle\nLove dudes who got big mouths, no power\nRun to the bank with no dollars\nGot the nerve to switch crews\nWe better than the rest of them, I guess it's the estrogen\n\nAnd all the money we got but move like the Mexicans\nA cartel, compound of Carvel\nA large scale in Scarsdale\nI fuck with golf now, Shallah's ill\nYeah, the coke is fresh, straight out of Bermuda, yo\nOr chilling on the beach in Boca Chica with tuna\n\nSalads and palaces, yo\nWe smoke out them chalices\n\nPassing off balances of bread to the island since\n1984, The blow was just more\nThen we would come through with rifles\nRocking Nike boots then war\n\nA real nigga's invention that came from a henchman\nWho blew up, now throw the woo up\nThat's my redemption\n\nDrug dealer, been that nigga half my life\nDrug, drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\nYou niggas talking but you ain't never seen him\nImagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n\nGod, I was Lucifer's neighbor\nYou wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\nMoving with lasers under Rugers\nMake a move, you make the papers\nLose-lose situation\nSweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\nThe chemist cook work\nThe runners footwork\nThe custies took work\n\nThe soldiers put work in on any one of\nThem motherfuckers who fuck up good work\nBosses tell 'em good work\nThat's just how the hood work\n\nNorth Face bubble wear\nEight bundles under it\nGold front, upper lip smile while I was hugging it\nI lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor\nHe who I'm fucking with\nMy moms do that snow in her nose but I would hustle it\n\nChamp hoodie, mongoose with the pegs\nClap your stoop up, hit mom dukes in the leg\nThat's beef, nigga\nY'all ain't street niggas\n\nY'all peep niggas, write it down and try to be niggas\nFucking everything, neck heavy swing\nSecondhand swept across that pretty fretling\nIn that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing\nPedaling, whatever bring\nFetti in steadily, I fed my whole team\n\nDrug dealer, been that nigga half my life\nDrug, drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\nYou niggas talking but you ain't never seen him\nImagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n\nIn this art of war, my paint stroke is Picasso\nNiggas get the picture, I ain't gotta paint the nostrils\nYou know my origin is over when\nFat black bitches singing over organs\nDie for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\nYou save that for the one you buying red bottoms\n\nYeah, that's the price you gotta pay for it\nAll span loving war, she masquerade for it\nWoo, jack-o'-lantern Push\nTrick or treat, fucking shit, I earned it off the books\nNow listen to me vent\nWhen you sit and watch, it's like tires being spent\nShots from everywhere but they never make a dent\nKnight in shining armor\nMistake me for the villain 'cause my vengeance is your karma\n\nYeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\nIt's music to my soul 'cause it's death before dishonor\nGone\n\nCheck\n\nGot the tongue of a pimp\nRaised by a dirty preacher\nThat used the church money to cop a new Beamer\nGot the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\nThat bought his mama the rubbers when a John came through\nIt's the microphone methadone\n\nGreatest ever, it's the stone\nYou ain't getting pussy like your prom date had a chaperone\nPopping pills got a nigga brain like a labyrinth\nGot the ho on purpose but I got the brain on accident\nNigga, I'm your majesty\nShow up with a bag of weed\nRoll a blunt so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\nMy name descriptively the man who ripped the ballers' dreams\n\nThe insomniac with nightmares and six teens\n\nI'm a wet dream, dry sense of humor\nTravel in class like a high school rumor\n\nNo one really cares if you embarrass us with sounds\n'Cause when it comes to them raps, you been letting us down\nSo tell 'em why you're mad, son\n\nGotta get it off your chest\n\nLet 'em know how you feel, son\n\nYou gotta say what you say\nIt don't matter, they gon' say a nigga hating anyway","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Tick, Tock - MusicFire.in\n  artist: Danny Brown/Joell Ortiz/Raekwon/Pusha T/MusicFire.in\n  album: The Man with the Iron Fists [Original Motion Picture Soundtrack] - MusicFire.in\n  duration_ms: 378175\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  King Push\n  RZA\n  Razor\n  Execution\n\n  The devil is a lie\n  You ain't broke bread 'til you taste the devil's pie\n  They say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\n  What better camouflage when the halo's your disguise?\n  Them wings don't fly, your traitor is your neighbor\n\n  At your front porch and he's handing you your paper\n\n  Bathrobe on but the sword's underneath\n  And he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\n  It's the mark of the beast\n  The meek shall inherit the Earth\n\n  The weak shall inherit the dirt\n  You each should've perished at birth\n  Stillborn or aborted\n  Every street tax gotta come with an audit\n  Either your life or your loved ones\n  Straight razor or a snub gun\n  From the village where the thugs from\n\n  Same corner that you copping all your drugs from\n\n  He a hero but he unsung\n\n  I'm the one\n\n  Yeah\n  I'm the one\n  Yeah\n  Ayo, homie\n\n  The Chambers is 36, the new and improved\n  Now make a move, these guns whistle, sizzle\n  Love dudes who got big mouths, no power\n  Run to the bank with no dollars\n  Got the nerve to switch crews\n  We better than the rest of them, I guess it's the estrogen\n\n  And all the money we got but move like the Mexicans\n  A cartel, compound of Carvel\n  A large scale in Scarsdale\n  I fuck with golf now, Shallah's ill\n  Yeah, the coke is fresh, straight out of Bermuda, yo\n  Or chilling on the beach in Boca Chica with tuna\n\n  Salads and palaces, yo\n  We smoke out them chalices\n\n  Passing off balances of bread to the island since\n  1984, The blow was just more\n  Then we would come through with rifles\n  Rocking Nike boots then war\n\n  A real nigga's invention that came from a henchman\n  Who blew up, now throw the woo up\n  That's my redemption\n\n  Drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\n  Drug, drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\n  You niggas talking but you ain't never seen him\n  Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n\n  God, I was Lucifer's neighbor\n  You wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\n  Moving with lasers under Rugers\n  Make a move, you make the papers\n  Lose-lose situation\n  Sweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\n  The chemist cook work\n  The runners footwork\n  The custies took work\n\n  The soldiers put work in on any one of\n  Them motherfuckers who fuck up good work\n  Bosses tell 'em good work\n  That's just how the hood work\n\n  North Face bubble wear\n  Eight bundles under it\n  Gold front, upper lip smile while I was hugging it\n  I lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor\n  He who I'm fucking with\n  My moms do that snow in her nose but I would hustle it\n\n  Champ hoodie, mongoose with the pegs\n  Clap your stoop up, hit mom dukes in the leg\n  That's beef, nigga\n  Y'all ain't street niggas\n\n  Y'all peep niggas, write it down and try to be niggas\n  Fucking everything, neck heavy swing\n  Secondhand swept across that pretty fretling\n  In that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing\n  Pedaling, whatever bring\n  Fetti in steadily, I fed my whole team\n\n  Drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\n  Drug, drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\n  You niggas talking but you ain't never seen him\n  Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n\n  In this art of war, my paint stroke is Picasso\n  Niggas get the picture, I ain't gotta paint the nostrils\n  You know my origin is over when\n  Fat black bitches singing over organs\n  Die for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\n  You save that for the one you buying red bottoms\n\n  Yeah, that's the price you gotta pay for it\n  All span loving war, she masquerade for it\n  Woo, jack-o'-lantern Push\n  Trick or treat, fucking shit, I earned it off the books\n  Now listen to me vent\n  When you sit and watch, it's like tires being spent\n  Shots from everywhere but they never make a dent\n  Knight in shining armor\n  Mistake me for the villain 'cause my vengeance is your karma\n\n  Yeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\n  It's music to my soul 'cause it's death before dishonor\n  Gone\n\n  Check\n\n  Got the tongue of a pimp\n  Raised by a dirty preacher\n  That used the church money to cop a new Beamer\n  Got the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\n  That bought his mama the rubbers when a John came through\n  It's the microphone methadone\n\n  Greatest ever, it's the stone\n  You ain't getting pussy like your prom date had a chaperone\n  Popping pills got a nigga brain like a labyrinth\n  Got the ho on purpose but I got the brain on accident\n  Nigga, I'm your majesty\n  Show up with a bag of weed\n  Roll a blunt so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\n  My name descriptively the man who ripped the ballers' dreams\n\n  The insomniac with nightmares and six teens\n\n  I'm a wet dream, dry sense of humor\n  Travel in class like a high school rumor\n\n  No one really cares if you embarrass us with sounds\n  'Cause when it comes to them raps, you been letting us down\n  So tell 'em why you're mad, son\n\n  Gotta get it off your chest\n\n  Let 'em know how you feel, son\n\n  You gotta say what you say\n  It don't matter, they gon' say a nigga hating anyway\n"},{"id":6839873,"name":"Tick, Tock ft. Pusha T, Raekwon, Joell Ortiz & Danny Brown","trackName":"Tick, Tock ft. Pusha T, Raekwon, Joell Ortiz & Danny Brown","artistName":"RZA","albumName":"The Man With The Iron Fists","duration":378.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"King Push\nRZA\nRazor\nThe devil is a lie\nYou ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\nThey say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\nWhat better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\nThem wings don't fly\nYour traitor is your neighbor\nAt your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\nBathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\nAnd he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\nIt's the mark of the beast\nThe meek shall inherit the Earth\nThe weak shall inherit the dirt\nYou each should have perished at birth\nStill born or aborted\nEvery street tax gotta come with an audit\nEither your life, or your loved ones\nStraight razor or a snub-gun\nFrom the village where the thugs from\nSame corner that you copping all your drugs from\nHe a hero, but he unsung\nI'm the one\nThe chambers is 36, they new and improved\nNow make a move\nThese guns whistle, sizzle up dudes who got big mouths, no power\nRun in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\nWe better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\nAnd all the money we got, remove like the Mexicans\nA cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\nI fuck with golf now, Shala is ill\nYeah, the coke is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\nOr chilling on a beach in Boca, cheefin' with tuna\nSalads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\nPassing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n1984, the blow was just more\nThen we would come trough with rifles rocking Nike boots and war\nA real nigga's invention that came from a henchman\nWho blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\nDrug dealer, been that nigga half my life\nDrug dealer, been that nigga half my life\nYou niggas talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\nImagine being first name basis with the kingpin\nGod, I was Lucifer's neighbor\nYou wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\nMoving with the lasers under Rugers\nMake a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\nSweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\nThe chemists cookwork\nThe runners; footwork\nThe customs took work\nThe soldiers put work in\nOn any of the motherfuckers who fucked up good work\nBosses tell 'em: 'Good work'\nThat's just how the hood work\nNorthface bubble with, eight bundles under it\nGold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\nI lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm fucking with\nMy moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\nMongoose with the pegs\nClap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\nThat's beef nigga, y'all ain't street niggas\nY'all peep niggas, write it down and try to be niggas\nFucking everything, neck heavy swing\nSecond hand swepped across that pretty breathling\nIn that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\nWhatever bring fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\nIn this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\nNiggas get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\nYou know my origins is over when\nFat black bitch singing over organs\nDie for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\nYou say that for the one you buying red bottoms\nYeah, that's the price you gotta pay for it\nAll's fair in love and war, she masquerade for it\nWoo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\nTrick or treat (?), I earned it of the books\nNow listen to me vent\nWhen you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\nShots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\nKnight in shining armor\nMistake me for the villain cause of my vengeance is your karma\nYeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\nThis music to my soul, cause it's death before dishonor\nGone\nGot the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\nThat used the church money to cop a new Beamer\nGot the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\nThat bought his momma the rubbers when a john came through\nIt's the microphone Methadone\nGreatest ever etched in stone\nYou ain't getting pussy like your prom date had a chaperone\nPopping pills got a nigga brain like a labyrinth\nCalled the ho on purpose but I got the brain on accident\nNigga I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of weed\nRolled a blunt so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\nMy manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\nThe insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\nI'm a wet dream, Dry sense of humor\nTravel in class like a high school rumor\nNo one really cares if you embarrass us with style\nCuz when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\nSo tell em why your mad son\nGotta get it off your chest\nLet em know how you feel son\nYou gotta say what you say\nIt don't matter, they gonna say a nigga hating anyway","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Tick, Tock ft. Pusha T, Raekwon, Joell Ortiz & Danny Brown\n  artist: RZA\n  album: The Man With The Iron Fists\n  duration_ms: 378000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  King Push\n  RZA\n  Razor\n  The devil is a lie\n  You ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\n  They say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\n  What better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\n  Them wings don't fly\n  Your traitor is your neighbor\n  At your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\n  Bathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\n  And he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\n  It's the mark of the beast\n  The meek shall inherit the Earth\n  The weak shall inherit the dirt\n  You each should have perished at birth\n  Still born or aborted\n  Every street tax gotta come with an audit\n  Either your life, or your loved ones\n  Straight razor or a snub-gun\n  From the village where the thugs from\n  Same corner that you copping all your drugs from\n  He a hero, but he unsung\n  I'm the one\n  The chambers is 36, they new and improved\n  Now make a move\n  These guns whistle, sizzle up dudes who got big mouths, no power\n  Run in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\n  We better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\n  And all the money we got, remove like the Mexicans\n  A cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\n  I fuck with golf now, Shala is ill\n  Yeah, the coke is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\n  Or chilling on a beach in Boca, cheefin' with tuna\n  Salads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\n  Passing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n  1984, the blow was just more\n  Then we would come trough with rifles rocking Nike boots and war\n  A real nigga's invention that came from a henchman\n  Who blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\n  Drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\n  Drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\n  You niggas talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\n  Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n  God, I was Lucifer's neighbor\n  You wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\n  Moving with the lasers under Rugers\n  Make a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\n  Sweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\n  The chemists cookwork\n  The runners; footwork\n  The customs took work\n  The soldiers put work in\n  On any of the motherfuckers who fucked up good work\n  Bosses tell 'em: 'Good work'\n  That's just how the hood work\n  Northface bubble with, eight bundles under it\n  Gold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\n  I lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm fucking with\n  My moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\n  Mongoose with the pegs\n  Clap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\n  That's beef nigga, y'all ain't street niggas\n  Y'all peep niggas, write it down and try to be niggas\n  Fucking everything, neck heavy swing\n  Second hand swepped across that pretty breathling\n  In that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\n  Whatever bring fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\n  In this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\n  Niggas get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\n  You know my origins is over when\n  Fat black bitch singing over organs\n  Die for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\n  You say that for the one you buying red bottoms\n  Yeah, that's the price you gotta pay for it\n  All's fair in love and war, she masquerade for it\n  Woo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\n  Trick or treat (?), I earned it of the books\n  Now listen to me vent\n  When you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\n  Shots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\n  Knight in shining armor\n  Mistake me for the villain cause of my vengeance is your karma\n  Yeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\n  This music to my soul, cause it's death before dishonor\n  Gone\n  Got the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\n  That used the church money to cop a new Beamer\n  Got the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\n  That bought his momma the rubbers when a john came through\n  It's the microphone Methadone\n  Greatest ever etched in stone\n  You ain't getting pussy like your prom date had a chaperone\n  Popping pills got a nigga brain like a labyrinth\n  Called the ho on purpose but I got the brain on accident\n  Nigga I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of weed\n  Rolled a blunt so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\n  My manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\n  The insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\n  I'm a wet dream, Dry sense of humor\n  Travel in class like a high school rumor\n  No one really cares if you embarrass us with style\n  Cuz when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\n  So tell em why your mad son\n  Gotta get it off your chest\n  Let em know how you feel son\n  You gotta say what you say\n  It don't matter, they gonna say a nigga hating anyway\n"},{"id":19573422,"name":"Tick, Tock (feat. Pusha T, Raekwon, Joell Ortiz, & Danny Brown)","trackName":"Tick, Tock (feat. Pusha T, Raekwon, Joell Ortiz, & Danny Brown)","artistName":"Danny Brown","albumName":"Danny Brown Features","duration":378.36,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"King Push\nRZA\nRazor\nThe devil is a lie\nYou ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\nThey say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\nWhat better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\nThem wings don't fly\nYour traitor is your neighbor\nAt your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\nBathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\nAnd he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\nIt's the mark of the beast\nThe meek shall inherit the Earth\nThe weak shall inherit the dirt\nYou each should have perished at birth\nStill born or aborted\nEvery street tax gotta come with an audit\nEither your life, or your loved ones\nStraight razor or a snub-gun\nFrom the village where the thugs from\nSame corner that you copping all your drugs from\nHe a hero, but he unsung\nI'm the one\nthe chambers is 36, they new and improved\nNow make a move\nThese guns whistle, sizzle up dudes who got big mouths, no power\nRun in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\nWe better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\nAnd all the money we got, remove like the Mexicans\nA cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\nI fuck with golf now, Shala is ill\nYeah, the coke is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\nOr chilling on a beach in Boca, cheefin' with tuna\nSalads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\nPassing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n1984, the blow was just more\nThen we would come trough with rifles rocking Nike boots and war\nA real nigga's invention that came from a henchman\nWho blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\nDrug dealer, been that nigga half my life\nDrug dealer, been that nigga half my life\nYou niggas talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\nImagine being first name basis with the kingpin\nGod, I was Lucifer's neighbor\nYou wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\nMoving with the lasers under Rugers\nMake a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\nSweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\nThe chemists cookwork\nThe runners; footwork\nThe customs took work\nThe soldiers put work in\nOn any of the motherfuckers who fucked up good work\nBosses tell 'em: 'Good work'\nThat's just how the hood work\nNorthface bubble with, eight bundles under it\nGold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\nI lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm fucking with\nMy moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\nMongoose with the pegs\nClap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\nThat's beef nigga, y'all ain't street niggas\nY'all peep niggas, write it down and try to be niggas\nFucking everything, neck heavy swing\nSecond hand swepped across that pretty breathling\nIn that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\nWhatever bring fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\nIn this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\nNiggas get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\nYou know my origins is over when\nFat black bitch singing over organs\nDie for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\nYou say that for the one you buying red bottoms\nYeah, that's the price you gotta pay for it\nAll's fair in love and war, she masquerade for it\nWoo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\nTrick or treat (?), I earned it of the books\nNow listen to me vent\nWhen you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\nShots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\nKnight in shining armor\nMistake me for the villain cause of my vengeance is your karma\nYeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\nThis music to my soul, cause it's death before dishonor\nGone\nGot the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\nThat used the church money to cop a new Beamer\nGot the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\nThat bought his momma the rubbers when a john came through\nIt's the microphone Methadone\nGreatest ever etched in stone\nYou ain't getting pussy like your prom date had a chaperone\nPopping pills got a nigga brain like a labyrinth\nCalled the ho on purpose but I got the brain on accident\nNigga I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of weed\nRolled a blunt so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\nMy manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\nThe insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\nI'm a wet dream, Dry sense of humor\nTravel in class like a high school rumor\nNo one really cares if you embarrass us with style\nCuz when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\nSo tell em why your mad son\nGotta get it off your chest\nLet em know how you feel son\nYou gotta say what you say\nIt don't matter, they gonna say a nigga hating anyway","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Tick, Tock (feat. Pusha T, Raekwon, Joell Ortiz, & Danny Brown)\n  artist: Danny Brown\n  album: Danny Brown Features\n  duration_ms: 378360\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  King Push\n  RZA\n  Razor\n  The devil is a lie\n  You ain't broke bread 'till you taste the devil's pie\n  They say his laugh sounds like an angel when he cries\n  What better camouflage when the halo's your disguise\n  Them wings don't fly\n  Your traitor is your neighbor\n  At your front porch, and he's handing you your paper\n  Bathrobe on, but the sword's underneath\n  And he wanna see your blood as it pours in the street\n  It's the mark of the beast\n  The meek shall inherit the Earth\n  The weak shall inherit the dirt\n  You each should have perished at birth\n  Still born or aborted\n  Every street tax gotta come with an audit\n  Either your life, or your loved ones\n  Straight razor or a snub-gun\n  From the village where the thugs from\n  Same corner that you copping all your drugs from\n  He a hero, but he unsung\n  I'm the one\n  the chambers is 36, they new and improved\n  Now make a move\n  These guns whistle, sizzle up dudes who got big mouths, no power\n  Run in the bank with no dollars, got the nerve to switch crews\n  We better than the rest of 'em, my guess is the estrogen\n  And all the money we got, remove like the Mexicans\n  A cartel, compound, a carvel, a large scale in Scarsdale\n  I fuck with golf now, Shala is ill\n  Yeah, the coke is fresh, straight out of Bermuda yo\n  Or chilling on a beach in Boca, cheefin' with tuna\n  Salads and palaces, yo, we smoke out them chalices\n  Passing of the balances of bread to the Island since\n  1984, the blow was just more\n  Then we would come trough with rifles rocking Nike boots and war\n  A real nigga's invention that came from a henchman\n  Who blew up, now throw the Wu up, that's my redemption\n  Drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\n  Drug dealer, been that nigga half my life\n  You niggas talking, but you ain't never seen 'em\n  Imagine being first name basis with the kingpin\n  God, I was Lucifer's neighbor\n  You wouldn't believe some of the things these people do for this paper\n  Moving with the lasers under Rugers\n  Make a move, you make the papers, lose lose situation\n  Sweat or blood, you get to choose what you bathe in\n  The chemists cookwork\n  The runners; footwork\n  The customs took work\n  The soldiers put work in\n  On any of the motherfuckers who fucked up good work\n  Bosses tell 'em: 'Good work'\n  That's just how the hood work\n  Northface bubble with, eight bundles under it\n  Gold front upper-lip smile while I was hugging it\n  I lied, I wasn't Lucifer's neighbor, he who I'm fucking with\n  My moms threw that snow in her nose, but I would hustle it\n  Mongoose with the pegs\n  Clap your stoop up, hit moms duke in her legs\n  That's beef nigga, y'all ain't street niggas\n  Y'all peep niggas, write it down and try to be niggas\n  Fucking everything, neck heavy swing\n  Second hand swepped across that pretty breathling\n  In that Nissan, Honda, Chevy thing peddling\n  Whatever bring fetti in, steadily I fed my whole team\n  In this art of war, my pen stroke is Picasso\n  Niggas get the picture I ain't got to paint the nostrils\n  You know my origins is over when\n  Fat black bitch singing over organs\n  Die for a dollar, pride you don't swallow\n  You say that for the one you buying red bottoms\n  Yeah, that's the price you gotta pay for it\n  All's fair in love and war, she masquerade for it\n  Woo! Jack-O-Lantern Push\n  Trick or treat (?), I earned it of the books\n  Now listen to me vent\n  When you sitting watch, it's like the tires being spent\n  Shots from everywhere, but they never make a dent\n  Knight in shining armor\n  Mistake me for the villain cause of my vengeance is your karma\n  Yeah, fear is knowing you're a goner\n  This music to my soul, cause it's death before dishonor\n  Gone\n  Got the tongue of a pimp, raised by a dirty preacher\n  That used the church money to cop a new Beamer\n  Got the heart of a child raised by a prostitute\n  That bought his momma the rubbers when a john came through\n  It's the microphone Methadone\n  Greatest ever etched in stone\n  You ain't getting pussy like your prom date had a chaperone\n  Popping pills got a nigga brain like a labyrinth\n  Called the ho on purpose but I got the brain on accident\n  Nigga I'm your majesty, show up with a bag of weed\n  Rolled a blunt so perfect, thought it came up out a factory\n  My manuscript leave a man ripped of all his dreams\n  The insomniac with nightmares in sixteens\n  I'm a wet dream, Dry sense of humor\n  Travel in class like a high school rumor\n  No one really cares if you embarrass us with style\n  Cuz when it comes to them raps you been letting us down\n  So tell em why your mad son\n  Gotta get it off your chest\n  Let em know how you feel son\n  You gotta say what you say\n  It don't matter, they gonna say a nigga hating anyway\n"}]