[{"id":26456001,"name":"The Hawk","trackName":"The Hawk","artistName":"Ransom","albumName":"No Rest for the Wicked","duration":212.819592,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Ayy, I don't need no motherfuckin' ghostwriter\nThat's right, at all\nSo if you tellin' that lie, you must be real\nFuckin' desperate and you still ain't gon' pop\nWow, okay, alright\nYeah, Nicki\nNicki, can I get a picture?\nHow the, how the whack nigga gon' write my shit?\n\nMy job is to take the spark and fan it\nWhen it starts to become a little flame, I feed it\nAnd I feed the fire until it becomes a roaring blaze\n\nLook at this box that they puttin' Ransom in\nI hereby give you the blood of a young champion\nI see 'em throwin' jabs, but here's how I answer them\nI hustle with this Ali shuffle, you shouldn't dance with him\nI'm duckin' these interviews, I bob and weave with a different move\nThen I dance when I score like I'm Victor Cruz\nPick and choose your opponents, I fights with the best of 'em\nThen fight to the death with them, won't strike a pedestrian\nWhat likely possesses him? True passion, who askin'?\nEvery time I step in this square box, I produce action\n\nI give 'em hell 'cause I did it well\nDucked shots but got hit, so now when\nIt rains on me, I feel these shells\nAnother round left and you ain't got enough, fam\nI'm lookin' at your corner, your work got a lot of cut, man\n\nI think he said he's had enough, Ran\nYou shouldn't bet against this trust, fam\nA young Aaron Pryor with felonies on the wire\nFear desire, man, I'm really too old to be airin' priors\nTrue story, you got no drive for the lane I'm swervin' in\n\nI been a star, but they labelin' me a journeyman\nDon't leave it to the judges, I raise my hand when the word is in\nI never got robbed, so why would I have to worry then?\nSevere hands and a sturdy chin, a couple flurries win\nI'm punchin' after the bell 'cause I never heard the ding\nEndure pain, then I spit blood\nIgnore the games and resist love just to keep a stiff grudge\nI leave no prints on the fifth, cuz, I gotta admit, bruh\nI be in fury wearin' these big gloves\n\nIt's not a nigga that can spar with me\nPull up and try to compare they bars with me\nI give 'em a scar quickly, I'm thankin' that God's with me\n\nControllin' my breathin', they only\nTryna get even when they at odds with me\n\nPure rock, this is straight glass, I teach 'em how to weigh it up\nIt's obvious he ain't built for this weight class\nWe all wanna see the greats clash, I straight blast\nBody shots that cave in ribs and break abs\nStoppin' who? They never gave me the proper due\nI gotta prosper through when the situation get rocky too\nI bear down, I cannot be moved, Mötley Crüe\nRock a nigga, watch he snooze, blood on my Versace shoes\nThey still prayin' that I probably lose\nI triple Gs, leave Gennady bruised, I live by the Gotti rules\n\nThat means you should watch your mouthpiece\n\nI'm Julius Caesar even without Greece\nThere's no division that could subtract me\nThe math free, don't wanna be counted out, then you add me\nDon't really matter what the math be\n\n'Cause you only good as your last performance, nigga, just ask me","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: The Hawk\n  artist: Ransom\n  album: No Rest for the Wicked\n  duration_ms: 212820\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Ayy, I don't need no motherfuckin' ghostwriter\n  That's right, at all\n  So if you tellin' that lie, you must be real\n  Fuckin' desperate and you still ain't gon' pop\n  Wow, okay, alright\n  Yeah, Nicki\n  Nicki, can I get a picture?\n  How the, how the whack nigga gon' write my shit?\n\n  My job is to take the spark and fan it\n  When it starts to become a little flame, I feed it\n  And I feed the fire until it becomes a roaring blaze\n\n  Look at this box that they puttin' Ransom in\n  I hereby give you the blood of a young champion\n  I see 'em throwin' jabs, but here's how I answer them\n  I hustle with this Ali shuffle, you shouldn't dance with him\n  I'm duckin' these interviews, I bob and weave with a different move\n  Then I dance when I score like I'm Victor Cruz\n  Pick and choose your opponents, I fights with the best of 'em\n  Then fight to the death with them, won't strike a pedestrian\n  What likely possesses him? True passion, who askin'?\n  Every time I step in this square box, I produce action\n\n  I give 'em hell 'cause I did it well\n  Ducked shots but got hit, so now when\n  It rains on me, I feel these shells\n  Another round left and you ain't got enough, fam\n  I'm lookin' at your corner, your work got a lot of cut, man\n\n  I think he said he's had enough, Ran\n  You shouldn't bet against this trust, fam\n  A young Aaron Pryor with felonies on the wire\n  Fear desire, man, I'm really too old to be airin' priors\n  True story, you got no drive for the lane I'm swervin' in\n\n  I been a star, but they labelin' me a journeyman\n  Don't leave it to the judges, I raise my hand when the word is in\n  I never got robbed, so why would I have to worry then?\n  Severe hands and a sturdy chin, a couple flurries win\n  I'm punchin' after the bell 'cause I never heard the ding\n  Endure pain, then I spit blood\n  Ignore the games and resist love just to keep a stiff grudge\n  I leave no prints on the fifth, cuz, I gotta admit, bruh\n  I be in fury wearin' these big gloves\n\n  It's not a nigga that can spar with me\n  Pull up and try to compare they bars with me\n  I give 'em a scar quickly, I'm thankin' that God's with me\n\n  Controllin' my breathin', they only\n  Tryna get even when they at odds with me\n\n  Pure rock, this is straight glass, I teach 'em how to weigh it up\n  It's obvious he ain't built for this weight class\n  We all wanna see the greats clash, I straight blast\n  Body shots that cave in ribs and break abs\n  Stoppin' who? They never gave me the proper due\n  I gotta prosper through when the situation get rocky too\n  I bear down, I cannot be moved, Mötley Crüe\n  Rock a nigga, watch he snooze, blood on my Versace shoes\n  They still prayin' that I probably lose\n  I triple Gs, leave Gennady bruised, I live by the Gotti rules\n\n  That means you should watch your mouthpiece\n\n  I'm Julius Caesar even without Greece\n  There's no division that could subtract me\n  The math free, don't wanna be counted out, then you add me\n  Don't really matter what the math be\n\n  'Cause you only good as your last performance, nigga, just ask me\n"},{"id":36016193,"name":"Hawk","trackName":"Hawk","artistName":"Ransom","albumName":"No Rest For The Wicked","duration":213.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Ayy, I don't need no motherfuckin' ghostwriter\nThat's right, at all\nSo if you tellin' that lie, you must be real\nFuckin' desperate and you still ain't gon' pop\nWow, okay, alright\nYeah, Nicki\nNicki, can I get a picture?\nHow the, how the whack nigga gon' write my shit?\n\nMy job is to take the spark and fan it\nWhen it starts to become a little flame, I feed it\nAnd I feed the fire until it becomes a roaring blaze\n\nLook at this box that they puttin' Ransom in\nI hereby give you the blood of a young champion\nI see 'em throwin' jabs, but here's how I answer them\nI hustle with this Ali shuffle, you shouldn't dance with him\nI'm duckin' these interviews, I bob and weave with a different move\nThen I dance when I score like I'm Victor Cruz\nPick and choose your opponents, I fights with the best of 'em\nThen fight to the death with them, won't strike a pedestrian\nWhat likely possesses him? True passion, who askin'?\nEvery time I step in this square box, I produce action\n\nI give 'em hell 'cause I did it well\nDucked shots but got hit, so now when\nIt rains on me, I feel these shells\nAnother round left and you ain't got enough, fam\nI'm lookin' at your corner, your work got a lot of cut, man\n\nI think he said he's had enough, Ran\nYou shouldn't bet against this trust, fam\nA young Aaron Pryor with felonies on the wire\nFear desire, man, I'm really too old to be airin' priors\nTrue story, you got no drive for the lane I'm swervin' in\n\nI been a star, but they labelin' me a journeyman\nDon't leave it to the judges, I raise my hand when the word is in\nI never got robbed, so why would I have to worry then?\nSevere hands and a sturdy chin, a couple flurries win\nI'm punchin' after the bell 'cause I never heard the ding\nEndure pain, then I spit blood\nIgnore the games and resist love just to keep a stiff grudge\nI leave no prints on the fifth, cuz, I gotta admit, bruh\nI be in fury wearin' these big gloves\n\nIt's not a nigga that can spar with me\nPull up and try to compare they bars with me\nI give 'em a scar quickly, I'm thankin' that God's with me\n\nControllin' my breathin', they only\nTryna get even when they at odds with me\n\nPure rock, this is straight glass, I teach 'em how to weigh it up\nIt's obvious he ain't built for this weight class\nWe all wanna see the greats clash, I straight blast\nBody shots that cave in ribs and break abs\nStoppin' who? They never gave me the proper due\nI gotta prosper through when the situation get rocky too\nI bear down, I cannot be moved, Mötley Crüe\nRock a nigga, watch he snooze, blood on my Versace shoes\nThey still prayin' that I probably lose\nI triple Gs, leave Gennady bruised, I live by the Gotti rules\n\nThat means you should watch your mouthpiece\n\nI'm Julius Caesar even without Greece\nThere's no division that could subtract me\nThe math free, don't wanna be counted out, then you add me\nDon't really matter what the math be\n\n'Cause you only good as your last performance, nigga, just ask me","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Hawk\n  artist: Ransom\n  album: No Rest For The Wicked\n  duration_ms: 213000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Ayy, I don't need no motherfuckin' ghostwriter\n  That's right, at all\n  So if you tellin' that lie, you must be real\n  Fuckin' desperate and you still ain't gon' pop\n  Wow, okay, alright\n  Yeah, Nicki\n  Nicki, can I get a picture?\n  How the, how the whack nigga gon' write my shit?\n\n  My job is to take the spark and fan it\n  When it starts to become a little flame, I feed it\n  And I feed the fire until it becomes a roaring blaze\n\n  Look at this box that they puttin' Ransom in\n  I hereby give you the blood of a young champion\n  I see 'em throwin' jabs, but here's how I answer them\n  I hustle with this Ali shuffle, you shouldn't dance with him\n  I'm duckin' these interviews, I bob and weave with a different move\n  Then I dance when I score like I'm Victor Cruz\n  Pick and choose your opponents, I fights with the best of 'em\n  Then fight to the death with them, won't strike a pedestrian\n  What likely possesses him? True passion, who askin'?\n  Every time I step in this square box, I produce action\n\n  I give 'em hell 'cause I did it well\n  Ducked shots but got hit, so now when\n  It rains on me, I feel these shells\n  Another round left and you ain't got enough, fam\n  I'm lookin' at your corner, your work got a lot of cut, man\n\n  I think he said he's had enough, Ran\n  You shouldn't bet against this trust, fam\n  A young Aaron Pryor with felonies on the wire\n  Fear desire, man, I'm really too old to be airin' priors\n  True story, you got no drive for the lane I'm swervin' in\n\n  I been a star, but they labelin' me a journeyman\n  Don't leave it to the judges, I raise my hand when the word is in\n  I never got robbed, so why would I have to worry then?\n  Severe hands and a sturdy chin, a couple flurries win\n  I'm punchin' after the bell 'cause I never heard the ding\n  Endure pain, then I spit blood\n  Ignore the games and resist love just to keep a stiff grudge\n  I leave no prints on the fifth, cuz, I gotta admit, bruh\n  I be in fury wearin' these big gloves\n\n  It's not a nigga that can spar with me\n  Pull up and try to compare they bars with me\n  I give 'em a scar quickly, I'm thankin' that God's with me\n\n  Controllin' my breathin', they only\n  Tryna get even when they at odds with me\n\n  Pure rock, this is straight glass, I teach 'em how to weigh it up\n  It's obvious he ain't built for this weight class\n  We all wanna see the greats clash, I straight blast\n  Body shots that cave in ribs and break abs\n  Stoppin' who? They never gave me the proper due\n  I gotta prosper through when the situation get rocky too\n  I bear down, I cannot be moved, Mötley Crüe\n  Rock a nigga, watch he snooze, blood on my Versace shoes\n  They still prayin' that I probably lose\n  I triple Gs, leave Gennady bruised, I live by the Gotti rules\n\n  That means you should watch your mouthpiece\n\n  I'm Julius Caesar even without Greece\n  There's no division that could subtract me\n  The math free, don't wanna be counted out, then you add me\n  Don't really matter what the math be\n\n  'Cause you only good as your last performance, nigga, just ask me\n"}]