[{"id":7284695,"name":"B.E.T. Cypher","trackName":"B.E.T. Cypher","artistName":"ScHoolboy Q","albumName":"Schoolboy Q 2","duration":372.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Most of these niggas shouldn't be next to us\nWe keep our distance from those, those acting like hoes\nZany imposed, weed in my clothes, cubics is gold\nYour wig'll get told, put the realest niggas\nNiggas, product of cap pillers, gangbangers, and dealers\nStreets keep watching, aye, click boom the ghetto bird get shot down\nStraight to the top now, they want a third strike on my background\nBut nah homie, put the mask on when I slide on 'em\nPut the cash in the safe and here's a extra slug 'fore I shake\nYou smoke faster than me with a eighth\nOr better yet a wet break on a plate\nBurning your faith, all your senses covered in tape\nFuckin' with them boys in blue, chill out before I send them rags at you\nYou running to the cops saying, \"How we do?\"\nSaying it's just rap and them lines ain't true\nSo I just do Q, fuck it, a ménage à two, or maybe trois\nBaby girl need a papa, I be her dada\nCoochie smacking, give praise to Allah\nGet blazed in my car, with Oxymoron, Rock\n\nRock got it, Rock came from rock bottom\nSparked the flames, still remain as a top shotta\nI ain't no backpack rapper, I ain't no lyricist\nAnd if we ain't talking to you, mind your business then\nCold with it, Black Hippy, yeah, we cold niggas\nAll the girlies love us, get a whiff of us\nThey bones quiver, heard some clown throwing stones at us\nHolding boulders champ once you hear that \"YAWK,\" watching domes shatter\nIt's Top Dawg we runnin' rap, whack rappers, feline\nReason why we don't run with cats\nNine double O five nine, where my family at\nPull up in that family van holding tools like the handyman\nAnd to be real not with all this rapping politickin'\nRapper competition, wrapped up my position\n'Til I'm finished, 'til I make a couple tickets\nThen I'm outtie on them islands with my crimmies chillin'\nHide your feelings, now can I live?\nLook I gotta keep my feet on top of the dirt\nCause everywhere I go they like \"When you dropping some work?\"\nBeen a threat since birth\nThe rap game's pallbearer when I'm droppin' the hearse\nI ain't new to this, I'm true to this\nIndustry's nightmare, red strings in my Nike Airs\nYeah, the white pair, I'm Jay Rock, America's most wanted\nMy charges? Killing MC's without warning\nRock!\n\nIt's Ab-Soul, gimme the loot, I'm the skinny Biggie\nIn New York City with Puffy, puffing a sticky\nAll odds against me, still even the score\nProbably why I'm always OT on tour\nTDE, believe me we want war\nI don't even know what piece I like most no more\nTwo fingers, two triggers, what's the difference?\nWe all gon' die one day, until then I'm gettin' paid\nMy grandma watching so I ain't gon' curse\nStill gifted like a Wale verse, backwood full of OG\nBobby Johnson medicine in my soul to trynna dodge the coffin\nAnd these days are so bittersweet\nI guess it's just a balance we battle naturally\nAnd y'all still trippin' off of Jay-Z tweets\nI still got laps to run when me and Jay-Z meet\nPeep, Soul brother number two\nThe first one used to make beats for CL Smooth\nTop got the S550 but the CL smooth\nAnd rolling weed is the only time I see L's move\nSoul!\n\nI think I found my second home\nSunny California and it's your little nigga brother\nYou ain't meant for corners, it's what they told me\nSo I never looked back, I got a shell in the bag\nFat as elephant ass, so we flirt in the path\nPassing propellers I tell her, tell her we flying just listen\nSee we diamond just shining and they gon' find us glistening\nBrought sand to the beach and we left with your bitch\nFor the record in Guinness I'm a hecklin' menace\nWhere is Robin, I'm Given', fuckin' minding my business\nHe a regular victim, of some regular in women\nRegular niggas, you always cater to sluts\nYou always wasting my time, you always faking the funk\nI put your motherfuckin' dream in your face\nYou keep lookin' for some women to be all in your face\nThat deep dussy reach niggas, keep dussy\nThat Tennessee dussy make a nigga be dussy\nYou can never rap better than me, cause you ain't dedicated\nYou ain't underrated, you ain't underlooked\nYou ain't overbooked, you just undercooked\nIt's supposed to be me and my niggas in the record book\nNow they got me out here by myself still fresh as fuck\n\nI hate y'all, I'd do anything to replace y'all, shout out to Face Mob\nA ghetto boy 'til I'm unemployed with a day job\nAnd kicking boxes, I kick ass and then kick knowledge\nI'm way more polished than 99% of the scholars you thought had graduated\nI'm the master that masturbated on your favorite emcee\nUntil the industry had wanted me assassinated\nYou either corny or an opportunist\nI let you eat, now go back to church and steal crackers at communion\nWhat I been doing? I'm about to crack the Da Vinci Code\nYeah, and nothing's been the same since they dropped Control\nAnd tucked a sensitive rapper back in his pajama clothes\nHa-ha, joke's on you, high-five\nI'm bulletproof, your shots'll never penetrate\nPin a tail on a donkey, boy, you been a fake\nI got my thumb on Hip Hop, and my foot in the back of your ass\nAftermath get the last laugh\nI serve niggas like master Geoffrey\nJump on the curb, turn a shotty to a verb if you let me\nYou know I'm a killer, I'm on your head, you know I'm a killer\nThe West Coast Cosa Nostra under oath 'til it's over\nYou over owe us, so what the fuck?\nI fuck you niggas up, I fuck you niggas up, she suck and fuck\nI fuckin' duck you fuckin' niggas like when I want\nYou go at us, you going fuckin' nuts\nActing irrational, pop you then pop an Adderall\nKnow the drill like a lateral, nigga\nI'm more Pappy Mason than Pastor Mason\nPacing back and forth, racing my thoughts on embracing Daytons\nI spilled blood on my apron cooking this shit up\nI feel like some of y'all is hating\nQuite frankly your bitch booty should thank me for grabbing it\nTurn these hoodrats to actresses, what a magic trick?\nAccidents never happen when murder's involved\nEmaculate tactics so follow me, if you need me just call on me\nI say \"Hold up, wait a minute\nYour career ain't shit unless you got some Kendrick in it!\"\nYour pussy ain't shit, ain't no room is left on my dick\nUnless you look like Jordin Sparks, make my mark on the clitoris, muah\nHollywood's been good to me, lil' hood nigga used to pawn mom's jewelry\nFamily jewels big as fuck and I got the balls to say it\nBalls deep, ballin' out 'til Spalding need a replacement\nI'm outchea, the West in your mouth, chea\nInvest in the vests of Vietnam vets when you out near\nThe white court building spilling its Merlot\nFillin' women, a Virgo, pimp the industry\nRemember these Stacy Adams and furcoats\nShook, you're scared to death, you're scared to look\nIn the mirror when Kendrick is near you\nKing, Kendrick","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: B.E.T. Cypher\n  artist: ScHoolboy Q\n  album: Schoolboy Q 2\n  duration_ms: 372000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Most of these niggas shouldn't be next to us\n  We keep our distance from those, those acting like hoes\n  Zany imposed, weed in my clothes, cubics is gold\n  Your wig'll get told, put the realest niggas\n  Niggas, product of cap pillers, gangbangers, and dealers\n  Streets keep watching, aye, click boom the ghetto bird get shot down\n  Straight to the top now, they want a third strike on my background\n  But nah homie, put the mask on when I slide on 'em\n  Put the cash in the safe and here's a extra slug 'fore I shake\n  You smoke faster than me with a eighth\n  Or better yet a wet break on a plate\n  Burning your faith, all your senses covered in tape\n  Fuckin' with them boys in blue, chill out before I send them rags at you\n  You running to the cops saying, \"How we do?\"\n  Saying it's just rap and them lines ain't true\n  So I just do Q, fuck it, a ménage à two, or maybe trois\n  Baby girl need a papa, I be her dada\n  Coochie smacking, give praise to Allah\n  Get blazed in my car, with Oxymoron, Rock\n\n  Rock got it, Rock came from rock bottom\n  Sparked the flames, still remain as a top shotta\n  I ain't no backpack rapper, I ain't no lyricist\n  And if we ain't talking to you, mind your business then\n  Cold with it, Black Hippy, yeah, we cold niggas\n  All the girlies love us, get a whiff of us\n  They bones quiver, heard some clown throwing stones at us\n  Holding boulders champ once you hear that \"YAWK,\" watching domes shatter\n  It's Top Dawg we runnin' rap, whack rappers, feline\n  Reason why we don't run with cats\n  Nine double O five nine, where my family at\n  Pull up in that family van holding tools like the handyman\n  And to be real not with all this rapping politickin'\n  Rapper competition, wrapped up my position\n  'Til I'm finished, 'til I make a couple tickets\n  Then I'm outtie on them islands with my crimmies chillin'\n  Hide your feelings, now can I live?\n  Look I gotta keep my feet on top of the dirt\n  Cause everywhere I go they like \"When you dropping some work?\"\n  Been a threat since birth\n  The rap game's pallbearer when I'm droppin' the hearse\n  I ain't new to this, I'm true to this\n  Industry's nightmare, red strings in my Nike Airs\n  Yeah, the white pair, I'm Jay Rock, America's most wanted\n  My charges? Killing MC's without warning\n  Rock!\n\n  It's Ab-Soul, gimme the loot, I'm the skinny Biggie\n  In New York City with Puffy, puffing a sticky\n  All odds against me, still even the score\n  Probably why I'm always OT on tour\n  TDE, believe me we want war\n  I don't even know what piece I like most no more\n  Two fingers, two triggers, what's the difference?\n  We all gon' die one day, until then I'm gettin' paid\n  My grandma watching so I ain't gon' curse\n  Still gifted like a Wale verse, backwood full of OG\n  Bobby Johnson medicine in my soul to trynna dodge the coffin\n  And these days are so bittersweet\n  I guess it's just a balance we battle naturally\n  And y'all still trippin' off of Jay-Z tweets\n  I still got laps to run when me and Jay-Z meet\n  Peep, Soul brother number two\n  The first one used to make beats for CL Smooth\n  Top got the S550 but the CL smooth\n  And rolling weed is the only time I see L's move\n  Soul!\n\n  I think I found my second home\n  Sunny California and it's your little nigga brother\n  You ain't meant for corners, it's what they told me\n  So I never looked back, I got a shell in the bag\n  Fat as elephant ass, so we flirt in the path\n  Passing propellers I tell her, tell her we flying just listen\n  See we diamond just shining and they gon' find us glistening\n  Brought sand to the beach and we left with your bitch\n  For the record in Guinness I'm a hecklin' menace\n  Where is Robin, I'm Given', fuckin' minding my business\n  He a regular victim, of some regular in women\n  Regular niggas, you always cater to sluts\n  You always wasting my time, you always faking the funk\n  I put your motherfuckin' dream in your face\n  You keep lookin' for some women to be all in your face\n  That deep dussy reach niggas, keep dussy\n  That Tennessee dussy make a nigga be dussy\n  You can never rap better than me, cause you ain't dedicated\n  You ain't underrated, you ain't underlooked\n  You ain't overbooked, you just undercooked\n  It's supposed to be me and my niggas in the record book\n  Now they got me out here by myself still fresh as fuck\n\n  I hate y'all, I'd do anything to replace y'all, shout out to Face Mob\n  A ghetto boy 'til I'm unemployed with a day job\n  And kicking boxes, I kick ass and then kick knowledge\n  I'm way more polished than 99% of the scholars you thought had graduated\n  I'm the master that masturbated on your favorite emcee\n  Until the industry had wanted me assassinated\n  You either corny or an opportunist\n  I let you eat, now go back to church and steal crackers at communion\n  What I been doing? I'm about to crack the Da Vinci Code\n  Yeah, and nothing's been the same since they dropped Control\n  And tucked a sensitive rapper back in his pajama clothes\n  Ha-ha, joke's on you, high-five\n  I'm bulletproof, your shots'll never penetrate\n  Pin a tail on a donkey, boy, you been a fake\n  I got my thumb on Hip Hop, and my foot in the back of your ass\n  Aftermath get the last laugh\n  I serve niggas like master Geoffrey\n  Jump on the curb, turn a shotty to a verb if you let me\n  You know I'm a killer, I'm on your head, you know I'm a killer\n  The West Coast Cosa Nostra under oath 'til it's over\n  You over owe us, so what the fuck?\n  I fuck you niggas up, I fuck you niggas up, she suck and fuck\n  I fuckin' duck you fuckin' niggas like when I want\n  You go at us, you going fuckin' nuts\n  Acting irrational, pop you then pop an Adderall\n  Know the drill like a lateral, nigga\n  I'm more Pappy Mason than Pastor Mason\n  Pacing back and forth, racing my thoughts on embracing Daytons\n  I spilled blood on my apron cooking this shit up\n  I feel like some of y'all is hating\n  Quite frankly your bitch booty should thank me for grabbing it\n  Turn these hoodrats to actresses, what a magic trick?\n  Accidents never happen when murder's involved\n  Emaculate tactics so follow me, if you need me just call on me\n  I say \"Hold up, wait a minute\n  Your career ain't shit unless you got some Kendrick in it!\"\n  Your pussy ain't shit, ain't no room is left on my dick\n  Unless you look like Jordin Sparks, make my mark on the clitoris, muah\n  Hollywood's been good to me, lil' hood nigga used to pawn mom's jewelry\n  Family jewels big as fuck and I got the balls to say it\n  Balls deep, ballin' out 'til Spalding need a replacement\n  I'm outchea, the West in your mouth, chea\n  Invest in the vests of Vietnam vets when you out near\n  The white court building spilling its Merlot\n  Fillin' women, a Virgo, pimp the industry\n  Remember these Stacy Adams and furcoats\n  Shook, you're scared to death, you're scared to look\n  In the mirror when Kendrick is near you\n  King, Kendrick\n"}]