[{"id":6831649,"name":"Onslaught 2","trackName":"Onslaught 2","artistName":"Slaughterhouse","albumName":"Slaughterhouse","duration":268.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Yeah, I said, \"Once upon a time in a city that's mine\"\nThere was a nigga named Nickel that spit like Big in his prime\nHe got a 52 box, original tick in the mind\nListenin' to 'Pac and them drop with a prestigious design\nMy niggaz is dimes, my bitches is dimes\n\nI came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\nI been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MC's\nSit and watchin' my green grow like I'm waterin' seeds\nThe problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\n\nNiggaz callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\nIf I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\nProbably 'cause I live by the art of for keeps\nI get indicted after my product's released\n\nWe a different form, a different centrifugal force\nEvery line is like grippin' on a stick shift in a Porsche\nMy niggaz asked for direction to go on this track\nI said, \"Fuck a direction, spaz out, get 'em up high\"\n\nCrooked and for them wack songs that you made\nI want you to throw your pin, but hold the grenade\nExplode to your grave and go straight to hell\nWhen your soul is en-flamed for the road that you paved\n\nThe role that played, in fuckin' up hip-hop\nYou owe so you paid, the fo'-fo' close to your brain\nCloser than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\nDon't fuck with me, don't fuck with J O E\n\nWith Nickel we gon' make more cheese\nHeavy hitter, call me Joell David Ortiz\nI point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\nOn some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\n\nI'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\nIt's like you wanting a pill, my gun put your back on the streets\nSpine on the concrete lookin' at the sun\nEyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\n\nHe was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\nFully automatic umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\nListen, don't make a nigga find your dame\nAnd make the dime give me brains 'til my mind is drained\n\nListen, don't make me grab a 9 and aim\nAnd how your dime did me, do yo' mind the same\nBut different, the West Coast king Crooked I\nI'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'til I die, get 'em up high\n\nJoell, here we go again, you know I'm him, Mr. Ortiz\nSoon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MC's\nPick a disease we got it, I vomit sniffle and sneeze\nLyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord, help get rid of this fever\n\nI'm like 150 degrees\n16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\nA nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\nUsed to dream about livin' now I'm livin' my dreams\n\nThe bitches fiend, made my dick a machine\nMaybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\nWhen I'm spittin' this mean, me and government intervene\nA couple presidents, literally live in my jeans\n\nI give 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\nWhen I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\nAnd I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\nNiggaz hate, bitches cheer like Norm, Cliff and Diane\n\nI'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty verse\nI run radio but I don't use them itty bitty words\nI ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verb\nWhen I reach heaven I want the nigga Biggie to be like word\n\nCity slicker, New York delivery when I swerve\nHold that mic like the Statue of Liberty, I deserve\nA shot at the title, spitter of the year, every year, let's be clear\nPut some fingers in the air and hold 'em up high\n\nJoey, work on your half-court shot, I'm money from far\nGet 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\nAnd that's rate, gettin' hate from the wannabe stars\nAnd that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\n\nSee that bullet comin' from around the corner\nLike a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun, think Joey the one\nI'm a fake, ain't your run of the mill?\nI'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\n\nFor me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\nHe Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\nPlay with a match, fuck what you take it as\nNo good straight jacket, all I did break the match\n\nThey say he talk tough with his fake ass\nFour pounds put me in another weight class\nGreat Escape the pad\nTook the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\n\nYou diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\nTake a fully automatic and spray at gas\nMe? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\nIn your whole camp, nobody focused\n\nThey say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\nYou die and come back, won't nobody know this\nDrive by, screamin' it's a new crew reppin'\nHangin' out the window, like it's 227, get 'em up high\n\nGet 'em up high, get 'em up high\nGet 'em up high, get 'em up high\nGet 'em up high in the sky\n\nPut 'em up high, put 'em up high\nPut 'em up high, fingers in the sky\nPut 'em up, Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\n\nOhh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\nFatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\nPut 'em high, woo, ohh","syncedLyrics":"[00:03.79] Yeah, I said, \"Once upon a time in a city that's mine\"\n[00:05.63] There was a nigga named Nickel that spit like Big in his prime\n[00:09.27] He got a 52 box, original tick in the mind\n[00:11.06] Listenin' to 'Pac and them drop with a prestigious design\n[00:13.75] My niggaz is dimes, my bitches is dimes\n[00:15.53] I came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\n[00:18.25] I been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MC's\n[00:20.94] Sit and watchin' my green grow like I'm waterin' seeds\n[00:23.60] The problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\n[00:25.46] Niggaz callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\n[00:27.27] If I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\n[00:29.11] Probably 'cause I live by the art of for keeps\n[00:30.98] I get indicted after my product's released\n[00:33.65] We a different form, a different centrifugal force\n[00:35.41] Every line is like grippin' on a stick shift in a Porsche\n[00:38.13] My niggaz asked for direction to go on this track\n[00:40.92] I said, \"Fuck a direction, spaz out, get 'em up high\"\n[00:45.47] Crooked and for them wack songs that you made\n[00:47.29] I want you to throw your pin, but hold the grenade\n[00:49.99] Explode to your grave and go straight to hell\n[00:52.69] When your soul is en-flamed for the road that you paved\n[00:54.42] The role that played, in fuckin' up hip-hop\n[00:57.13] You owe so you paid, the fo'-fo' close to your brain\n[00:59.88] Closer than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\n[01:02.65] Don't fuck with me, don't fuck with J O E\n[01:05.35] With Nickel we gon' make more cheese\n[01:07.10] Heavy hitter, call me Joell David Ortiz\n[01:09.89] I point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\n[01:11.62] On some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\n[01:14.38] I'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\n[01:16.15] It's like you wanting a pill, my gun put your back on the streets\n[01:18.82] Spine on the concrete lookin' at the sun\n[01:21.51] Eyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\n[01:24.32] He was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\n[01:26.19] Fully automatic umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\n[01:28.87] Listen, don't make a nigga find your dame\n[01:30.65] And make the dime give me brains 'til my mind is drained\n[01:33.34] Listen, don't make me grab a 9 and aim\n[01:36.01] And how your dime did me, do yo' mind the same\n[01:37.85] But different, the West Coast king Crooked I\n[01:40.50] I'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'til I die, get 'em up high\n[01:46.08] Joell, here we go again, you know I'm him, Mr. Ortiz\n[01:47.86] Soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MC's\n[01:50.58] Pick a disease we got it, I vomit sniffle and sneeze\n[01:52.34] Lyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord, help get rid of this fever\n[01:55.98] I'm like 150 degrees\n[01:56.82] 16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\n[01:59.65] A nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\n[02:02.36] Used to dream about livin' now I'm livin' my dreams\n[02:05.01] The bitches fiend, made my dick a machine\n[02:05.95] Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\n[02:09.55] When I'm spittin' this mean, me and government intervene\n[02:11.33] A couple presidents, literally live in my jeans\n[02:14.08] I give 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\n[02:16.74] When I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\n[02:19.49] And I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\n[02:21.32] Niggaz hate, bitches cheer like Norm, Cliff and Diane\n[02:24.04] I'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty verse\n[02:27.68] I run radio but I don't use them itty bitty words\n[02:28.55] I ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verb\n[02:31.23] When I reach heaven I want the nigga Biggie to be like word\n[02:33.94] City slicker, New York delivery when I swerve\n[02:35.78] Hold that mic like the Statue of Liberty, I deserve\n[02:38.45] A shot at the title, spitter of the year, every year, let's be clear\n[02:42.05] Put some fingers in the air and hold 'em up high\n[02:45.67] Joey, work on your half-court shot, I'm money from far\n[02:49.32] Get 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\n[02:50.21] And that's rate, gettin' hate from the wannabe stars\n[02:52.91] And that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\n[02:54.74] See that bullet comin' from around the corner\n[02:56.56] Like a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun, think Joey the one\n[03:00.12] I'm a fake, ain't your run of the mill?\n[03:01.92] I'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\n[03:04.63] For me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\n[03:06.41] He Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\n[03:10.17] Play with a match, fuck what you take it as\n[03:11.92] No good straight jacket, all I did break the match\n[03:14.63] They say he talk tough with his fake ass\n[03:17.33] Four pounds put me in another weight class\n[03:20.08] Great Escape the pad\n[03:20.95] Took the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\n[03:24.59] You diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\n[03:27.24] Take a fully automatic and spray at gas\n[03:29.09] Me? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\n[03:31.87] In your whole camp, nobody focused\n[03:33.68] They say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\n[03:36.38] You die and come back, won't nobody know this\n[03:39.00] Drive by, screamin' it's a new crew reppin'\n[03:40.83] Hangin' out the window, like it's 227, get 'em up high\n[03:45.37] Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n[03:47.16] Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n[03:48.96] Get 'em up high in the sky\n[03:51.61] Put 'em up high, put 'em up high\n[03:53.54] Put 'em up high, fingers in the sky\n[03:55.32] Put 'em up, Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\n[03:59.87] Ohh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n[04:02.51] Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n[04:05.25] Put 'em high, woo, ohh\n[04:10.68] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Onslaught 2\n  artist: Slaughterhouse\n  album: Slaughterhouse\n  duration_ms: 268000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Yeah, I said, \"Once upon a time in a city that's mine\"\n  start_ms: 3790\n  end_ms: 5630\n- text: There was a nigga named Nickel that spit like Big in his prime\n  start_ms: 5630\n  end_ms: 9270\n- text: He got a 52 box, original tick in the mind\n  start_ms: 9270\n  end_ms: 11060\n- text: Listenin' to 'Pac and them drop with a prestigious design\n  start_ms: 11060\n  end_ms: 13750\n- text: My niggaz is dimes, my bitches is dimes\n  start_ms: 13750\n  end_ms: 15530\n- text: I came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\n  start_ms: 15530\n  end_ms: 18250\n- text: I been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MC's\n  start_ms: 18250\n  end_ms: 20940\n- text: Sit and watchin' my green grow like I'm waterin' seeds\n  start_ms: 20940\n  end_ms: 23600\n- text: The problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\n  start_ms: 23600\n  end_ms: 25460\n- text: Niggaz callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\n  start_ms: 25460\n  end_ms: 27270\n- text: If I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\n  start_ms: 27270\n  end_ms: 29110\n- text: Probably 'cause I live by the art of for keeps\n  start_ms: 29110\n  end_ms: 30980\n- text: I get indicted after my product's released\n  start_ms: 30980\n  end_ms: 33650\n- text: We a different form, a different centrifugal force\n  start_ms: 33650\n  end_ms: 35410\n- text: Every line is like grippin' on a stick shift in a Porsche\n  start_ms: 35410\n  end_ms: 38130\n- text: My niggaz asked for direction to go on this track\n  start_ms: 38130\n  end_ms: 40920\n- text: I said, \"Fuck a direction, spaz out, get 'em up high\"\n  start_ms: 40920\n  end_ms: 45470\n- text: Crooked and for them wack songs that you made\n  start_ms: 45470\n  end_ms: 47290\n- text: I want you to throw your pin, but hold the grenade\n  start_ms: 47290\n  end_ms: 49990\n- text: Explode to your grave and go straight to hell\n  start_ms: 49990\n  end_ms: 52690\n- text: When your soul is en-flamed for the road that you paved\n  start_ms: 52690\n  end_ms: 54420\n- text: The role that played, in fuckin' up hip-hop\n  start_ms: 54420\n  end_ms: 57130\n- text: You owe so you paid, the fo'-fo' close to your brain\n  start_ms: 57130\n  end_ms: 59880\n- text: Closer than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\n  start_ms: 59880\n  end_ms: 62650\n- text: Don't fuck with me, don't fuck with J O E\n  start_ms: 62650\n  end_ms: 65350\n- text: With Nickel we gon' make more cheese\n  start_ms: 65350\n  end_ms: 67100\n- text: Heavy hitter, call me Joell David Ortiz\n  start_ms: 67100\n  end_ms: 69890\n- text: I point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\n  start_ms: 69890\n  end_ms: 71620\n- text: On some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\n  start_ms: 71620\n  end_ms: 74380\n- text: I'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\n  start_ms: 74380\n  end_ms: 76150\n- text: It's like you wanting a pill, my gun put your back on the streets\n  start_ms: 76150\n  end_ms: 78820\n- text: Spine on the concrete lookin' at the sun\n  start_ms: 78820\n  end_ms: 81510\n- text: Eyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\n  start_ms: 81510\n  end_ms: 84320\n- text: He was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\n  start_ms: 84320\n  end_ms: 86190\n- text: Fully automatic umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\n  start_ms: 86190\n  end_ms: 88870\n- text: Listen, don't make a nigga find your dame\n  start_ms: 88870\n  end_ms: 90650\n- text: And make the dime give me brains 'til my mind is drained\n  start_ms: 90650\n  end_ms: 93340\n- text: Listen, don't make me grab a 9 and aim\n  start_ms: 93340\n  end_ms: 96010\n- text: And how your dime did me, do yo' mind the same\n  start_ms: 96010\n  end_ms: 97850\n- text: But different, the West Coast king Crooked I\n  start_ms: 97850\n  end_ms: 100500\n- text: I'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'til I die, get 'em up high\n  start_ms: 100500\n  end_ms: 106080\n- text: Joell, here we go again, you know I'm him, Mr. Ortiz\n  start_ms: 106080\n  end_ms: 107860\n- text: Soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MC's\n  start_ms: 107860\n  end_ms: 110580\n- text: Pick a disease we got it, I vomit sniffle and sneeze\n  start_ms: 110580\n  end_ms: 112340\n- text: Lyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord, help get rid of this fever\n  start_ms: 112340\n  end_ms: 115980\n- text: I'm like 150 degrees\n  start_ms: 115980\n  end_ms: 116820\n- text: 16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\n  start_ms: 116820\n  end_ms: 119650\n- text: A nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\n  start_ms: 119650\n  end_ms: 122360\n- text: Used to dream about livin' now I'm livin' my dreams\n  start_ms: 122360\n  end_ms: 125010\n- text: The bitches fiend, made my dick a machine\n  start_ms: 125010\n  end_ms: 125950\n- text: Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\n  start_ms: 125950\n  end_ms: 129550\n- text: When I'm spittin' this mean, me and government intervene\n  start_ms: 129550\n  end_ms: 131330\n- text: A couple presidents, literally live in my jeans\n  start_ms: 131330\n  end_ms: 134080\n- text: I give 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\n  start_ms: 134080\n  end_ms: 136740\n- text: When I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\n  start_ms: 136740\n  end_ms: 139490\n- text: And I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\n  start_ms: 139490\n  end_ms: 141320\n- text: Niggaz hate, bitches cheer like Norm, Cliff and Diane\n  start_ms: 141320\n  end_ms: 144040\n- text: I'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty verse\n  start_ms: 144040\n  end_ms: 147680\n- text: I run radio but I don't use them itty bitty words\n  start_ms: 147680\n  end_ms: 148550\n- text: I ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verb\n  start_ms: 148550\n  end_ms: 151230\n- text: When I reach heaven I want the nigga Biggie to be like word\n  start_ms: 151230\n  end_ms: 153940\n- text: City slicker, New York delivery when I swerve\n  start_ms: 153940\n  end_ms: 155780\n- text: Hold that mic like the Statue of Liberty, I deserve\n  start_ms: 155780\n  end_ms: 158450\n- text: A shot at the title, spitter of the year, every year, let's be clear\n  start_ms: 158450\n  end_ms: 162050\n- text: Put some fingers in the air and hold 'em up high\n  start_ms: 162050\n  end_ms: 165670\n- text: Joey, work on your half-court shot, I'm money from far\n  start_ms: 165670\n  end_ms: 169320\n- text: Get 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\n  start_ms: 169320\n  end_ms: 170210\n- text: And that's rate, gettin' hate from the wannabe stars\n  start_ms: 170210\n  end_ms: 172910\n- text: And that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\n  start_ms: 172910\n  end_ms: 174740\n- text: See that bullet comin' from around the corner\n  start_ms: 174740\n  end_ms: 176560\n- text: Like a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun, think Joey the one\n  start_ms: 176560\n  end_ms: 180120\n- text: I'm a fake, ain't your run of the mill?\n  start_ms: 180120\n  end_ms: 181920\n- text: I'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\n  start_ms: 181920\n  end_ms: 184630\n- text: For me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\n  start_ms: 184630\n  end_ms: 186410\n- text: He Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\n  start_ms: 186410\n  end_ms: 190170\n- text: Play with a match, fuck what you take it as\n  start_ms: 190170\n  end_ms: 191920\n- text: No good straight jacket, all I did break the match\n  start_ms: 191920\n  end_ms: 194630\n- text: They say he talk tough with his fake ass\n  start_ms: 194630\n  end_ms: 197330\n- text: Four pounds put me in another weight class\n  start_ms: 197330\n  end_ms: 200080\n- text: Great Escape the pad\n  start_ms: 200080\n  end_ms: 200950\n- text: Took the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\n  start_ms: 200950\n  end_ms: 204590\n- text: You diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\n  start_ms: 204590\n  end_ms: 207240\n- text: Take a fully automatic and spray at gas\n  start_ms: 207240\n  end_ms: 209090\n- text: Me? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\n  start_ms: 209090\n  end_ms: 211870\n- text: In your whole camp, nobody focused\n  start_ms: 211870\n  end_ms: 213680\n- text: They say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\n  start_ms: 213680\n  end_ms: 216380\n- text: You die and come back, won't nobody know this\n  start_ms: 216380\n  end_ms: 219000\n- text: Drive by, screamin' it's a new crew reppin'\n  start_ms: 219000\n  end_ms: 220830\n- text: Hangin' out the window, like it's 227, get 'em up high\n  start_ms: 220830\n  end_ms: 225370\n- text: Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n  start_ms: 225370\n  end_ms: 227160\n- text: Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n  start_ms: 227160\n  end_ms: 228960\n- text: Get 'em up high in the sky\n  start_ms: 228960\n  end_ms: 231610\n- text: Put 'em up high, put 'em up high\n  start_ms: 231610\n  end_ms: 233540\n- text: Put 'em up high, fingers in the sky\n  start_ms: 233540\n  end_ms: 235320\n- text: Put 'em up, Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\n  start_ms: 235320\n  end_ms: 239870\n- text: Ohh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  start_ms: 239870\n  end_ms: 242510\n- text: Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  start_ms: 242510\n  end_ms: 245250\n- text: Put 'em high, woo, ohh\n  start_ms: 245250\n  end_ms: 250680\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 250680\nplain: |-\n  Yeah, I said, \"Once upon a time in a city that's mine\"\n  There was a nigga named Nickel that spit like Big in his prime\n  He got a 52 box, original tick in the mind\n  Listenin' to 'Pac and them drop with a prestigious design\n  My niggaz is dimes, my bitches is dimes\n\n  I came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\n  I been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MC's\n  Sit and watchin' my green grow like I'm waterin' seeds\n  The problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\n\n  Niggaz callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\n  If I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\n  Probably 'cause I live by the art of for keeps\n  I get indicted after my product's released\n\n  We a different form, a different centrifugal force\n  Every line is like grippin' on a stick shift in a Porsche\n  My niggaz asked for direction to go on this track\n  I said, \"Fuck a direction, spaz out, get 'em up high\"\n\n  Crooked and for them wack songs that you made\n  I want you to throw your pin, but hold the grenade\n  Explode to your grave and go straight to hell\n  When your soul is en-flamed for the road that you paved\n\n  The role that played, in fuckin' up hip-hop\n  You owe so you paid, the fo'-fo' close to your brain\n  Closer than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\n  Don't fuck with me, don't fuck with J O E\n\n  With Nickel we gon' make more cheese\n  Heavy hitter, call me Joell David Ortiz\n  I point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\n  On some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\n\n  I'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\n  It's like you wanting a pill, my gun put your back on the streets\n  Spine on the concrete lookin' at the sun\n  Eyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\n\n  He was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\n  Fully automatic umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\n  Listen, don't make a nigga find your dame\n  And make the dime give me brains 'til my mind is drained\n\n  Listen, don't make me grab a 9 and aim\n  And how your dime did me, do yo' mind the same\n  But different, the West Coast king Crooked I\n  I'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'til I die, get 'em up high\n\n  Joell, here we go again, you know I'm him, Mr. Ortiz\n  Soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MC's\n  Pick a disease we got it, I vomit sniffle and sneeze\n  Lyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord, help get rid of this fever\n\n  I'm like 150 degrees\n  16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\n  A nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\n  Used to dream about livin' now I'm livin' my dreams\n\n  The bitches fiend, made my dick a machine\n  Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\n  When I'm spittin' this mean, me and government intervene\n  A couple presidents, literally live in my jeans\n\n  I give 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\n  When I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\n  And I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\n  Niggaz hate, bitches cheer like Norm, Cliff and Diane\n\n  I'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty verse\n  I run radio but I don't use them itty bitty words\n  I ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verb\n  When I reach heaven I want the nigga Biggie to be like word\n\n  City slicker, New York delivery when I swerve\n  Hold that mic like the Statue of Liberty, I deserve\n  A shot at the title, spitter of the year, every year, let's be clear\n  Put some fingers in the air and hold 'em up high\n\n  Joey, work on your half-court shot, I'm money from far\n  Get 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\n  And that's rate, gettin' hate from the wannabe stars\n  And that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\n\n  See that bullet comin' from around the corner\n  Like a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun, think Joey the one\n  I'm a fake, ain't your run of the mill?\n  I'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\n\n  For me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\n  He Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\n  Play with a match, fuck what you take it as\n  No good straight jacket, all I did break the match\n\n  They say he talk tough with his fake ass\n  Four pounds put me in another weight class\n  Great Escape the pad\n  Took the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\n\n  You diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\n  Take a fully automatic and spray at gas\n  Me? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\n  In your whole camp, nobody focused\n\n  They say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\n  You die and come back, won't nobody know this\n  Drive by, screamin' it's a new crew reppin'\n  Hangin' out the window, like it's 227, get 'em up high\n\n  Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n  Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n  Get 'em up high in the sky\n\n  Put 'em up high, put 'em up high\n  Put 'em up high, fingers in the sky\n  Put 'em up, Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\n\n  Ohh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  Put 'em high, woo, ohh\n"},{"id":21850328,"name":"Onslaught 2","trackName":"Onslaught 2","artistName":"Slaughterhouse","albumName":"Slaughterhouse","duration":231.871423,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Yeah, I said, \"Once upon a time in a city that's mine\"\nThere was a nigga named Nickel that spit like Big in his prime\nHe got a 52 box, original tick in the mind\nListenin' to 'Pac and them drop with a prestigious design\nMy niggaz is dimes, my bitches is dimes\n\nI came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\nI been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MC's\nSit and watchin' my green grow like I'm waterin' seeds\nThe problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\n\nNiggaz callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\nIf I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\nProbably 'cause I live by the art of for keeps\nI get indicted after my product's released\n\nWe a different form, a different centrifugal force\nEvery line is like grippin' on a stick shift in a Porsche\nMy niggaz asked for direction to go on this track\nI said, \"Fuck a direction, spaz out, get 'em up high\"\n\nCrooked and for them wack songs that you made\nI want you to throw your pin, but hold the grenade\nExplode to your grave and go straight to hell\nWhen your soul is en-flamed for the road that you paved\n\nThe role that played, in fuckin' up hip-hop\nYou owe so you paid, the fo'-fo' close to your brain\nCloser than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\nDon't fuck with me, don't fuck with J O E\n\nWith Nickel we gon' make more cheese\nHeavy hitter, call me Joell David Ortiz\nI point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\nOn some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\n\nI'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\nIt's like you wanting a pill, my gun put your back on the streets\nSpine on the concrete lookin' at the sun\nEyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\n\nHe was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\nFully automatic umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\nListen, don't make a nigga find your dame\nAnd make the dime give me brains 'til my mind is drained\n\nListen, don't make me grab a 9 and aim\nAnd how your dime did me, do yo' mind the same\nBut different, the West Coast king Crooked I\nI'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'til I die, get 'em up high\n\nJoell, here we go again, you know I'm him, Mr. Ortiz\nSoon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MC's\nPick a disease we got it, I vomit sniffle and sneeze\nLyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord, help get rid of this fever\n\nI'm like 150 degrees\n16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\nA nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\nUsed to dream about livin' now I'm livin' my dreams\n\nThe bitches fiend, made my dick a machine\nMaybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\nWhen I'm spittin' this mean, me and government intervene\nA couple presidents, literally live in my jeans\n\nI give 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\nWhen I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\nAnd I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\nNiggaz hate, bitches cheer like Norm, Cliff and Diane\n\nI'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty verse\nI run radio but I don't use them itty bitty words\nI ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verb\nWhen I reach heaven I want the nigga Biggie to be like word\n\nCity slicker, New York delivery when I swerve\nHold that mic like the Statue of Liberty, I deserve\nA shot at the title, spitter of the year, every year, let's be clear\nPut some fingers in the air and hold 'em up high\n\nJoey, work on your half-court shot, I'm money from far\nGet 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\nAnd that's rate, gettin' hate from the wannabe stars\nAnd that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\n\nSee that bullet comin' from around the corner\nLike a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun, think Joey the one\nI'm a fake, ain't your run of the mill?\nI'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\n\nFor me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\nHe Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\nPlay with a match, fuck what you take it as\nNo good straight jacket, all I did break the match\n\nThey say he talk tough with his fake ass\nFour pounds put me in another weight class\nGreat Escape the pad\nTook the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\n\nYou diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\nTake a fully automatic and spray at gas\nMe? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\nIn your whole camp, nobody focused\n\nThey say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\nYou die and come back, won't nobody know this\nDrive by, screamin' it's a new crew reppin'\nHangin' out the window, like it's 227, get 'em up high\n\nGet 'em up high, get 'em up high\nGet 'em up high, get 'em up high\nGet 'em up high in the sky\n\nPut 'em up high, put 'em up high\nPut 'em up high, fingers in the sky\nPut 'em up, Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\n\nOhh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\nFatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\nPut 'em high, woo, ohh","syncedLyrics":"[00:03.79] Yeah, I said, \"Once upon a time in a city that's mine\"\n[00:05.63] There was a nigga named Nickel that spit like Big in his prime\n[00:09.27] He got a 52 box, original tick in the mind\n[00:11.06] Listenin' to 'Pac and them drop with a prestigious design\n[00:13.75] My niggaz is dimes, my bitches is dimes\n[00:15.53] I came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\n[00:18.25] I been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MC's\n[00:20.94] Sit and watchin' my green grow like I'm waterin' seeds\n[00:23.60] The problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\n[00:25.46] Niggaz callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\n[00:27.27] If I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\n[00:29.11] Probably 'cause I live by the art of for keeps\n[00:30.98] I get indicted after my product's released\n[00:33.65] We a different form, a different centrifugal force\n[00:35.41] Every line is like grippin' on a stick shift in a Porsche\n[00:38.13] My niggaz asked for direction to go on this track\n[00:40.92] I said, \"Fuck a direction, spaz out, get 'em up high\"\n[00:45.47] Crooked and for them wack songs that you made\n[00:47.29] I want you to throw your pin, but hold the grenade\n[00:49.99] Explode to your grave and go straight to hell\n[00:52.69] When your soul is en-flamed for the road that you paved\n[00:54.42] The role that played, in fuckin' up hip-hop\n[00:57.13] You owe so you paid, the fo'-fo' close to your brain\n[00:59.88] Closer than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\n[01:02.65] Don't fuck with me, don't fuck with J O E\n[01:05.35] With Nickel we gon' make more cheese\n[01:07.10] Heavy hitter, call me Joell David Ortiz\n[01:09.89] I point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\n[01:11.62] On some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\n[01:14.38] I'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\n[01:16.15] It's like you wanting a pill, my gun put your back on the streets\n[01:18.82] Spine on the concrete lookin' at the sun\n[01:21.51] Eyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\n[01:24.32] He was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\n[01:26.19] Fully automatic umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\n[01:28.87] Listen, don't make a nigga find your dame\n[01:30.65] And make the dime give me brains 'til my mind is drained\n[01:33.34] Listen, don't make me grab a 9 and aim\n[01:36.01] And how your dime did me, do yo' mind the same\n[01:37.85] But different, the West Coast king Crooked I\n[01:40.50] I'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'til I die, get 'em up high\n[01:46.08] Joell, here we go again, you know I'm him, Mr. Ortiz\n[01:47.86] Soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MC's\n[01:50.58] Pick a disease we got it, I vomit sniffle and sneeze\n[01:52.34] Lyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord, help get rid of this fever\n[01:55.98] I'm like 150 degrees\n[01:56.82] 16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\n[01:59.65] A nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\n[02:02.36] Used to dream about livin' now I'm livin' my dreams\n[02:05.01] The bitches fiend, made my dick a machine\n[02:05.95] Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\n[02:09.55] When I'm spittin' this mean, me and government intervene\n[02:11.33] A couple presidents, literally live in my jeans\n[02:14.08] I give 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\n[02:16.74] When I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\n[02:19.49] And I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\n[02:21.32] Niggaz hate, bitches cheer like Norm, Cliff and Diane\n[02:24.04] I'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty verse\n[02:27.68] I run radio but I don't use them itty bitty words\n[02:28.55] I ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verb\n[02:31.23] When I reach heaven I want the nigga Biggie to be like word\n[02:33.94] City slicker, New York delivery when I swerve\n[02:35.78] Hold that mic like the Statue of Liberty, I deserve\n[02:38.45] A shot at the title, spitter of the year, every year, let's be clear\n[02:42.05] Put some fingers in the air and hold 'em up high\n[02:45.67] Joey, work on your half-court shot, I'm money from far\n[02:49.32] Get 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\n[02:50.21] And that's rate, gettin' hate from the wannabe stars\n[02:52.91] And that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\n[02:54.74] See that bullet comin' from around the corner\n[02:56.56] Like a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun, think Joey the one\n[03:00.12] I'm a fake, ain't your run of the mill?\n[03:01.92] I'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\n[03:04.63] For me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\n[03:06.41] He Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\n[03:10.17] Play with a match, fuck what you take it as\n[03:11.92] No good straight jacket, all I did break the match\n[03:14.63] They say he talk tough with his fake ass\n[03:17.33] Four pounds put me in another weight class\n[03:20.08] Great Escape the pad\n[03:20.95] Took the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\n[03:24.59] You diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\n[03:27.24] Take a fully automatic and spray at gas\n[03:29.09] Me? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\n[03:31.87] In your whole camp, nobody focused\n[03:33.68] They say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\n[03:36.38] You die and come back, won't nobody know this\n[03:39.00] Drive by, screamin' it's a new crew reppin'\n[03:40.83] Hangin' out the window, like it's 227, get 'em up high\n[03:45.37] Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n[03:47.16] Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n[03:48.96] Get 'em up high in the sky\n[03:51.61] Put 'em up high, put 'em up high\n[03:53.54] Put 'em up high, fingers in the sky\n[03:55.32] Put 'em up, Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\n[03:59.87] Ohh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n[04:02.51] Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n[04:05.25] Put 'em high, woo, ohh\n[04:10.68] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Onslaught 2\n  artist: Slaughterhouse\n  album: Slaughterhouse\n  duration_ms: 231871\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Yeah, I said, \"Once upon a time in a city that's mine\"\n  start_ms: 3790\n  end_ms: 5630\n- text: There was a nigga named Nickel that spit like Big in his prime\n  start_ms: 5630\n  end_ms: 9270\n- text: He got a 52 box, original tick in the mind\n  start_ms: 9270\n  end_ms: 11060\n- text: Listenin' to 'Pac and them drop with a prestigious design\n  start_ms: 11060\n  end_ms: 13750\n- text: My niggaz is dimes, my bitches is dimes\n  start_ms: 13750\n  end_ms: 15530\n- text: I came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\n  start_ms: 15530\n  end_ms: 18250\n- text: I been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MC's\n  start_ms: 18250\n  end_ms: 20940\n- text: Sit and watchin' my green grow like I'm waterin' seeds\n  start_ms: 20940\n  end_ms: 23600\n- text: The problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\n  start_ms: 23600\n  end_ms: 25460\n- text: Niggaz callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\n  start_ms: 25460\n  end_ms: 27270\n- text: If I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\n  start_ms: 27270\n  end_ms: 29110\n- text: Probably 'cause I live by the art of for keeps\n  start_ms: 29110\n  end_ms: 30980\n- text: I get indicted after my product's released\n  start_ms: 30980\n  end_ms: 33650\n- text: We a different form, a different centrifugal force\n  start_ms: 33650\n  end_ms: 35410\n- text: Every line is like grippin' on a stick shift in a Porsche\n  start_ms: 35410\n  end_ms: 38130\n- text: My niggaz asked for direction to go on this track\n  start_ms: 38130\n  end_ms: 40920\n- text: I said, \"Fuck a direction, spaz out, get 'em up high\"\n  start_ms: 40920\n  end_ms: 45470\n- text: Crooked and for them wack songs that you made\n  start_ms: 45470\n  end_ms: 47290\n- text: I want you to throw your pin, but hold the grenade\n  start_ms: 47290\n  end_ms: 49990\n- text: Explode to your grave and go straight to hell\n  start_ms: 49990\n  end_ms: 52690\n- text: When your soul is en-flamed for the road that you paved\n  start_ms: 52690\n  end_ms: 54420\n- text: The role that played, in fuckin' up hip-hop\n  start_ms: 54420\n  end_ms: 57130\n- text: You owe so you paid, the fo'-fo' close to your brain\n  start_ms: 57130\n  end_ms: 59880\n- text: Closer than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\n  start_ms: 59880\n  end_ms: 62650\n- text: Don't fuck with me, don't fuck with J O E\n  start_ms: 62650\n  end_ms: 65350\n- text: With Nickel we gon' make more cheese\n  start_ms: 65350\n  end_ms: 67100\n- text: Heavy hitter, call me Joell David Ortiz\n  start_ms: 67100\n  end_ms: 69890\n- text: I point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\n  start_ms: 69890\n  end_ms: 71620\n- text: On some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\n  start_ms: 71620\n  end_ms: 74380\n- text: I'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\n  start_ms: 74380\n  end_ms: 76150\n- text: It's like you wanting a pill, my gun put your back on the streets\n  start_ms: 76150\n  end_ms: 78820\n- text: Spine on the concrete lookin' at the sun\n  start_ms: 78820\n  end_ms: 81510\n- text: Eyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\n  start_ms: 81510\n  end_ms: 84320\n- text: He was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\n  start_ms: 84320\n  end_ms: 86190\n- text: Fully automatic umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\n  start_ms: 86190\n  end_ms: 88870\n- text: Listen, don't make a nigga find your dame\n  start_ms: 88870\n  end_ms: 90650\n- text: And make the dime give me brains 'til my mind is drained\n  start_ms: 90650\n  end_ms: 93340\n- text: Listen, don't make me grab a 9 and aim\n  start_ms: 93340\n  end_ms: 96010\n- text: And how your dime did me, do yo' mind the same\n  start_ms: 96010\n  end_ms: 97850\n- text: But different, the West Coast king Crooked I\n  start_ms: 97850\n  end_ms: 100500\n- text: I'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'til I die, get 'em up high\n  start_ms: 100500\n  end_ms: 106080\n- text: Joell, here we go again, you know I'm him, Mr. Ortiz\n  start_ms: 106080\n  end_ms: 107860\n- text: Soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MC's\n  start_ms: 107860\n  end_ms: 110580\n- text: Pick a disease we got it, I vomit sniffle and sneeze\n  start_ms: 110580\n  end_ms: 112340\n- text: Lyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord, help get rid of this fever\n  start_ms: 112340\n  end_ms: 115980\n- text: I'm like 150 degrees\n  start_ms: 115980\n  end_ms: 116820\n- text: 16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\n  start_ms: 116820\n  end_ms: 119650\n- text: A nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\n  start_ms: 119650\n  end_ms: 122360\n- text: Used to dream about livin' now I'm livin' my dreams\n  start_ms: 122360\n  end_ms: 125010\n- text: The bitches fiend, made my dick a machine\n  start_ms: 125010\n  end_ms: 125950\n- text: Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\n  start_ms: 125950\n  end_ms: 129550\n- text: When I'm spittin' this mean, me and government intervene\n  start_ms: 129550\n  end_ms: 131330\n- text: A couple presidents, literally live in my jeans\n  start_ms: 131330\n  end_ms: 134080\n- text: I give 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\n  start_ms: 134080\n  end_ms: 136740\n- text: When I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\n  start_ms: 136740\n  end_ms: 139490\n- text: And I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\n  start_ms: 139490\n  end_ms: 141320\n- text: Niggaz hate, bitches cheer like Norm, Cliff and Diane\n  start_ms: 141320\n  end_ms: 144040\n- text: I'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty verse\n  start_ms: 144040\n  end_ms: 147680\n- text: I run radio but I don't use them itty bitty words\n  start_ms: 147680\n  end_ms: 148550\n- text: I ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verb\n  start_ms: 148550\n  end_ms: 151230\n- text: When I reach heaven I want the nigga Biggie to be like word\n  start_ms: 151230\n  end_ms: 153940\n- text: City slicker, New York delivery when I swerve\n  start_ms: 153940\n  end_ms: 155780\n- text: Hold that mic like the Statue of Liberty, I deserve\n  start_ms: 155780\n  end_ms: 158450\n- text: A shot at the title, spitter of the year, every year, let's be clear\n  start_ms: 158450\n  end_ms: 162050\n- text: Put some fingers in the air and hold 'em up high\n  start_ms: 162050\n  end_ms: 165670\n- text: Joey, work on your half-court shot, I'm money from far\n  start_ms: 165670\n  end_ms: 169320\n- text: Get 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\n  start_ms: 169320\n  end_ms: 170210\n- text: And that's rate, gettin' hate from the wannabe stars\n  start_ms: 170210\n  end_ms: 172910\n- text: And that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\n  start_ms: 172910\n  end_ms: 174740\n- text: See that bullet comin' from around the corner\n  start_ms: 174740\n  end_ms: 176560\n- text: Like a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun, think Joey the one\n  start_ms: 176560\n  end_ms: 180120\n- text: I'm a fake, ain't your run of the mill?\n  start_ms: 180120\n  end_ms: 181920\n- text: I'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\n  start_ms: 181920\n  end_ms: 184630\n- text: For me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\n  start_ms: 184630\n  end_ms: 186410\n- text: He Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\n  start_ms: 186410\n  end_ms: 190170\n- text: Play with a match, fuck what you take it as\n  start_ms: 190170\n  end_ms: 191920\n- text: No good straight jacket, all I did break the match\n  start_ms: 191920\n  end_ms: 194630\n- text: They say he talk tough with his fake ass\n  start_ms: 194630\n  end_ms: 197330\n- text: Four pounds put me in another weight class\n  start_ms: 197330\n  end_ms: 200080\n- text: Great Escape the pad\n  start_ms: 200080\n  end_ms: 200950\n- text: Took the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\n  start_ms: 200950\n  end_ms: 204590\n- text: You diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\n  start_ms: 204590\n  end_ms: 207240\n- text: Take a fully automatic and spray at gas\n  start_ms: 207240\n  end_ms: 209090\n- text: Me? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\n  start_ms: 209090\n  end_ms: 211870\n- text: In your whole camp, nobody focused\n  start_ms: 211870\n  end_ms: 213680\n- text: They say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\n  start_ms: 213680\n  end_ms: 216380\n- text: You die and come back, won't nobody know this\n  start_ms: 216380\n  end_ms: 219000\n- text: Drive by, screamin' it's a new crew reppin'\n  start_ms: 219000\n  end_ms: 220830\n- text: Hangin' out the window, like it's 227, get 'em up high\n  start_ms: 220830\n  end_ms: 225370\n- text: Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n  start_ms: 225370\n  end_ms: 227160\n- text: Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n  start_ms: 227160\n  end_ms: 228960\n- text: Get 'em up high in the sky\n  start_ms: 228960\n  end_ms: 231610\n- text: Put 'em up high, put 'em up high\n  start_ms: 231610\n  end_ms: 233540\n- text: Put 'em up high, fingers in the sky\n  start_ms: 233540\n  end_ms: 235320\n- text: Put 'em up, Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\n  start_ms: 235320\n  end_ms: 239870\n- text: Ohh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  start_ms: 239870\n  end_ms: 242510\n- text: Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  start_ms: 242510\n  end_ms: 245250\n- text: Put 'em high, woo, ohh\n  start_ms: 245250\n  end_ms: 250680\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 250680\nplain: |-\n  Yeah, I said, \"Once upon a time in a city that's mine\"\n  There was a nigga named Nickel that spit like Big in his prime\n  He got a 52 box, original tick in the mind\n  Listenin' to 'Pac and them drop with a prestigious design\n  My niggaz is dimes, my bitches is dimes\n\n  I came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\n  I been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MC's\n  Sit and watchin' my green grow like I'm waterin' seeds\n  The problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\n\n  Niggaz callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\n  If I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\n  Probably 'cause I live by the art of for keeps\n  I get indicted after my product's released\n\n  We a different form, a different centrifugal force\n  Every line is like grippin' on a stick shift in a Porsche\n  My niggaz asked for direction to go on this track\n  I said, \"Fuck a direction, spaz out, get 'em up high\"\n\n  Crooked and for them wack songs that you made\n  I want you to throw your pin, but hold the grenade\n  Explode to your grave and go straight to hell\n  When your soul is en-flamed for the road that you paved\n\n  The role that played, in fuckin' up hip-hop\n  You owe so you paid, the fo'-fo' close to your brain\n  Closer than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\n  Don't fuck with me, don't fuck with J O E\n\n  With Nickel we gon' make more cheese\n  Heavy hitter, call me Joell David Ortiz\n  I point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\n  On some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\n\n  I'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\n  It's like you wanting a pill, my gun put your back on the streets\n  Spine on the concrete lookin' at the sun\n  Eyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\n\n  He was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\n  Fully automatic umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\n  Listen, don't make a nigga find your dame\n  And make the dime give me brains 'til my mind is drained\n\n  Listen, don't make me grab a 9 and aim\n  And how your dime did me, do yo' mind the same\n  But different, the West Coast king Crooked I\n  I'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'til I die, get 'em up high\n\n  Joell, here we go again, you know I'm him, Mr. Ortiz\n  Soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MC's\n  Pick a disease we got it, I vomit sniffle and sneeze\n  Lyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord, help get rid of this fever\n\n  I'm like 150 degrees\n  16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\n  A nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\n  Used to dream about livin' now I'm livin' my dreams\n\n  The bitches fiend, made my dick a machine\n  Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\n  When I'm spittin' this mean, me and government intervene\n  A couple presidents, literally live in my jeans\n\n  I give 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\n  When I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\n  And I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\n  Niggaz hate, bitches cheer like Norm, Cliff and Diane\n\n  I'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty verse\n  I run radio but I don't use them itty bitty words\n  I ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verb\n  When I reach heaven I want the nigga Biggie to be like word\n\n  City slicker, New York delivery when I swerve\n  Hold that mic like the Statue of Liberty, I deserve\n  A shot at the title, spitter of the year, every year, let's be clear\n  Put some fingers in the air and hold 'em up high\n\n  Joey, work on your half-court shot, I'm money from far\n  Get 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\n  And that's rate, gettin' hate from the wannabe stars\n  And that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\n\n  See that bullet comin' from around the corner\n  Like a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun, think Joey the one\n  I'm a fake, ain't your run of the mill?\n  I'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\n\n  For me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\n  He Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\n  Play with a match, fuck what you take it as\n  No good straight jacket, all I did break the match\n\n  They say he talk tough with his fake ass\n  Four pounds put me in another weight class\n  Great Escape the pad\n  Took the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\n\n  You diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\n  Take a fully automatic and spray at gas\n  Me? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\n  In your whole camp, nobody focused\n\n  They say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\n  You die and come back, won't nobody know this\n  Drive by, screamin' it's a new crew reppin'\n  Hangin' out the window, like it's 227, get 'em up high\n\n  Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n  Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n  Get 'em up high in the sky\n\n  Put 'em up high, put 'em up high\n  Put 'em up high, fingers in the sky\n  Put 'em up, Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\n\n  Ohh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  Put 'em high, woo, ohh\n"},{"id":38729351,"name":"Onslaught 2","trackName":"Onslaught 2","artistName":"Slaughterhouse, Fatman Scoop","albumName":"Slaughterhouse","duration":268.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Royce: Yeah, I said,\nOnce upon a time in the city that's mine\nThere was a nigga named Nickel who spit like Big in his prime\nGot a 52 box, original tick in the mind\nListenin' to Pac in the drop with prestigious design\nMy niggas is dimes, my bitches is dimes\nI came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\nI been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MCs\nSittin' watchin' my green grow like I'm watering seeds\nThe problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\nNiggas callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\nIf I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\nProbably cause I live by the art of for-keeps\nI get indicted after my products release\nWe a different form, different centrifugal force\nEvery line is like grippin' on the stick shift in the Porsche\nMy niggas ask what direction they go on this track\nI said \"Fuck a direction, spaz out\"\nGet 'em up high\n\nFemale: Crooked\n\nCrooked: And for them wack songs that you made\nI want you to throw your pen, but hold the grenade\nExplode to your grave\nAnd go straight to hell, where your soul is enflamed for the road that you paved\nFor the role that you played\nIn fuckin' up hip-hop\nYou owe, so you paid, the fo' fo' close to your brain\nCloser than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\nDon't fuck with me, don't fuck with J-O-E\nWith Nickel we gon' make more cheese\nHeavy hitter call me Joell David Ortiz (What up!)\nI point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\nOn some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\nI'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\nIt's like you won an appeal, my gun put your back on the streets\nSpine on the concrete, lookin' at the sun\nEyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\nHe was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\nFully automatic, umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\nListen, don't make a nigga find ya dame\nAnd make the dime give me brains until my mind is drained\nListen, don't make me grab a nine and aim\nAnd how your dime did me, do yo mind the same but different\nThe West Coast King, Crooked I\n\nI'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'till I die\n\nGet 'em up high\n\nFemale: Joell\n\nJoell: Here we go again, you know of him\nMr. Ortiz, soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MCs\nPick the disease, we got it, I vomit, sniffle, and sneeze\nLyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord help get rid of this fever\nI'm like a hundred fifty degrees\n16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\nA nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\nUsed to dream about livin', now I'm livin' my dream\nThe bitch's fiend, made my dick a machine\nMaybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\nWhen I'm spittin' it's mean\nMe and government intervene\nA couple presidents literally live in my jeans\nGive 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\nWhen I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\nAnd I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\nNiggas hate, bitches Cheer like I'm Norm, Cliff, and Diane\nI'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty first\nI run the radio, but I don't use them itty bitty words\nI ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verbs\nWhen I reach Heaven I want that nigga Biggie to be like \"Word!\"\nCity slicker New York delivery when I swerve\n\nHold that mic like the Statue of Liberty\n\nI deserve a shot at the title, Spitter of the Year\nErry year, let's be clear, put some fingers in the air\nAnd hold 'em up high!\n\nFemale: Joey\n\nJoey: Work on your half court shot, I'm money from far\nGet 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\nAnd that's rate, getting hate from the wannabe stars\nAnd that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\nSee that bullet coming from around the corner\nLike a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun; think Joey the one\nI'm a fake? Ain't your run-of-the-mill\nI'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\nFor me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\nHe Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\nPlay with a match, FUCK what you take it as\nNo good straight jacket, all I did break the match\nThey say he talk tough with his fake ass\nFour pounds put me in another weight class\nGreat Escape the pad\nTook the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\nYou diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\nTake a fully-automatic and spray at gas\nMe? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\n\nIn your whole camp, nobody focused\nThey say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\nYou die and come back, won't nobody notice\nDrive by, screaming it's a new crew repping\nHanging out the window, like it's \"227\"\nGet 'em up HIGH\n\nFatman Scoop: Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\nGet 'em up high, get 'em up high\nGet 'em up high, in the sky\nPut 'em up high, put 'em up high\nPut 'em up high, fingers in the sky\nPut 'em up! Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\nOhh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\nFatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\nPut 'em high, woo! Ohh","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Onslaught 2\n  artist: Slaughterhouse, Fatman Scoop\n  album: Slaughterhouse\n  duration_ms: 268000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Royce: Yeah, I said,\n  Once upon a time in the city that's mine\n  There was a nigga named Nickel who spit like Big in his prime\n  Got a 52 box, original tick in the mind\n  Listenin' to Pac in the drop with prestigious design\n  My niggas is dimes, my bitches is dimes\n  I came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\n  I been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MCs\n  Sittin' watchin' my green grow like I'm watering seeds\n  The problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\n  Niggas callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\n  If I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\n  Probably cause I live by the art of for-keeps\n  I get indicted after my products release\n  We a different form, different centrifugal force\n  Every line is like grippin' on the stick shift in the Porsche\n  My niggas ask what direction they go on this track\n  I said \"Fuck a direction, spaz out\"\n  Get 'em up high\n\n  Female: Crooked\n\n  Crooked: And for them wack songs that you made\n  I want you to throw your pen, but hold the grenade\n  Explode to your grave\n  And go straight to hell, where your soul is enflamed for the road that you paved\n  For the role that you played\n  In fuckin' up hip-hop\n  You owe, so you paid, the fo' fo' close to your brain\n  Closer than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\n  Don't fuck with me, don't fuck with J-O-E\n  With Nickel we gon' make more cheese\n  Heavy hitter call me Joell David Ortiz (What up!)\n  I point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\n  On some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\n  I'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\n  It's like you won an appeal, my gun put your back on the streets\n  Spine on the concrete, lookin' at the sun\n  Eyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\n  He was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\n  Fully automatic, umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\n  Listen, don't make a nigga find ya dame\n  And make the dime give me brains until my mind is drained\n  Listen, don't make me grab a nine and aim\n  And how your dime did me, do yo mind the same but different\n  The West Coast King, Crooked I\n\n  I'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'till I die\n\n  Get 'em up high\n\n  Female: Joell\n\n  Joell: Here we go again, you know of him\n  Mr. Ortiz, soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MCs\n  Pick the disease, we got it, I vomit, sniffle, and sneeze\n  Lyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord help get rid of this fever\n  I'm like a hundred fifty degrees\n  16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\n  A nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\n  Used to dream about livin', now I'm livin' my dream\n  The bitch's fiend, made my dick a machine\n  Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\n  When I'm spittin' it's mean\n  Me and government intervene\n  A couple presidents literally live in my jeans\n  Give 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\n  When I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\n  And I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\n  Niggas hate, bitches Cheer like I'm Norm, Cliff, and Diane\n  I'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty first\n  I run the radio, but I don't use them itty bitty words\n  I ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verbs\n  When I reach Heaven I want that nigga Biggie to be like \"Word!\"\n  City slicker New York delivery when I swerve\n\n  Hold that mic like the Statue of Liberty\n\n  I deserve a shot at the title, Spitter of the Year\n  Erry year, let's be clear, put some fingers in the air\n  And hold 'em up high!\n\n  Female: Joey\n\n  Joey: Work on your half court shot, I'm money from far\n  Get 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\n  And that's rate, getting hate from the wannabe stars\n  And that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\n  See that bullet coming from around the corner\n  Like a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun; think Joey the one\n  I'm a fake? Ain't your run-of-the-mill\n  I'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\n  For me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\n  He Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\n  Play with a match, FUCK what you take it as\n  No good straight jacket, all I did break the match\n  They say he talk tough with his fake ass\n  Four pounds put me in another weight class\n  Great Escape the pad\n  Took the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\n  You diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\n  Take a fully-automatic and spray at gas\n  Me? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\n\n  In your whole camp, nobody focused\n  They say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\n  You die and come back, won't nobody notice\n  Drive by, screaming it's a new crew repping\n  Hanging out the window, like it's \"227\"\n  Get 'em up HIGH\n\n  Fatman Scoop: Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n  Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n  Get 'em up high, in the sky\n  Put 'em up high, put 'em up high\n  Put 'em up high, fingers in the sky\n  Put 'em up! Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\n  Ohh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  Put 'em high, woo! Ohh\n"},{"id":6831650,"name":"Onslaught 2","trackName":"Onslaught 2","artistName":"Slaughterhouse","albumName":"Slaughterhouse (Bonus Track Version)","duration":268.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Yeah, I said, \"Once upon a time in a city that's mine\"\nThere was a nigga named Nickel that spit like Big in his prime\nHe got a 52 box, original tick in the mind\nListenin' to 'Pac and them drop with a prestigious design\nMy niggaz is dimes, my bitches is dimes\n\nI came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\nI been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MC's\nSit and watchin' my green grow like I'm waterin' seeds\nThe problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\n\nNiggaz callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\nIf I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\nProbably 'cause I live by the art of for keeps\nI get indicted after my product's released\n\nWe a different form, a different centrifugal force\nEvery line is like grippin' on a stick shift in a Porsche\nMy niggaz asked for direction to go on this track\nI said, \"Fuck a direction, spaz out, get 'em up high\"\n\nCrooked and for them wack songs that you made\nI want you to throw your pin, but hold the grenade\nExplode to your grave and go straight to hell\nWhen your soul is en-flamed for the road that you paved\n\nThe role that played, in fuckin' up hip-hop\nYou owe so you paid, the fo'-fo' close to your brain\nCloser than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\nDon't fuck with me, don't fuck with J O E\n\nWith Nickel we gon' make more cheese\nHeavy hitter, call me Joell David Ortiz\nI point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\nOn some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\n\nI'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\nIt's like you wanting a pill, my gun put your back on the streets\nSpine on the concrete lookin' at the sun\nEyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\n\nHe was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\nFully automatic umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\nListen, don't make a nigga find your dame\nAnd make the dime give me brains 'til my mind is drained\n\nListen, don't make me grab a 9 and aim\nAnd how your dime did me, do yo' mind the same\nBut different, the West Coast king Crooked I\nI'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'til I die, get 'em up high\n\nJoell, here we go again, you know I'm him, Mr. Ortiz\nSoon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MC's\nPick a disease we got it, I vomit sniffle and sneeze\nLyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord, help get rid of this fever\n\nI'm like 150 degrees\n16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\nA nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\nUsed to dream about livin' now I'm livin' my dreams\n\nThe bitches fiend, made my dick a machine\nMaybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\nWhen I'm spittin' this mean, me and government intervene\nA couple presidents, literally live in my jeans\n\nI give 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\nWhen I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\nAnd I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\nNiggaz hate, bitches cheer like Norm, Cliff and Diane\n\nI'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty verse\nI run radio but I don't use them itty bitty words\nI ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verb\nWhen I reach heaven I want the nigga Biggie to be like word\n\nCity slicker, New York delivery when I swerve\nHold that mic like the Statue of Liberty, I deserve\nA shot at the title, spitter of the year, every year, let's be clear\nPut some fingers in the air and hold 'em up high\n\nJoey, work on your half-court shot, I'm money from far\nGet 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\nAnd that's rate, gettin' hate from the wannabe stars\nAnd that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\n\nSee that bullet comin' from around the corner\nLike a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun, think Joey the one\nI'm a fake, ain't your run of the mill?\nI'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\n\nFor me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\nHe Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\nPlay with a match, fuck what you take it as\nNo good straight jacket, all I did break the match\n\nThey say he talk tough with his fake ass\nFour pounds put me in another weight class\nGreat Escape the pad\nTook the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\n\nYou diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\nTake a fully automatic and spray at gas\nMe? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\nIn your whole camp, nobody focused\n\nThey say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\nYou die and come back, won't nobody know this\nDrive by, screamin' it's a new crew reppin'\nHangin' out the window, like it's 227, get 'em up high\n\nGet 'em up high, get 'em up high\nGet 'em up high, get 'em up high\nGet 'em up high in the sky\n\nPut 'em up high, put 'em up high\nPut 'em up high, fingers in the sky\nPut 'em up, Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\n\nOhh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\nFatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\nPut 'em high, woo, ohh","syncedLyrics":"[00:03.79] Yeah, I said, \"Once upon a time in a city that's mine\"\n[00:05.63] There was a nigga named Nickel that spit like Big in his prime\n[00:09.27] He got a 52 box, original tick in the mind\n[00:11.06] Listenin' to 'Pac and them drop with a prestigious design\n[00:13.75] My niggaz is dimes, my bitches is dimes\n[00:15.53] I came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\n[00:18.25] I been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MC's\n[00:20.94] Sit and watchin' my green grow like I'm waterin' seeds\n[00:23.60] The problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\n[00:25.46] Niggaz callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\n[00:27.27] If I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\n[00:29.11] Probably 'cause I live by the art of for keeps\n[00:30.98] I get indicted after my product's released\n[00:33.65] We a different form, a different centrifugal force\n[00:35.41] Every line is like grippin' on a stick shift in a Porsche\n[00:38.13] My niggaz asked for direction to go on this track\n[00:40.92] I said, \"Fuck a direction, spaz out, get 'em up high\"\n[00:45.47] Crooked and for them wack songs that you made\n[00:47.29] I want you to throw your pin, but hold the grenade\n[00:49.99] Explode to your grave and go straight to hell\n[00:52.69] When your soul is en-flamed for the road that you paved\n[00:54.42] The role that played, in fuckin' up hip-hop\n[00:57.13] You owe so you paid, the fo'-fo' close to your brain\n[00:59.88] Closer than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\n[01:02.65] Don't fuck with me, don't fuck with J O E\n[01:05.35] With Nickel we gon' make more cheese\n[01:07.10] Heavy hitter, call me Joell David Ortiz\n[01:09.89] I point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\n[01:11.62] On some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\n[01:14.38] I'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\n[01:16.15] It's like you wanting a pill, my gun put your back on the streets\n[01:18.82] Spine on the concrete lookin' at the sun\n[01:21.51] Eyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\n[01:24.32] He was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\n[01:26.19] Fully automatic umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\n[01:28.87] Listen, don't make a nigga find your dame\n[01:30.65] And make the dime give me brains 'til my mind is drained\n[01:33.34] Listen, don't make me grab a 9 and aim\n[01:36.01] And how your dime did me, do yo' mind the same\n[01:37.85] But different, the West Coast king Crooked I\n[01:40.50] I'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'til I die, get 'em up high\n[01:46.08] Joell, here we go again, you know I'm him, Mr. Ortiz\n[01:47.86] Soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MC's\n[01:50.58] Pick a disease we got it, I vomit sniffle and sneeze\n[01:52.34] Lyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord, help get rid of this fever\n[01:55.98] I'm like 150 degrees\n[01:56.82] 16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\n[01:59.65] A nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\n[02:02.36] Used to dream about livin' now I'm livin' my dreams\n[02:05.01] The bitches fiend, made my dick a machine\n[02:05.95] Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\n[02:09.55] When I'm spittin' this mean, me and government intervene\n[02:11.33] A couple presidents, literally live in my jeans\n[02:14.08] I give 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\n[02:16.74] When I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\n[02:19.49] And I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\n[02:21.32] Niggaz hate, bitches cheer like Norm, Cliff and Diane\n[02:24.04] I'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty verse\n[02:27.68] I run radio but I don't use them itty bitty words\n[02:28.55] I ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verb\n[02:31.23] When I reach heaven I want the nigga Biggie to be like word\n[02:33.94] City slicker, New York delivery when I swerve\n[02:35.78] Hold that mic like the Statue of Liberty, I deserve\n[02:38.45] A shot at the title, spitter of the year, every year, let's be clear\n[02:42.05] Put some fingers in the air and hold 'em up high\n[02:45.67] Joey, work on your half-court shot, I'm money from far\n[02:49.32] Get 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\n[02:50.21] And that's rate, gettin' hate from the wannabe stars\n[02:52.91] And that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\n[02:54.74] See that bullet comin' from around the corner\n[02:56.56] Like a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun, think Joey the one\n[03:00.12] I'm a fake, ain't your run of the mill?\n[03:01.92] I'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\n[03:04.63] For me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\n[03:06.41] He Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\n[03:10.17] Play with a match, fuck what you take it as\n[03:11.92] No good straight jacket, all I did break the match\n[03:14.63] They say he talk tough with his fake ass\n[03:17.33] Four pounds put me in another weight class\n[03:20.08] Great Escape the pad\n[03:20.95] Took the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\n[03:24.59] You diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\n[03:27.24] Take a fully automatic and spray at gas\n[03:29.09] Me? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\n[03:31.87] In your whole camp, nobody focused\n[03:33.68] They say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\n[03:36.38] You die and come back, won't nobody know this\n[03:39.00] Drive by, screamin' it's a new crew reppin'\n[03:40.83] Hangin' out the window, like it's 227, get 'em up high\n[03:45.37] Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n[03:47.16] Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n[03:48.96] Get 'em up high in the sky\n[03:51.61] Put 'em up high, put 'em up high\n[03:53.54] Put 'em up high, fingers in the sky\n[03:55.32] Put 'em up, Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\n[03:59.87] Ohh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n[04:02.51] Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n[04:05.25] Put 'em high, woo, ohh\n[04:10.68] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Onslaught 2\n  artist: Slaughterhouse\n  album: Slaughterhouse (Bonus Track Version)\n  duration_ms: 268000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Yeah, I said, \"Once upon a time in a city that's mine\"\n  start_ms: 3790\n  end_ms: 5630\n- text: There was a nigga named Nickel that spit like Big in his prime\n  start_ms: 5630\n  end_ms: 9270\n- text: He got a 52 box, original tick in the mind\n  start_ms: 9270\n  end_ms: 11060\n- text: Listenin' to 'Pac and them drop with a prestigious design\n  start_ms: 11060\n  end_ms: 13750\n- text: My niggaz is dimes, my bitches is dimes\n  start_ms: 13750\n  end_ms: 15530\n- text: I came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\n  start_ms: 15530\n  end_ms: 18250\n- text: I been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MC's\n  start_ms: 18250\n  end_ms: 20940\n- text: Sit and watchin' my green grow like I'm waterin' seeds\n  start_ms: 20940\n  end_ms: 23600\n- text: The problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\n  start_ms: 23600\n  end_ms: 25460\n- text: Niggaz callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\n  start_ms: 25460\n  end_ms: 27270\n- text: If I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\n  start_ms: 27270\n  end_ms: 29110\n- text: Probably 'cause I live by the art of for keeps\n  start_ms: 29110\n  end_ms: 30980\n- text: I get indicted after my product's released\n  start_ms: 30980\n  end_ms: 33650\n- text: We a different form, a different centrifugal force\n  start_ms: 33650\n  end_ms: 35410\n- text: Every line is like grippin' on a stick shift in a Porsche\n  start_ms: 35410\n  end_ms: 38130\n- text: My niggaz asked for direction to go on this track\n  start_ms: 38130\n  end_ms: 40920\n- text: I said, \"Fuck a direction, spaz out, get 'em up high\"\n  start_ms: 40920\n  end_ms: 45470\n- text: Crooked and for them wack songs that you made\n  start_ms: 45470\n  end_ms: 47290\n- text: I want you to throw your pin, but hold the grenade\n  start_ms: 47290\n  end_ms: 49990\n- text: Explode to your grave and go straight to hell\n  start_ms: 49990\n  end_ms: 52690\n- text: When your soul is en-flamed for the road that you paved\n  start_ms: 52690\n  end_ms: 54420\n- text: The role that played, in fuckin' up hip-hop\n  start_ms: 54420\n  end_ms: 57130\n- text: You owe so you paid, the fo'-fo' close to your brain\n  start_ms: 57130\n  end_ms: 59880\n- text: Closer than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\n  start_ms: 59880\n  end_ms: 62650\n- text: Don't fuck with me, don't fuck with J O E\n  start_ms: 62650\n  end_ms: 65350\n- text: With Nickel we gon' make more cheese\n  start_ms: 65350\n  end_ms: 67100\n- text: Heavy hitter, call me Joell David Ortiz\n  start_ms: 67100\n  end_ms: 69890\n- text: I point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\n  start_ms: 69890\n  end_ms: 71620\n- text: On some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\n  start_ms: 71620\n  end_ms: 74380\n- text: I'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\n  start_ms: 74380\n  end_ms: 76150\n- text: It's like you wanting a pill, my gun put your back on the streets\n  start_ms: 76150\n  end_ms: 78820\n- text: Spine on the concrete lookin' at the sun\n  start_ms: 78820\n  end_ms: 81510\n- text: Eyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\n  start_ms: 81510\n  end_ms: 84320\n- text: He was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\n  start_ms: 84320\n  end_ms: 86190\n- text: Fully automatic umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\n  start_ms: 86190\n  end_ms: 88870\n- text: Listen, don't make a nigga find your dame\n  start_ms: 88870\n  end_ms: 90650\n- text: And make the dime give me brains 'til my mind is drained\n  start_ms: 90650\n  end_ms: 93340\n- text: Listen, don't make me grab a 9 and aim\n  start_ms: 93340\n  end_ms: 96010\n- text: And how your dime did me, do yo' mind the same\n  start_ms: 96010\n  end_ms: 97850\n- text: But different, the West Coast king Crooked I\n  start_ms: 97850\n  end_ms: 100500\n- text: I'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'til I die, get 'em up high\n  start_ms: 100500\n  end_ms: 106080\n- text: Joell, here we go again, you know I'm him, Mr. Ortiz\n  start_ms: 106080\n  end_ms: 107860\n- text: Soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MC's\n  start_ms: 107860\n  end_ms: 110580\n- text: Pick a disease we got it, I vomit sniffle and sneeze\n  start_ms: 110580\n  end_ms: 112340\n- text: Lyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord, help get rid of this fever\n  start_ms: 112340\n  end_ms: 115980\n- text: I'm like 150 degrees\n  start_ms: 115980\n  end_ms: 116820\n- text: 16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\n  start_ms: 116820\n  end_ms: 119650\n- text: A nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\n  start_ms: 119650\n  end_ms: 122360\n- text: Used to dream about livin' now I'm livin' my dreams\n  start_ms: 122360\n  end_ms: 125010\n- text: The bitches fiend, made my dick a machine\n  start_ms: 125010\n  end_ms: 125950\n- text: Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\n  start_ms: 125950\n  end_ms: 129550\n- text: When I'm spittin' this mean, me and government intervene\n  start_ms: 129550\n  end_ms: 131330\n- text: A couple presidents, literally live in my jeans\n  start_ms: 131330\n  end_ms: 134080\n- text: I give 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\n  start_ms: 134080\n  end_ms: 136740\n- text: When I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\n  start_ms: 136740\n  end_ms: 139490\n- text: And I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\n  start_ms: 139490\n  end_ms: 141320\n- text: Niggaz hate, bitches cheer like Norm, Cliff and Diane\n  start_ms: 141320\n  end_ms: 144040\n- text: I'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty verse\n  start_ms: 144040\n  end_ms: 147680\n- text: I run radio but I don't use them itty bitty words\n  start_ms: 147680\n  end_ms: 148550\n- text: I ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verb\n  start_ms: 148550\n  end_ms: 151230\n- text: When I reach heaven I want the nigga Biggie to be like word\n  start_ms: 151230\n  end_ms: 153940\n- text: City slicker, New York delivery when I swerve\n  start_ms: 153940\n  end_ms: 155780\n- text: Hold that mic like the Statue of Liberty, I deserve\n  start_ms: 155780\n  end_ms: 158450\n- text: A shot at the title, spitter of the year, every year, let's be clear\n  start_ms: 158450\n  end_ms: 162050\n- text: Put some fingers in the air and hold 'em up high\n  start_ms: 162050\n  end_ms: 165670\n- text: Joey, work on your half-court shot, I'm money from far\n  start_ms: 165670\n  end_ms: 169320\n- text: Get 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\n  start_ms: 169320\n  end_ms: 170210\n- text: And that's rate, gettin' hate from the wannabe stars\n  start_ms: 170210\n  end_ms: 172910\n- text: And that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\n  start_ms: 172910\n  end_ms: 174740\n- text: See that bullet comin' from around the corner\n  start_ms: 174740\n  end_ms: 176560\n- text: Like a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun, think Joey the one\n  start_ms: 176560\n  end_ms: 180120\n- text: I'm a fake, ain't your run of the mill?\n  start_ms: 180120\n  end_ms: 181920\n- text: I'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\n  start_ms: 181920\n  end_ms: 184630\n- text: For me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\n  start_ms: 184630\n  end_ms: 186410\n- text: He Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\n  start_ms: 186410\n  end_ms: 190170\n- text: Play with a match, fuck what you take it as\n  start_ms: 190170\n  end_ms: 191920\n- text: No good straight jacket, all I did break the match\n  start_ms: 191920\n  end_ms: 194630\n- text: They say he talk tough with his fake ass\n  start_ms: 194630\n  end_ms: 197330\n- text: Four pounds put me in another weight class\n  start_ms: 197330\n  end_ms: 200080\n- text: Great Escape the pad\n  start_ms: 200080\n  end_ms: 200950\n- text: Took the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\n  start_ms: 200950\n  end_ms: 204590\n- text: You diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\n  start_ms: 204590\n  end_ms: 207240\n- text: Take a fully automatic and spray at gas\n  start_ms: 207240\n  end_ms: 209090\n- text: Me? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\n  start_ms: 209090\n  end_ms: 211870\n- text: In your whole camp, nobody focused\n  start_ms: 211870\n  end_ms: 213680\n- text: They say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\n  start_ms: 213680\n  end_ms: 216380\n- text: You die and come back, won't nobody know this\n  start_ms: 216380\n  end_ms: 219000\n- text: Drive by, screamin' it's a new crew reppin'\n  start_ms: 219000\n  end_ms: 220830\n- text: Hangin' out the window, like it's 227, get 'em up high\n  start_ms: 220830\n  end_ms: 225370\n- text: Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n  start_ms: 225370\n  end_ms: 227160\n- text: Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n  start_ms: 227160\n  end_ms: 228960\n- text: Get 'em up high in the sky\n  start_ms: 228960\n  end_ms: 231610\n- text: Put 'em up high, put 'em up high\n  start_ms: 231610\n  end_ms: 233540\n- text: Put 'em up high, fingers in the sky\n  start_ms: 233540\n  end_ms: 235320\n- text: Put 'em up, Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\n  start_ms: 235320\n  end_ms: 239870\n- text: Ohh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  start_ms: 239870\n  end_ms: 242510\n- text: Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  start_ms: 242510\n  end_ms: 245250\n- text: Put 'em high, woo, ohh\n  start_ms: 245250\n  end_ms: 250680\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 250680\nplain: |-\n  Yeah, I said, \"Once upon a time in a city that's mine\"\n  There was a nigga named Nickel that spit like Big in his prime\n  He got a 52 box, original tick in the mind\n  Listenin' to 'Pac and them drop with a prestigious design\n  My niggaz is dimes, my bitches is dimes\n\n  I came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\n  I been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MC's\n  Sit and watchin' my green grow like I'm waterin' seeds\n  The problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\n\n  Niggaz callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\n  If I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\n  Probably 'cause I live by the art of for keeps\n  I get indicted after my product's released\n\n  We a different form, a different centrifugal force\n  Every line is like grippin' on a stick shift in a Porsche\n  My niggaz asked for direction to go on this track\n  I said, \"Fuck a direction, spaz out, get 'em up high\"\n\n  Crooked and for them wack songs that you made\n  I want you to throw your pin, but hold the grenade\n  Explode to your grave and go straight to hell\n  When your soul is en-flamed for the road that you paved\n\n  The role that played, in fuckin' up hip-hop\n  You owe so you paid, the fo'-fo' close to your brain\n  Closer than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\n  Don't fuck with me, don't fuck with J O E\n\n  With Nickel we gon' make more cheese\n  Heavy hitter, call me Joell David Ortiz\n  I point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\n  On some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\n\n  I'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\n  It's like you wanting a pill, my gun put your back on the streets\n  Spine on the concrete lookin' at the sun\n  Eyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\n\n  He was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\n  Fully automatic umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\n  Listen, don't make a nigga find your dame\n  And make the dime give me brains 'til my mind is drained\n\n  Listen, don't make me grab a 9 and aim\n  And how your dime did me, do yo' mind the same\n  But different, the West Coast king Crooked I\n  I'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'til I die, get 'em up high\n\n  Joell, here we go again, you know I'm him, Mr. Ortiz\n  Soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MC's\n  Pick a disease we got it, I vomit sniffle and sneeze\n  Lyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord, help get rid of this fever\n\n  I'm like 150 degrees\n  16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\n  A nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\n  Used to dream about livin' now I'm livin' my dreams\n\n  The bitches fiend, made my dick a machine\n  Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\n  When I'm spittin' this mean, me and government intervene\n  A couple presidents, literally live in my jeans\n\n  I give 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\n  When I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\n  And I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\n  Niggaz hate, bitches cheer like Norm, Cliff and Diane\n\n  I'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty verse\n  I run radio but I don't use them itty bitty words\n  I ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verb\n  When I reach heaven I want the nigga Biggie to be like word\n\n  City slicker, New York delivery when I swerve\n  Hold that mic like the Statue of Liberty, I deserve\n  A shot at the title, spitter of the year, every year, let's be clear\n  Put some fingers in the air and hold 'em up high\n\n  Joey, work on your half-court shot, I'm money from far\n  Get 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\n  And that's rate, gettin' hate from the wannabe stars\n  And that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\n\n  See that bullet comin' from around the corner\n  Like a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun, think Joey the one\n  I'm a fake, ain't your run of the mill?\n  I'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\n\n  For me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\n  He Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\n  Play with a match, fuck what you take it as\n  No good straight jacket, all I did break the match\n\n  They say he talk tough with his fake ass\n  Four pounds put me in another weight class\n  Great Escape the pad\n  Took the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\n\n  You diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\n  Take a fully automatic and spray at gas\n  Me? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\n  In your whole camp, nobody focused\n\n  They say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\n  You die and come back, won't nobody know this\n  Drive by, screamin' it's a new crew reppin'\n  Hangin' out the window, like it's 227, get 'em up high\n\n  Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n  Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n  Get 'em up high in the sky\n\n  Put 'em up high, put 'em up high\n  Put 'em up high, fingers in the sky\n  Put 'em up, Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\n\n  Ohh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  Put 'em high, woo, ohh\n"},{"id":8311461,"name":"Onslaught 2","trackName":"Onslaught 2","artistName":"Slaughterhouse feat. Fatman Scoop","albumName":"Slaughterhouse","duration":270.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Royce: Yeah, I said,\nOnce upon a time in the city that's mine\nThere was a nigga named Nickel who spit like Big in his prime\nGot a 52 box, original tick in the mind\nListenin' to Pac in the drop with prestigious design\nMy niggas is dimes, my bitches is dimes\nI came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\nI been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MCs\nSittin' watchin' my green grow like I'm watering seeds\nThe problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\nNiggas callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\nIf I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\nProbably cause I live by the art of for-keeps\nI get indicted after my products release\nWe a different form, different centrifugal force\nEvery line is like grippin' on the stick shift in the Porsche\nMy niggas ask what direction they go on this track\nI said \"Fuck a direction, spaz out\"\nGet 'em up high\n\nFemale: Crooked\n\nCrooked: And for them wack songs that you made\nI want you to throw your pen, but hold the grenade\nExplode to your grave\nAnd go straight to hell, where your soul is enflamed for the road that you paved\nFor the role that you played\nIn fuckin' up hip-hop\nYou owe, so you paid, the fo' fo' close to your brain\nCloser than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\nDon't fuck with me, don't fuck with J-O-E\nWith Nickel we gon' make more cheese\nHeavy hitter call me Joell David Ortiz (What up!)\nI point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\nOn some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\nI'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\nIt's like you won an appeal, my gun put your back on the streets\nSpine on the concrete, lookin' at the sun\nEyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\nHe was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\nFully automatic, umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\nListen, don't make a nigga find ya dame\nAnd make the dime give me brains until my mind is drained\nListen, don't make me grab a nine and aim\nAnd how your dime did me, do yo mind the same but different\nThe West Coast King, Crooked I\n\nI'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'till I die\n\nGet 'em up high\n\nFemale: Joell\n\nJoell: Here we go again, you know of him\nMr. Ortiz, soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MCs\nPick the disease, we got it, I vomit, sniffle, and sneeze\nLyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord help get rid of this fever\nI'm like a hundred fifty degrees\n16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\nA nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\nUsed to dream about livin', now I'm livin' my dream\nThe bitch's fiend, made my dick a machine\nMaybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\nWhen I'm spittin' it's mean\nMe and government intervene\nA couple presidents literally live in my jeans\nGive 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\nWhen I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\nAnd I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\nNiggas hate, bitches Cheer like I'm Norm, Cliff, and Diane\nI'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty first\nI run the radio, but I don't use them itty bitty words\nI ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verbs\nWhen I reach Heaven I want that nigga Biggie to be like \"Word!\"\nCity slicker New York delivery when I swerve\n\nHold that mic like the Statue of Liberty\n\nI deserve a shot at the title, Spitter of the Year\nErry year, let's be clear, put some fingers in the air\nAnd hold 'em up high!\n\nFemale: Joey\n\nJoey: Work on your half court shot, I'm money from far\nGet 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\nAnd that's rate, getting hate from the wannabe stars\nAnd that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\nSee that bullet coming from around the corner\nLike a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun; think Joey the one\nI'm a fake? Ain't your run-of-the-mill\nI'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\nFor me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\nHe Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\nPlay with a match, FUCK what you take it as\nNo good straight jacket, all I did break the match\nThey say he talk tough with his fake ass\nFour pounds put me in another weight class\nGreat Escape the pad\nTook the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\nYou diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\nTake a fully-automatic and spray at gas\nMe? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\n\nIn your whole camp, nobody focused\nThey say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\nYou die and come back, won't nobody notice\nDrive by, screaming it's a new crew repping\nHanging out the window, like it's \"227\"\nGet 'em up HIGH\n\nFatman Scoop: Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\nGet 'em up high, get 'em up high\nGet 'em up high, in the sky\nPut 'em up high, put 'em up high\nPut 'em up high, fingers in the sky\nPut 'em up! Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\nOhh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\nFatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\nPut 'em high, woo! Ohh","syncedLyrics":"[00:03.75] Royce: Yeah, I said,\n[00:04.63] Once upon a time in the city that's mine\n[00:05.56] There was a nigga named Nickel who spit like Big in his prime\n[00:08.20] Got a 52 box, original tick in the mind\n[00:10.09] Listenin' to Pac in the drop with prestigious design\n[00:12.85] My niggas is dimes, my bitches is dimes\n[00:15.58] I came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\n[00:18.29] I been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MCs\n[00:20.15] Sittin' watchin' my green grow like I'm watering seeds\n[00:22.84] The problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\n[00:25.54] Niggas callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\n[00:27.34] If I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\n[00:29.24] Probably cause I live by the art of for-keeps\n[00:31.98] I get indicted after my products release\n[00:32.84] We a different form, different centrifugal force\n[00:35.52] Every line is like grippin' on the stick shift in the Porsche\n[00:37.38] My niggas ask what direction they go on this track\n[00:40.12] I said \"Fuck a direction, spaz out\"\n[00:42.82] Get 'em up high\n[00:44.64] Female: Crooked\n[00:45.56] Crooked: And for them wack songs that you made\n[00:47.37] I want you to throw your pen, but hold the grenade\n[00:49.29] Explode to your grave\n[00:51.98] And go straight to hell, where your soul is enflamed for the road that you paved\n[00:53.72] For the role that you played\n[00:55.52] In fuckin' up hip-hop\n[00:57.38] You owe, so you paid, the fo' fo' close to your brain\n[00:58.28] Closer than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\n[01:01.90] Don't fuck with me, don't fuck with J-O-E\n[01:04.60] With Nickel we gon' make more cheese\n[01:06.46] Heavy hitter call me Joell David Ortiz (What up!)\n[01:10.13] I point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\n[01:11.96] On some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\n[01:13.73] I'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\n[01:16.46] It's like you won an appeal, my gun put your back on the streets\n[01:19.15] Spine on the concrete, lookin' at the sun\n[01:21.08] Eyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\n[01:23.77] He was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\n[01:26.46] Fully automatic, umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\n[01:28.27] Listen, don't make a nigga find ya dame\n[01:30.96] And make the dime give me brains until my mind is drained\n[01:33.72] Listen, don't make me grab a nine and aim\n[01:36.41] And how your dime did me, do yo mind the same but different\n[01:38.25] The West Coast King, Crooked I\n[01:40.94] I'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'till I die\n[01:42.88] Get 'em up high\n[01:44.65] Female: Joell\n[01:46.49] Joell: Here we go again, you know of him\n[01:47.32] Mr. Ortiz, soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MCs\n[01:50.08] Pick the disease, we got it, I vomit, sniffle, and sneeze\n[01:52.83] Lyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord help get rid of this fever\n[01:55.58] I'm like a hundred fifty degrees\n[01:57.35] 16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\n[01:59.13] A nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\n[02:01.87] Used to dream about livin', now I'm livin' my dream\n[02:04.67] The bitch's fiend, made my dick a machine\n[02:06.45] Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\n[02:09.16] When I'm spittin' it's mean\n[02:10.97] Me and government intervene\n[02:11.86] A couple presidents literally live in my jeans\n[02:14.66] Give 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\n[02:15.52] When I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\n[02:20.09] And I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\n[02:21.84] Niggas hate, bitches Cheer like I'm Norm, Cliff, and Diane\n[02:23.75] I'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty first\n[02:26.44] I run the radio, but I don't use them itty bitty words\n[02:29.18] I ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verbs\n[02:30.93] When I reach Heaven I want that nigga Biggie to be like \"Word!\"\n[02:32.72] City slicker New York delivery when I swerve\n[02:36.45] Hold that mic like the Statue of Liberty\n[02:38.21] I deserve a shot at the title, Spitter of the Year\n[02:41.88] Erry year, let's be clear, put some fingers in the air\n[02:42.77] And hold 'em up high!\n[02:44.52] Female: Joey\n[02:45.53] Joey: Work on your half court shot, I'm money from far\n[02:47.32] Get 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\n[02:50.01] And that's rate, getting hate from the wannabe stars\n[02:52.79] And that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\n[02:55.41] See that bullet coming from around the corner\n[02:57.23] Like a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun; think Joey the one\n[02:59.17] I'm a fake? Ain't your run-of-the-mill\n[03:01.85] I'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\n[03:04.52] For me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\n[03:06.32] He Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\n[03:09.98] Play with a match, FUCK what you take it as\n[03:12.79] No good straight jacket, all I did break the match\n[03:15.40] They say he talk tough with his fake ass\n[03:18.13] Four pounds put me in another weight class\n[03:20.96] Great Escape the pad\n[03:21.86] Took the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\n[03:24.59] You diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\n[03:26.32] Take a fully-automatic and spray at gas\n[03:29.08] Me? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\n[03:31.88] In your whole camp, nobody focused\n[03:36.36] They say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\n[03:37.23] You die and come back, won't nobody notice\n[03:39.13] Drive by, screaming it's a new crew repping\n[03:40.94] Hanging out the window, like it's \"227\"\n[03:43.67] Get 'em up HIGH\n[03:45.45] Fatman Scoop: Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n[03:48.29] Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n[03:50.08] Get 'em up high, in the sky\n[03:50.93] Put 'em up high, put 'em up high\n[03:53.66] Put 'em up high, fingers in the sky\n[03:55.40] Put 'em up! Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\n[03:59.17] Ohh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n[04:02.78] Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n[04:05.41] Put 'em high, woo! Ohh\n[04:10.97] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Onslaught 2\n  artist: Slaughterhouse feat. Fatman Scoop\n  album: Slaughterhouse\n  duration_ms: 270000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: 'Royce: Yeah, I said,'\n  start_ms: 3750\n  end_ms: 4630\n- text: Once upon a time in the city that's mine\n  start_ms: 4630\n  end_ms: 5560\n- text: There was a nigga named Nickel who spit like Big in his prime\n  start_ms: 5560\n  end_ms: 8200\n- text: Got a 52 box, original tick in the mind\n  start_ms: 8200\n  end_ms: 10090\n- text: Listenin' to Pac in the drop with prestigious design\n  start_ms: 10090\n  end_ms: 12850\n- text: My niggas is dimes, my bitches is dimes\n  start_ms: 12850\n  end_ms: 15580\n- text: I came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\n  start_ms: 15580\n  end_ms: 18290\n- text: I been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MCs\n  start_ms: 18290\n  end_ms: 20150\n- text: Sittin' watchin' my green grow like I'm watering seeds\n  start_ms: 20150\n  end_ms: 22840\n- text: The problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\n  start_ms: 22840\n  end_ms: 25540\n- text: Niggas callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\n  start_ms: 25540\n  end_ms: 27340\n- text: If I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\n  start_ms: 27340\n  end_ms: 29240\n- text: Probably cause I live by the art of for-keeps\n  start_ms: 29240\n  end_ms: 31980\n- text: I get indicted after my products release\n  start_ms: 31980\n  end_ms: 32840\n- text: We a different form, different centrifugal force\n  start_ms: 32840\n  end_ms: 35520\n- text: Every line is like grippin' on the stick shift in the Porsche\n  start_ms: 35520\n  end_ms: 37380\n- text: My niggas ask what direction they go on this track\n  start_ms: 37380\n  end_ms: 40120\n- text: I said \"Fuck a direction, spaz out\"\n  start_ms: 40120\n  end_ms: 42820\n- text: Get 'em up high\n  start_ms: 42820\n  end_ms: 44640\n- text: 'Female: Crooked'\n  start_ms: 44640\n  end_ms: 45560\n- text: 'Crooked: And for them wack songs that you made'\n  start_ms: 45560\n  end_ms: 47370\n- text: I want you to throw your pen, but hold the grenade\n  start_ms: 47370\n  end_ms: 49290\n- text: Explode to your grave\n  start_ms: 49290\n  end_ms: 51980\n- text: And go straight to hell, where your soul is enflamed for the road that you paved\n  start_ms: 51980\n  end_ms: 53720\n- text: For the role that you played\n  start_ms: 53720\n  end_ms: 55520\n- text: In fuckin' up hip-hop\n  start_ms: 55520\n  end_ms: 57380\n- text: You owe, so you paid, the fo' fo' close to your brain\n  start_ms: 57380\n  end_ms: 58280\n- text: Closer than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\n  start_ms: 58280\n  end_ms: 61900\n- text: Don't fuck with me, don't fuck with J-O-E\n  start_ms: 61900\n  end_ms: 64600\n- text: With Nickel we gon' make more cheese\n  start_ms: 64600\n  end_ms: 66460\n- text: Heavy hitter call me Joell David Ortiz (What up!)\n  start_ms: 66460\n  end_ms: 70130\n- text: I point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\n  start_ms: 70130\n  end_ms: 71960\n- text: On some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\n  start_ms: 71960\n  end_ms: 73730\n- text: I'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\n  start_ms: 73730\n  end_ms: 76460\n- text: It's like you won an appeal, my gun put your back on the streets\n  start_ms: 76460\n  end_ms: 79150\n- text: Spine on the concrete, lookin' at the sun\n  start_ms: 79150\n  end_ms: 81080\n- text: Eyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\n  start_ms: 81080\n  end_ms: 83770\n- text: He was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\n  start_ms: 83770\n  end_ms: 86460\n- text: Fully automatic, umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\n  start_ms: 86460\n  end_ms: 88270\n- text: Listen, don't make a nigga find ya dame\n  start_ms: 88270\n  end_ms: 90960\n- text: And make the dime give me brains until my mind is drained\n  start_ms: 90960\n  end_ms: 93720\n- text: Listen, don't make me grab a nine and aim\n  start_ms: 93720\n  end_ms: 96410\n- text: And how your dime did me, do yo mind the same but different\n  start_ms: 96410\n  end_ms: 98250\n- text: The West Coast King, Crooked I\n  start_ms: 98250\n  end_ms: 100940\n- text: I'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'till I die\n  start_ms: 100940\n  end_ms: 102880\n- text: Get 'em up high\n  start_ms: 102880\n  end_ms: 104650\n- text: 'Female: Joell'\n  start_ms: 104650\n  end_ms: 106490\n- text: 'Joell: Here we go again, you know of him'\n  start_ms: 106490\n  end_ms: 107320\n- text: Mr. Ortiz, soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MCs\n  start_ms: 107320\n  end_ms: 110080\n- text: Pick the disease, we got it, I vomit, sniffle, and sneeze\n  start_ms: 110080\n  end_ms: 112830\n- text: Lyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord help get rid of this fever\n  start_ms: 112830\n  end_ms: 115580\n- text: I'm like a hundred fifty degrees\n  start_ms: 115580\n  end_ms: 117350\n- text: 16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\n  start_ms: 117350\n  end_ms: 119130\n- text: A nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\n  start_ms: 119130\n  end_ms: 121870\n- text: Used to dream about livin', now I'm livin' my dream\n  start_ms: 121870\n  end_ms: 124670\n- text: The bitch's fiend, made my dick a machine\n  start_ms: 124670\n  end_ms: 126450\n- text: Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\n  start_ms: 126450\n  end_ms: 129160\n- text: When I'm spittin' it's mean\n  start_ms: 129160\n  end_ms: 130970\n- text: Me and government intervene\n  start_ms: 130970\n  end_ms: 131860\n- text: A couple presidents literally live in my jeans\n  start_ms: 131860\n  end_ms: 134660\n- text: Give 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\n  start_ms: 134660\n  end_ms: 135520\n- text: When I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\n  start_ms: 135520\n  end_ms: 140090\n- text: And I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\n  start_ms: 140090\n  end_ms: 141840\n- text: Niggas hate, bitches Cheer like I'm Norm, Cliff, and Diane\n  start_ms: 141840\n  end_ms: 143750\n- text: I'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty first\n  start_ms: 143750\n  end_ms: 146440\n- text: I run the radio, but I don't use them itty bitty words\n  start_ms: 146440\n  end_ms: 149180\n- text: I ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verbs\n  start_ms: 149180\n  end_ms: 150930\n- text: When I reach Heaven I want that nigga Biggie to be like \"Word!\"\n  start_ms: 150930\n  end_ms: 152720\n- text: City slicker New York delivery when I swerve\n  start_ms: 152720\n  end_ms: 156450\n- text: Hold that mic like the Statue of Liberty\n  start_ms: 156450\n  end_ms: 158210\n- text: I deserve a shot at the title, Spitter of the Year\n  start_ms: 158210\n  end_ms: 161880\n- text: Erry year, let's be clear, put some fingers in the air\n  start_ms: 161880\n  end_ms: 162770\n- text: And hold 'em up high!\n  start_ms: 162770\n  end_ms: 164520\n- text: 'Female: Joey'\n  start_ms: 164520\n  end_ms: 165530\n- text: 'Joey: Work on your half court shot, I''m money from far'\n  start_ms: 165530\n  end_ms: 167320\n- text: Get 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\n  start_ms: 167320\n  end_ms: 170010\n- text: And that's rate, getting hate from the wannabe stars\n  start_ms: 170010\n  end_ms: 172790\n- text: And that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\n  start_ms: 172790\n  end_ms: 175410\n- text: See that bullet coming from around the corner\n  start_ms: 175410\n  end_ms: 177230\n- text: Like a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun; think Joey the one\n  start_ms: 177230\n  end_ms: 179170\n- text: I'm a fake? Ain't your run-of-the-mill\n  start_ms: 179170\n  end_ms: 181850\n- text: I'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\n  start_ms: 181850\n  end_ms: 184520\n- text: For me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\n  start_ms: 184520\n  end_ms: 186320\n- text: He Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\n  start_ms: 186320\n  end_ms: 189980\n- text: Play with a match, FUCK what you take it as\n  start_ms: 189980\n  end_ms: 192790\n- text: No good straight jacket, all I did break the match\n  start_ms: 192790\n  end_ms: 195400\n- text: They say he talk tough with his fake ass\n  start_ms: 195400\n  end_ms: 198130\n- text: Four pounds put me in another weight class\n  start_ms: 198130\n  end_ms: 200960\n- text: Great Escape the pad\n  start_ms: 200960\n  end_ms: 201860\n- text: Took the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\n  start_ms: 201860\n  end_ms: 204590\n- text: You diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\n  start_ms: 204590\n  end_ms: 206320\n- text: Take a fully-automatic and spray at gas\n  start_ms: 206320\n  end_ms: 209080\n- text: Me? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\n  start_ms: 209080\n  end_ms: 211880\n- text: In your whole camp, nobody focused\n  start_ms: 211880\n  end_ms: 216360\n- text: They say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\n  start_ms: 216360\n  end_ms: 217230\n- text: You die and come back, won't nobody notice\n  start_ms: 217230\n  end_ms: 219130\n- text: Drive by, screaming it's a new crew repping\n  start_ms: 219130\n  end_ms: 220940\n- text: Hanging out the window, like it's \"227\"\n  start_ms: 220940\n  end_ms: 223670\n- text: Get 'em up HIGH\n  start_ms: 223670\n  end_ms: 225450\n- text: 'Fatman Scoop: Get ''em up high, get ''em up high'\n  start_ms: 225450\n  end_ms: 228290\n- text: Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n  start_ms: 228290\n  end_ms: 230080\n- text: Get 'em up high, in the sky\n  start_ms: 230080\n  end_ms: 230930\n- text: Put 'em up high, put 'em up high\n  start_ms: 230930\n  end_ms: 233660\n- text: Put 'em up high, fingers in the sky\n  start_ms: 233660\n  end_ms: 235400\n- text: Put 'em up! Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\n  start_ms: 235400\n  end_ms: 239170\n- text: Ohh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  start_ms: 239170\n  end_ms: 242780\n- text: Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  start_ms: 242780\n  end_ms: 245410\n- text: Put 'em high, woo! Ohh\n  start_ms: 245410\n  end_ms: 250970\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 250970\nplain: |-\n  Royce: Yeah, I said,\n  Once upon a time in the city that's mine\n  There was a nigga named Nickel who spit like Big in his prime\n  Got a 52 box, original tick in the mind\n  Listenin' to Pac in the drop with prestigious design\n  My niggas is dimes, my bitches is dimes\n  I came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\n  I been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MCs\n  Sittin' watchin' my green grow like I'm watering seeds\n  The problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\n  Niggas callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\n  If I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\n  Probably cause I live by the art of for-keeps\n  I get indicted after my products release\n  We a different form, different centrifugal force\n  Every line is like grippin' on the stick shift in the Porsche\n  My niggas ask what direction they go on this track\n  I said \"Fuck a direction, spaz out\"\n  Get 'em up high\n\n  Female: Crooked\n\n  Crooked: And for them wack songs that you made\n  I want you to throw your pen, but hold the grenade\n  Explode to your grave\n  And go straight to hell, where your soul is enflamed for the road that you paved\n  For the role that you played\n  In fuckin' up hip-hop\n  You owe, so you paid, the fo' fo' close to your brain\n  Closer than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\n  Don't fuck with me, don't fuck with J-O-E\n  With Nickel we gon' make more cheese\n  Heavy hitter call me Joell David Ortiz (What up!)\n  I point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\n  On some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\n  I'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\n  It's like you won an appeal, my gun put your back on the streets\n  Spine on the concrete, lookin' at the sun\n  Eyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\n  He was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\n  Fully automatic, umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\n  Listen, don't make a nigga find ya dame\n  And make the dime give me brains until my mind is drained\n  Listen, don't make me grab a nine and aim\n  And how your dime did me, do yo mind the same but different\n  The West Coast King, Crooked I\n\n  I'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'till I die\n\n  Get 'em up high\n\n  Female: Joell\n\n  Joell: Here we go again, you know of him\n  Mr. Ortiz, soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MCs\n  Pick the disease, we got it, I vomit, sniffle, and sneeze\n  Lyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord help get rid of this fever\n  I'm like a hundred fifty degrees\n  16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\n  A nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\n  Used to dream about livin', now I'm livin' my dream\n  The bitch's fiend, made my dick a machine\n  Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\n  When I'm spittin' it's mean\n  Me and government intervene\n  A couple presidents literally live in my jeans\n  Give 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\n  When I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\n  And I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\n  Niggas hate, bitches Cheer like I'm Norm, Cliff, and Diane\n  I'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty first\n  I run the radio, but I don't use them itty bitty words\n  I ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verbs\n  When I reach Heaven I want that nigga Biggie to be like \"Word!\"\n  City slicker New York delivery when I swerve\n\n  Hold that mic like the Statue of Liberty\n\n  I deserve a shot at the title, Spitter of the Year\n  Erry year, let's be clear, put some fingers in the air\n  And hold 'em up high!\n\n  Female: Joey\n\n  Joey: Work on your half court shot, I'm money from far\n  Get 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\n  And that's rate, getting hate from the wannabe stars\n  And that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\n  See that bullet coming from around the corner\n  Like a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun; think Joey the one\n  I'm a fake? Ain't your run-of-the-mill\n  I'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\n  For me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\n  He Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\n  Play with a match, FUCK what you take it as\n  No good straight jacket, all I did break the match\n  They say he talk tough with his fake ass\n  Four pounds put me in another weight class\n  Great Escape the pad\n  Took the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\n  You diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\n  Take a fully-automatic and spray at gas\n  Me? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\n\n  In your whole camp, nobody focused\n  They say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\n  You die and come back, won't nobody notice\n  Drive by, screaming it's a new crew repping\n  Hanging out the window, like it's \"227\"\n  Get 'em up HIGH\n\n  Fatman Scoop: Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n  Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n  Get 'em up high, in the sky\n  Put 'em up high, put 'em up high\n  Put 'em up high, fingers in the sky\n  Put 'em up! Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\n  Ohh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  Put 'em high, woo! Ohh\n"},{"id":25478042,"name":"Onslaught 2","trackName":"Onslaught 2","artistName":"Slaughterhouse feat. Fatman Scoop","albumName":"Slaughterhouse","duration":267.937959,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Royce: Yeah, I said,\nOnce upon a time in the city that's mine\nThere was a nigga named Nickel who spit like Big in his prime\nGot a 52 box, original tick in the mind\nListenin' to Pac in the drop with prestigious design\nMy niggas is dimes, my bitches is dimes\nI came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\nI been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MCs\nSittin' watchin' my green grow like I'm watering seeds\nThe problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\nNiggas callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\nIf I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\nProbably cause I live by the art of for-keeps\nI get indicted after my products release\nWe a different form, different centrifugal force\nEvery line is like grippin' on the stick shift in the Porsche\nMy niggas ask what direction they go on this track\nI said \"Fuck a direction, spaz out\"\nGet 'em up high\n\nFemale: Crooked\n\nCrooked: And for them wack songs that you made\nI want you to throw your pen, but hold the grenade\nExplode to your grave\nAnd go straight to hell, where your soul is enflamed for the road that you paved\nFor the role that you played\nIn fuckin' up hip-hop\nYou owe, so you paid, the fo' fo' close to your brain\nCloser than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\nDon't fuck with me, don't fuck with J-O-E\nWith Nickel we gon' make more cheese\nHeavy hitter call me Joell David Ortiz (What up!)\nI point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\nOn some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\nI'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\nIt's like you won an appeal, my gun put your back on the streets\nSpine on the concrete, lookin' at the sun\nEyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\nHe was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\nFully automatic, umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\nListen, don't make a nigga find ya dame\nAnd make the dime give me brains until my mind is drained\nListen, don't make me grab a nine and aim\nAnd how your dime did me, do yo mind the same but different\nThe West Coast King, Crooked I\n\nI'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'till I die\n\nGet 'em up high\n\nFemale: Joell\n\nJoell: Here we go again, you know of him\nMr. Ortiz, soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MCs\nPick the disease, we got it, I vomit, sniffle, and sneeze\nLyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord help get rid of this fever\nI'm like a hundred fifty degrees\n16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\nA nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\nUsed to dream about livin', now I'm livin' my dream\nThe bitch's fiend, made my dick a machine\nMaybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\nWhen I'm spittin' it's mean\nMe and government intervene\nA couple presidents literally live in my jeans\nGive 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\nWhen I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\nAnd I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\nNiggas hate, bitches Cheer like I'm Norm, Cliff, and Diane\nI'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty first\nI run the radio, but I don't use them itty bitty words\nI ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verbs\nWhen I reach Heaven I want that nigga Biggie to be like \"Word!\"\nCity slicker New York delivery when I swerve\n\nHold that mic like the Statue of Liberty\n\nI deserve a shot at the title, Spitter of the Year\nErry year, let's be clear, put some fingers in the air\nAnd hold 'em up high!\n\nFemale: Joey\n\nJoey: Work on your half court shot, I'm money from far\nGet 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\nAnd that's rate, getting hate from the wannabe stars\nAnd that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\nSee that bullet coming from around the corner\nLike a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun; think Joey the one\nI'm a fake? Ain't your run-of-the-mill\nI'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\nFor me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\nHe Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\nPlay with a match, FUCK what you take it as\nNo good straight jacket, all I did break the match\nThey say he talk tough with his fake ass\nFour pounds put me in another weight class\nGreat Escape the pad\nTook the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\nYou diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\nTake a fully-automatic and spray at gas\nMe? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\n\nIn your whole camp, nobody focused\nThey say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\nYou die and come back, won't nobody notice\nDrive by, screaming it's a new crew repping\nHanging out the window, like it's \"227\"\nGet 'em up HIGH\n\nFatman Scoop: Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\nGet 'em up high, get 'em up high\nGet 'em up high, in the sky\nPut 'em up high, put 'em up high\nPut 'em up high, fingers in the sky\nPut 'em up! Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\nOhh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\nFatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\nPut 'em high, woo! Ohh","syncedLyrics":"[00:03.75] Royce: Yeah, I said,\n[00:04.63] Once upon a time in the city that's mine\n[00:05.56] There was a nigga named Nickel who spit like Big in his prime\n[00:08.20] Got a 52 box, original tick in the mind\n[00:10.09] Listenin' to Pac in the drop with prestigious design\n[00:12.85] My niggas is dimes, my bitches is dimes\n[00:15.58] I came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\n[00:18.29] I been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MCs\n[00:20.15] Sittin' watchin' my green grow like I'm watering seeds\n[00:22.84] The problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\n[00:25.54] Niggas callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\n[00:27.34] If I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\n[00:29.24] Probably cause I live by the art of for-keeps\n[00:31.98] I get indicted after my products release\n[00:32.84] We a different form, different centrifugal force\n[00:35.52] Every line is like grippin' on the stick shift in the Porsche\n[00:37.38] My niggas ask what direction they go on this track\n[00:40.12] I said \"Fuck a direction, spaz out\"\n[00:42.82] Get 'em up high\n[00:44.64] Female: Crooked\n[00:45.56] Crooked: And for them wack songs that you made\n[00:47.37] I want you to throw your pen, but hold the grenade\n[00:49.29] Explode to your grave\n[00:51.98] And go straight to hell, where your soul is enflamed for the road that you paved\n[00:53.72] For the role that you played\n[00:55.52] In fuckin' up hip-hop\n[00:57.38] You owe, so you paid, the fo' fo' close to your brain\n[00:58.28] Closer than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\n[01:01.90] Don't fuck with me, don't fuck with J-O-E\n[01:04.60] With Nickel we gon' make more cheese\n[01:06.46] Heavy hitter call me Joell David Ortiz (What up!)\n[01:10.13] I point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\n[01:11.96] On some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\n[01:13.73] I'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\n[01:16.46] It's like you won an appeal, my gun put your back on the streets\n[01:19.15] Spine on the concrete, lookin' at the sun\n[01:21.08] Eyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\n[01:23.77] He was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\n[01:26.46] Fully automatic, umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\n[01:28.27] Listen, don't make a nigga find ya dame\n[01:30.96] And make the dime give me brains until my mind is drained\n[01:33.72] Listen, don't make me grab a nine and aim\n[01:36.41] And how your dime did me, do yo mind the same but different\n[01:38.25] The West Coast King, Crooked I\n[01:40.94] I'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'till I die\n[01:42.88] Get 'em up high\n[01:44.65] Female: Joell\n[01:46.49] Joell: Here we go again, you know of him\n[01:47.32] Mr. Ortiz, soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MCs\n[01:50.08] Pick the disease, we got it, I vomit, sniffle, and sneeze\n[01:52.83] Lyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord help get rid of this fever\n[01:55.58] I'm like a hundred fifty degrees\n[01:57.35] 16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\n[01:59.13] A nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\n[02:01.87] Used to dream about livin', now I'm livin' my dream\n[02:04.67] The bitch's fiend, made my dick a machine\n[02:06.45] Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\n[02:09.16] When I'm spittin' it's mean\n[02:10.97] Me and government intervene\n[02:11.86] A couple presidents literally live in my jeans\n[02:14.66] Give 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\n[02:15.52] When I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\n[02:20.09] And I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\n[02:21.84] Niggas hate, bitches Cheer like I'm Norm, Cliff, and Diane\n[02:23.75] I'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty first\n[02:26.44] I run the radio, but I don't use them itty bitty words\n[02:29.18] I ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verbs\n[02:30.93] When I reach Heaven I want that nigga Biggie to be like \"Word!\"\n[02:32.72] City slicker New York delivery when I swerve\n[02:36.45] Hold that mic like the Statue of Liberty\n[02:38.21] I deserve a shot at the title, Spitter of the Year\n[02:41.88] Erry year, let's be clear, put some fingers in the air\n[02:42.77] And hold 'em up high!\n[02:44.52] Female: Joey\n[02:45.53] Joey: Work on your half court shot, I'm money from far\n[02:47.32] Get 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\n[02:50.01] And that's rate, getting hate from the wannabe stars\n[02:52.79] And that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\n[02:55.41] See that bullet coming from around the corner\n[02:57.23] Like a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun; think Joey the one\n[02:59.17] I'm a fake? Ain't your run-of-the-mill\n[03:01.85] I'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\n[03:04.52] For me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\n[03:06.32] He Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\n[03:09.98] Play with a match, FUCK what you take it as\n[03:12.79] No good straight jacket, all I did break the match\n[03:15.40] They say he talk tough with his fake ass\n[03:18.13] Four pounds put me in another weight class\n[03:20.96] Great Escape the pad\n[03:21.86] Took the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\n[03:24.59] You diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\n[03:26.32] Take a fully-automatic and spray at gas\n[03:29.08] Me? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\n[03:31.88] In your whole camp, nobody focused\n[03:36.36] They say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\n[03:37.23] You die and come back, won't nobody notice\n[03:39.13] Drive by, screaming it's a new crew repping\n[03:40.94] Hanging out the window, like it's \"227\"\n[03:43.67] Get 'em up HIGH\n[03:45.45] Fatman Scoop: Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n[03:48.29] Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n[03:50.08] Get 'em up high, in the sky\n[03:50.93] Put 'em up high, put 'em up high\n[03:53.66] Put 'em up high, fingers in the sky\n[03:55.40] Put 'em up! Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\n[03:59.17] Ohh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n[04:02.78] Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n[04:05.41] Put 'em high, woo! Ohh\n[04:10.97] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Onslaught 2\n  artist: Slaughterhouse feat. Fatman Scoop\n  album: Slaughterhouse\n  duration_ms: 267938\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: 'Royce: Yeah, I said,'\n  start_ms: 3750\n  end_ms: 4630\n- text: Once upon a time in the city that's mine\n  start_ms: 4630\n  end_ms: 5560\n- text: There was a nigga named Nickel who spit like Big in his prime\n  start_ms: 5560\n  end_ms: 8200\n- text: Got a 52 box, original tick in the mind\n  start_ms: 8200\n  end_ms: 10090\n- text: Listenin' to Pac in the drop with prestigious design\n  start_ms: 10090\n  end_ms: 12850\n- text: My niggas is dimes, my bitches is dimes\n  start_ms: 12850\n  end_ms: 15580\n- text: I came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\n  start_ms: 15580\n  end_ms: 18290\n- text: I been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MCs\n  start_ms: 18290\n  end_ms: 20150\n- text: Sittin' watchin' my green grow like I'm watering seeds\n  start_ms: 20150\n  end_ms: 22840\n- text: The problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\n  start_ms: 22840\n  end_ms: 25540\n- text: Niggas callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\n  start_ms: 25540\n  end_ms: 27340\n- text: If I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\n  start_ms: 27340\n  end_ms: 29240\n- text: Probably cause I live by the art of for-keeps\n  start_ms: 29240\n  end_ms: 31980\n- text: I get indicted after my products release\n  start_ms: 31980\n  end_ms: 32840\n- text: We a different form, different centrifugal force\n  start_ms: 32840\n  end_ms: 35520\n- text: Every line is like grippin' on the stick shift in the Porsche\n  start_ms: 35520\n  end_ms: 37380\n- text: My niggas ask what direction they go on this track\n  start_ms: 37380\n  end_ms: 40120\n- text: I said \"Fuck a direction, spaz out\"\n  start_ms: 40120\n  end_ms: 42820\n- text: Get 'em up high\n  start_ms: 42820\n  end_ms: 44640\n- text: 'Female: Crooked'\n  start_ms: 44640\n  end_ms: 45560\n- text: 'Crooked: And for them wack songs that you made'\n  start_ms: 45560\n  end_ms: 47370\n- text: I want you to throw your pen, but hold the grenade\n  start_ms: 47370\n  end_ms: 49290\n- text: Explode to your grave\n  start_ms: 49290\n  end_ms: 51980\n- text: And go straight to hell, where your soul is enflamed for the road that you paved\n  start_ms: 51980\n  end_ms: 53720\n- text: For the role that you played\n  start_ms: 53720\n  end_ms: 55520\n- text: In fuckin' up hip-hop\n  start_ms: 55520\n  end_ms: 57380\n- text: You owe, so you paid, the fo' fo' close to your brain\n  start_ms: 57380\n  end_ms: 58280\n- text: Closer than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\n  start_ms: 58280\n  end_ms: 61900\n- text: Don't fuck with me, don't fuck with J-O-E\n  start_ms: 61900\n  end_ms: 64600\n- text: With Nickel we gon' make more cheese\n  start_ms: 64600\n  end_ms: 66460\n- text: Heavy hitter call me Joell David Ortiz (What up!)\n  start_ms: 66460\n  end_ms: 70130\n- text: I point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\n  start_ms: 70130\n  end_ms: 71960\n- text: On some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\n  start_ms: 71960\n  end_ms: 73730\n- text: I'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\n  start_ms: 73730\n  end_ms: 76460\n- text: It's like you won an appeal, my gun put your back on the streets\n  start_ms: 76460\n  end_ms: 79150\n- text: Spine on the concrete, lookin' at the sun\n  start_ms: 79150\n  end_ms: 81080\n- text: Eyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\n  start_ms: 81080\n  end_ms: 83770\n- text: He was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\n  start_ms: 83770\n  end_ms: 86460\n- text: Fully automatic, umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\n  start_ms: 86460\n  end_ms: 88270\n- text: Listen, don't make a nigga find ya dame\n  start_ms: 88270\n  end_ms: 90960\n- text: And make the dime give me brains until my mind is drained\n  start_ms: 90960\n  end_ms: 93720\n- text: Listen, don't make me grab a nine and aim\n  start_ms: 93720\n  end_ms: 96410\n- text: And how your dime did me, do yo mind the same but different\n  start_ms: 96410\n  end_ms: 98250\n- text: The West Coast King, Crooked I\n  start_ms: 98250\n  end_ms: 100940\n- text: I'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'till I die\n  start_ms: 100940\n  end_ms: 102880\n- text: Get 'em up high\n  start_ms: 102880\n  end_ms: 104650\n- text: 'Female: Joell'\n  start_ms: 104650\n  end_ms: 106490\n- text: 'Joell: Here we go again, you know of him'\n  start_ms: 106490\n  end_ms: 107320\n- text: Mr. Ortiz, soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MCs\n  start_ms: 107320\n  end_ms: 110080\n- text: Pick the disease, we got it, I vomit, sniffle, and sneeze\n  start_ms: 110080\n  end_ms: 112830\n- text: Lyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord help get rid of this fever\n  start_ms: 112830\n  end_ms: 115580\n- text: I'm like a hundred fifty degrees\n  start_ms: 115580\n  end_ms: 117350\n- text: 16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\n  start_ms: 117350\n  end_ms: 119130\n- text: A nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\n  start_ms: 119130\n  end_ms: 121870\n- text: Used to dream about livin', now I'm livin' my dream\n  start_ms: 121870\n  end_ms: 124670\n- text: The bitch's fiend, made my dick a machine\n  start_ms: 124670\n  end_ms: 126450\n- text: Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\n  start_ms: 126450\n  end_ms: 129160\n- text: When I'm spittin' it's mean\n  start_ms: 129160\n  end_ms: 130970\n- text: Me and government intervene\n  start_ms: 130970\n  end_ms: 131860\n- text: A couple presidents literally live in my jeans\n  start_ms: 131860\n  end_ms: 134660\n- text: Give 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\n  start_ms: 134660\n  end_ms: 135520\n- text: When I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\n  start_ms: 135520\n  end_ms: 140090\n- text: And I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\n  start_ms: 140090\n  end_ms: 141840\n- text: Niggas hate, bitches Cheer like I'm Norm, Cliff, and Diane\n  start_ms: 141840\n  end_ms: 143750\n- text: I'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty first\n  start_ms: 143750\n  end_ms: 146440\n- text: I run the radio, but I don't use them itty bitty words\n  start_ms: 146440\n  end_ms: 149180\n- text: I ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verbs\n  start_ms: 149180\n  end_ms: 150930\n- text: When I reach Heaven I want that nigga Biggie to be like \"Word!\"\n  start_ms: 150930\n  end_ms: 152720\n- text: City slicker New York delivery when I swerve\n  start_ms: 152720\n  end_ms: 156450\n- text: Hold that mic like the Statue of Liberty\n  start_ms: 156450\n  end_ms: 158210\n- text: I deserve a shot at the title, Spitter of the Year\n  start_ms: 158210\n  end_ms: 161880\n- text: Erry year, let's be clear, put some fingers in the air\n  start_ms: 161880\n  end_ms: 162770\n- text: And hold 'em up high!\n  start_ms: 162770\n  end_ms: 164520\n- text: 'Female: Joey'\n  start_ms: 164520\n  end_ms: 165530\n- text: 'Joey: Work on your half court shot, I''m money from far'\n  start_ms: 165530\n  end_ms: 167320\n- text: Get 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\n  start_ms: 167320\n  end_ms: 170010\n- text: And that's rate, getting hate from the wannabe stars\n  start_ms: 170010\n  end_ms: 172790\n- text: And that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\n  start_ms: 172790\n  end_ms: 175410\n- text: See that bullet coming from around the corner\n  start_ms: 175410\n  end_ms: 177230\n- text: Like a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun; think Joey the one\n  start_ms: 177230\n  end_ms: 179170\n- text: I'm a fake? Ain't your run-of-the-mill\n  start_ms: 179170\n  end_ms: 181850\n- text: I'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\n  start_ms: 181850\n  end_ms: 184520\n- text: For me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\n  start_ms: 184520\n  end_ms: 186320\n- text: He Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\n  start_ms: 186320\n  end_ms: 189980\n- text: Play with a match, FUCK what you take it as\n  start_ms: 189980\n  end_ms: 192790\n- text: No good straight jacket, all I did break the match\n  start_ms: 192790\n  end_ms: 195400\n- text: They say he talk tough with his fake ass\n  start_ms: 195400\n  end_ms: 198130\n- text: Four pounds put me in another weight class\n  start_ms: 198130\n  end_ms: 200960\n- text: Great Escape the pad\n  start_ms: 200960\n  end_ms: 201860\n- text: Took the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\n  start_ms: 201860\n  end_ms: 204590\n- text: You diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\n  start_ms: 204590\n  end_ms: 206320\n- text: Take a fully-automatic and spray at gas\n  start_ms: 206320\n  end_ms: 209080\n- text: Me? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\n  start_ms: 209080\n  end_ms: 211880\n- text: In your whole camp, nobody focused\n  start_ms: 211880\n  end_ms: 216360\n- text: They say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\n  start_ms: 216360\n  end_ms: 217230\n- text: You die and come back, won't nobody notice\n  start_ms: 217230\n  end_ms: 219130\n- text: Drive by, screaming it's a new crew repping\n  start_ms: 219130\n  end_ms: 220940\n- text: Hanging out the window, like it's \"227\"\n  start_ms: 220940\n  end_ms: 223670\n- text: Get 'em up HIGH\n  start_ms: 223670\n  end_ms: 225450\n- text: 'Fatman Scoop: Get ''em up high, get ''em up high'\n  start_ms: 225450\n  end_ms: 228290\n- text: Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n  start_ms: 228290\n  end_ms: 230080\n- text: Get 'em up high, in the sky\n  start_ms: 230080\n  end_ms: 230930\n- text: Put 'em up high, put 'em up high\n  start_ms: 230930\n  end_ms: 233660\n- text: Put 'em up high, fingers in the sky\n  start_ms: 233660\n  end_ms: 235400\n- text: Put 'em up! Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\n  start_ms: 235400\n  end_ms: 239170\n- text: Ohh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  start_ms: 239170\n  end_ms: 242780\n- text: Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  start_ms: 242780\n  end_ms: 245410\n- text: Put 'em high, woo! Ohh\n  start_ms: 245410\n  end_ms: 250970\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 250970\nplain: |-\n  Royce: Yeah, I said,\n  Once upon a time in the city that's mine\n  There was a nigga named Nickel who spit like Big in his prime\n  Got a 52 box, original tick in the mind\n  Listenin' to Pac in the drop with prestigious design\n  My niggas is dimes, my bitches is dimes\n  I came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\n  I been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MCs\n  Sittin' watchin' my green grow like I'm watering seeds\n  The problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\n  Niggas callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\n  If I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\n  Probably cause I live by the art of for-keeps\n  I get indicted after my products release\n  We a different form, different centrifugal force\n  Every line is like grippin' on the stick shift in the Porsche\n  My niggas ask what direction they go on this track\n  I said \"Fuck a direction, spaz out\"\n  Get 'em up high\n\n  Female: Crooked\n\n  Crooked: And for them wack songs that you made\n  I want you to throw your pen, but hold the grenade\n  Explode to your grave\n  And go straight to hell, where your soul is enflamed for the road that you paved\n  For the role that you played\n  In fuckin' up hip-hop\n  You owe, so you paid, the fo' fo' close to your brain\n  Closer than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\n  Don't fuck with me, don't fuck with J-O-E\n  With Nickel we gon' make more cheese\n  Heavy hitter call me Joell David Ortiz (What up!)\n  I point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\n  On some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\n  I'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\n  It's like you won an appeal, my gun put your back on the streets\n  Spine on the concrete, lookin' at the sun\n  Eyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\n  He was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\n  Fully automatic, umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\n  Listen, don't make a nigga find ya dame\n  And make the dime give me brains until my mind is drained\n  Listen, don't make me grab a nine and aim\n  And how your dime did me, do yo mind the same but different\n  The West Coast King, Crooked I\n\n  I'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'till I die\n\n  Get 'em up high\n\n  Female: Joell\n\n  Joell: Here we go again, you know of him\n  Mr. Ortiz, soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MCs\n  Pick the disease, we got it, I vomit, sniffle, and sneeze\n  Lyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord help get rid of this fever\n  I'm like a hundred fifty degrees\n  16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\n  A nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\n  Used to dream about livin', now I'm livin' my dream\n  The bitch's fiend, made my dick a machine\n  Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\n  When I'm spittin' it's mean\n  Me and government intervene\n  A couple presidents literally live in my jeans\n  Give 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\n  When I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\n  And I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\n  Niggas hate, bitches Cheer like I'm Norm, Cliff, and Diane\n  I'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty first\n  I run the radio, but I don't use them itty bitty words\n  I ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verbs\n  When I reach Heaven I want that nigga Biggie to be like \"Word!\"\n  City slicker New York delivery when I swerve\n\n  Hold that mic like the Statue of Liberty\n\n  I deserve a shot at the title, Spitter of the Year\n  Erry year, let's be clear, put some fingers in the air\n  And hold 'em up high!\n\n  Female: Joey\n\n  Joey: Work on your half court shot, I'm money from far\n  Get 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\n  And that's rate, getting hate from the wannabe stars\n  And that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\n  See that bullet coming from around the corner\n  Like a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun; think Joey the one\n  I'm a fake? Ain't your run-of-the-mill\n  I'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\n  For me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\n  He Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\n  Play with a match, FUCK what you take it as\n  No good straight jacket, all I did break the match\n  They say he talk tough with his fake ass\n  Four pounds put me in another weight class\n  Great Escape the pad\n  Took the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\n  You diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\n  Take a fully-automatic and spray at gas\n  Me? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\n\n  In your whole camp, nobody focused\n  They say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\n  You die and come back, won't nobody notice\n  Drive by, screaming it's a new crew repping\n  Hanging out the window, like it's \"227\"\n  Get 'em up HIGH\n\n  Fatman Scoop: Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n  Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n  Get 'em up high, in the sky\n  Put 'em up high, put 'em up high\n  Put 'em up high, fingers in the sky\n  Put 'em up! Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\n  Ohh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  Put 'em high, woo! Ohh\n"},{"id":7564378,"name":"Onslaught 2 (feat. Fatman Scoop)","trackName":"Onslaught 2 (feat. Fatman Scoop)","artistName":"Slaughterhouse","albumName":"Slaughterhouse","duration":270.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Royce: Yeah, I said,\nOnce upon a time in the city that's mine\nThere was a nigga named Nickel who spit like Big in his prime\nGot a 52 box, original tick in the mind\nListenin' to Pac in the drop with prestigious design\nMy niggas is dimes, my bitches is dimes\nI came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\nI been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MCs\nSittin' watchin' my green grow like I'm watering seeds\nThe problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\nNiggas callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\nIf I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\nProbably cause I live by the art of for-keeps\nI get indicted after my products release\nWe a different form, different centrifugal force\nEvery line is like grippin' on the stick shift in the Porsche\nMy niggas ask what direction they go on this track\nI said \"Fuck a direction, spaz out\"\nGet 'em up high\n\nFemale: Crooked\n\nCrooked: And for them wack songs that you made\nI want you to throw your pen, but hold the grenade\nExplode to your grave\nAnd go straight to hell, where your soul is enflamed for the road that you paved\nFor the role that you played\nIn fuckin' up hip-hop\nYou owe, so you paid, the fo' fo' close to your brain\nCloser than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\nDon't fuck with me, don't fuck with J-O-E\nWith Nickel we gon' make more cheese\nHeavy hitter call me Joell David Ortiz (What up!)\nI point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\nOn some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\nI'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\nIt's like you won an appeal, my gun put your back on the streets\nSpine on the concrete, lookin' at the sun\nEyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\nHe was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\nFully automatic, umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\nListen, don't make a nigga find ya dame\nAnd make the dime give me brains until my mind is drained\nListen, don't make me grab a nine and aim\nAnd how your dime did me, do yo mind the same but different\nThe West Coast King, Crooked I\n\nI'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'till I die\n\nGet 'em up high\n\nFemale: Joell\n\nJoell: Here we go again, you know of him\nMr. Ortiz, soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MCs\nPick the disease, we got it, I vomit, sniffle, and sneeze\nLyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord help get rid of this fever\nI'm like a hundred fifty degrees\n16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\nA nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\nUsed to dream about livin', now I'm livin' my dream\nThe bitch's fiend, made my dick a machine\nMaybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\nWhen I'm spittin' it's mean\nMe and government intervene\nA couple presidents literally live in my jeans\nGive 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\nWhen I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\nAnd I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\nNiggas hate, bitches Cheer like I'm Norm, Cliff, and Diane\nI'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty first\nI run the radio, but I don't use them itty bitty words\nI ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verbs\nWhen I reach Heaven I want that nigga Biggie to be like \"Word!\"\nCity slicker New York delivery when I swerve\n\nHold that mic like the Statue of Liberty\n\nI deserve a shot at the title, Spitter of the Year\nErry year, let's be clear, put some fingers in the air\nAnd hold 'em up high!\n\nFemale: Joey\n\nJoey: Work on your half court shot, I'm money from far\nGet 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\nAnd that's rate, getting hate from the wannabe stars\nAnd that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\nSee that bullet coming from around the corner\nLike a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun; think Joey the one\nI'm a fake? Ain't your run-of-the-mill\nI'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\nFor me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\nHe Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\nPlay with a match, FUCK what you take it as\nNo good straight jacket, all I did break the match\nThey say he talk tough with his fake ass\nFour pounds put me in another weight class\nGreat Escape the pad\nTook the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\nYou diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\nTake a fully-automatic and spray at gas\nMe? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\n\nIn your whole camp, nobody focused\nThey say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\nYou die and come back, won't nobody notice\nDrive by, screaming it's a new crew repping\nHanging out the window, like it's \"227\"\nGet 'em up HIGH\n\nFatman Scoop: Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\nGet 'em up high, get 'em up high\nGet 'em up high, in the sky\nPut 'em up high, put 'em up high\nPut 'em up high, fingers in the sky\nPut 'em up! Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\nOhh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\nFatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\nPut 'em high, woo! Ohh","syncedLyrics":"[00:03.75] Royce: Yeah, I said,\n[00:04.63] Once upon a time in the city that's mine\n[00:05.56] There was a nigga named Nickel who spit like Big in his prime\n[00:08.20] Got a 52 box, original tick in the mind\n[00:10.09] Listenin' to Pac in the drop with prestigious design\n[00:12.85] My niggas is dimes, my bitches is dimes\n[00:15.58] I came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\n[00:18.29] I been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MCs\n[00:20.15] Sittin' watchin' my green grow like I'm watering seeds\n[00:22.84] The problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\n[00:25.54] Niggas callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\n[00:27.34] If I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\n[00:29.24] Probably cause I live by the art of for-keeps\n[00:31.98] I get indicted after my products release\n[00:32.84] We a different form, different centrifugal force\n[00:35.52] Every line is like grippin' on the stick shift in the Porsche\n[00:37.38] My niggas ask what direction they go on this track\n[00:40.12] I said \"Fuck a direction, spaz out\"\n[00:42.82] Get 'em up high\n[00:44.64] Female: Crooked\n[00:45.56] Crooked: And for them wack songs that you made\n[00:47.37] I want you to throw your pen, but hold the grenade\n[00:49.29] Explode to your grave\n[00:51.98] And go straight to hell, where your soul is enflamed for the road that you paved\n[00:53.72] For the role that you played\n[00:55.52] In fuckin' up hip-hop\n[00:57.38] You owe, so you paid, the fo' fo' close to your brain\n[00:58.28] Closer than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\n[01:01.90] Don't fuck with me, don't fuck with J-O-E\n[01:04.60] With Nickel we gon' make more cheese\n[01:06.46] Heavy hitter call me Joell David Ortiz (What up!)\n[01:10.13] I point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\n[01:11.96] On some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\n[01:13.73] I'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\n[01:16.46] It's like you won an appeal, my gun put your back on the streets\n[01:19.15] Spine on the concrete, lookin' at the sun\n[01:21.08] Eyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\n[01:23.77] He was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\n[01:26.46] Fully automatic, umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\n[01:28.27] Listen, don't make a nigga find ya dame\n[01:30.96] And make the dime give me brains until my mind is drained\n[01:33.72] Listen, don't make me grab a nine and aim\n[01:36.41] And how your dime did me, do yo mind the same but different\n[01:38.25] The West Coast King, Crooked I\n[01:40.94] I'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'till I die\n[01:42.88] Get 'em up high\n[01:44.65] Female: Joell\n[01:46.49] Joell: Here we go again, you know of him\n[01:47.32] Mr. Ortiz, soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MCs\n[01:50.08] Pick the disease, we got it, I vomit, sniffle, and sneeze\n[01:52.83] Lyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord help get rid of this fever\n[01:55.58] I'm like a hundred fifty degrees\n[01:57.35] 16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\n[01:59.13] A nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\n[02:01.87] Used to dream about livin', now I'm livin' my dream\n[02:04.67] The bitch's fiend, made my dick a machine\n[02:06.45] Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\n[02:09.16] When I'm spittin' it's mean\n[02:10.97] Me and government intervene\n[02:11.86] A couple presidents literally live in my jeans\n[02:14.66] Give 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\n[02:15.52] When I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\n[02:20.09] And I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\n[02:21.84] Niggas hate, bitches Cheer like I'm Norm, Cliff, and Diane\n[02:23.75] I'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty first\n[02:26.44] I run the radio, but I don't use them itty bitty words\n[02:29.18] I ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verbs\n[02:30.93] When I reach Heaven I want that nigga Biggie to be like \"Word!\"\n[02:32.72] City slicker New York delivery when I swerve\n[02:36.45] Hold that mic like the Statue of Liberty\n[02:38.21] I deserve a shot at the title, Spitter of the Year\n[02:41.88] Erry year, let's be clear, put some fingers in the air\n[02:42.77] And hold 'em up high!\n[02:44.52] Female: Joey\n[02:45.53] Joey: Work on your half court shot, I'm money from far\n[02:47.32] Get 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\n[02:50.01] And that's rate, getting hate from the wannabe stars\n[02:52.79] And that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\n[02:55.41] See that bullet coming from around the corner\n[02:57.23] Like a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun; think Joey the one\n[02:59.17] I'm a fake? Ain't your run-of-the-mill\n[03:01.85] I'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\n[03:04.52] For me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\n[03:06.32] He Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\n[03:09.98] Play with a match, FUCK what you take it as\n[03:12.79] No good straight jacket, all I did break the match\n[03:15.40] They say he talk tough with his fake ass\n[03:18.13] Four pounds put me in another weight class\n[03:20.96] Great Escape the pad\n[03:21.86] Took the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\n[03:24.59] You diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\n[03:26.32] Take a fully-automatic and spray at gas\n[03:29.08] Me? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\n[03:31.88] In your whole camp, nobody focused\n[03:36.36] They say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\n[03:37.23] You die and come back, won't nobody notice\n[03:39.13] Drive by, screaming it's a new crew repping\n[03:40.94] Hanging out the window, like it's \"227\"\n[03:43.67] Get 'em up HIGH\n[03:45.45] Fatman Scoop: Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n[03:48.29] Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n[03:50.08] Get 'em up high, in the sky\n[03:50.93] Put 'em up high, put 'em up high\n[03:53.66] Put 'em up high, fingers in the sky\n[03:55.40] Put 'em up! Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\n[03:59.17] Ohh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n[04:02.78] Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n[04:05.41] Put 'em high, woo! Ohh\n[04:10.97] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Onslaught 2 (feat. Fatman Scoop)\n  artist: Slaughterhouse\n  album: Slaughterhouse\n  duration_ms: 270000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: 'Royce: Yeah, I said,'\n  start_ms: 3750\n  end_ms: 4630\n- text: Once upon a time in the city that's mine\n  start_ms: 4630\n  end_ms: 5560\n- text: There was a nigga named Nickel who spit like Big in his prime\n  start_ms: 5560\n  end_ms: 8200\n- text: Got a 52 box, original tick in the mind\n  start_ms: 8200\n  end_ms: 10090\n- text: Listenin' to Pac in the drop with prestigious design\n  start_ms: 10090\n  end_ms: 12850\n- text: My niggas is dimes, my bitches is dimes\n  start_ms: 12850\n  end_ms: 15580\n- text: I came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\n  start_ms: 15580\n  end_ms: 18290\n- text: I been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MCs\n  start_ms: 18290\n  end_ms: 20150\n- text: Sittin' watchin' my green grow like I'm watering seeds\n  start_ms: 20150\n  end_ms: 22840\n- text: The problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\n  start_ms: 22840\n  end_ms: 25540\n- text: Niggas callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\n  start_ms: 25540\n  end_ms: 27340\n- text: If I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\n  start_ms: 27340\n  end_ms: 29240\n- text: Probably cause I live by the art of for-keeps\n  start_ms: 29240\n  end_ms: 31980\n- text: I get indicted after my products release\n  start_ms: 31980\n  end_ms: 32840\n- text: We a different form, different centrifugal force\n  start_ms: 32840\n  end_ms: 35520\n- text: Every line is like grippin' on the stick shift in the Porsche\n  start_ms: 35520\n  end_ms: 37380\n- text: My niggas ask what direction they go on this track\n  start_ms: 37380\n  end_ms: 40120\n- text: I said \"Fuck a direction, spaz out\"\n  start_ms: 40120\n  end_ms: 42820\n- text: Get 'em up high\n  start_ms: 42820\n  end_ms: 44640\n- text: 'Female: Crooked'\n  start_ms: 44640\n  end_ms: 45560\n- text: 'Crooked: And for them wack songs that you made'\n  start_ms: 45560\n  end_ms: 47370\n- text: I want you to throw your pen, but hold the grenade\n  start_ms: 47370\n  end_ms: 49290\n- text: Explode to your grave\n  start_ms: 49290\n  end_ms: 51980\n- text: And go straight to hell, where your soul is enflamed for the road that you paved\n  start_ms: 51980\n  end_ms: 53720\n- text: For the role that you played\n  start_ms: 53720\n  end_ms: 55520\n- text: In fuckin' up hip-hop\n  start_ms: 55520\n  end_ms: 57380\n- text: You owe, so you paid, the fo' fo' close to your brain\n  start_ms: 57380\n  end_ms: 58280\n- text: Closer than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\n  start_ms: 58280\n  end_ms: 61900\n- text: Don't fuck with me, don't fuck with J-O-E\n  start_ms: 61900\n  end_ms: 64600\n- text: With Nickel we gon' make more cheese\n  start_ms: 64600\n  end_ms: 66460\n- text: Heavy hitter call me Joell David Ortiz (What up!)\n  start_ms: 66460\n  end_ms: 70130\n- text: I point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\n  start_ms: 70130\n  end_ms: 71960\n- text: On some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\n  start_ms: 71960\n  end_ms: 73730\n- text: I'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\n  start_ms: 73730\n  end_ms: 76460\n- text: It's like you won an appeal, my gun put your back on the streets\n  start_ms: 76460\n  end_ms: 79150\n- text: Spine on the concrete, lookin' at the sun\n  start_ms: 79150\n  end_ms: 81080\n- text: Eyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\n  start_ms: 81080\n  end_ms: 83770\n- text: He was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\n  start_ms: 83770\n  end_ms: 86460\n- text: Fully automatic, umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\n  start_ms: 86460\n  end_ms: 88270\n- text: Listen, don't make a nigga find ya dame\n  start_ms: 88270\n  end_ms: 90960\n- text: And make the dime give me brains until my mind is drained\n  start_ms: 90960\n  end_ms: 93720\n- text: Listen, don't make me grab a nine and aim\n  start_ms: 93720\n  end_ms: 96410\n- text: And how your dime did me, do yo mind the same but different\n  start_ms: 96410\n  end_ms: 98250\n- text: The West Coast King, Crooked I\n  start_ms: 98250\n  end_ms: 100940\n- text: I'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'till I die\n  start_ms: 100940\n  end_ms: 102880\n- text: Get 'em up high\n  start_ms: 102880\n  end_ms: 104650\n- text: 'Female: Joell'\n  start_ms: 104650\n  end_ms: 106490\n- text: 'Joell: Here we go again, you know of him'\n  start_ms: 106490\n  end_ms: 107320\n- text: Mr. Ortiz, soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MCs\n  start_ms: 107320\n  end_ms: 110080\n- text: Pick the disease, we got it, I vomit, sniffle, and sneeze\n  start_ms: 110080\n  end_ms: 112830\n- text: Lyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord help get rid of this fever\n  start_ms: 112830\n  end_ms: 115580\n- text: I'm like a hundred fifty degrees\n  start_ms: 115580\n  end_ms: 117350\n- text: 16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\n  start_ms: 117350\n  end_ms: 119130\n- text: A nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\n  start_ms: 119130\n  end_ms: 121870\n- text: Used to dream about livin', now I'm livin' my dream\n  start_ms: 121870\n  end_ms: 124670\n- text: The bitch's fiend, made my dick a machine\n  start_ms: 124670\n  end_ms: 126450\n- text: Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\n  start_ms: 126450\n  end_ms: 129160\n- text: When I'm spittin' it's mean\n  start_ms: 129160\n  end_ms: 130970\n- text: Me and government intervene\n  start_ms: 130970\n  end_ms: 131860\n- text: A couple presidents literally live in my jeans\n  start_ms: 131860\n  end_ms: 134660\n- text: Give 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\n  start_ms: 134660\n  end_ms: 135520\n- text: When I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\n  start_ms: 135520\n  end_ms: 140090\n- text: And I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\n  start_ms: 140090\n  end_ms: 141840\n- text: Niggas hate, bitches Cheer like I'm Norm, Cliff, and Diane\n  start_ms: 141840\n  end_ms: 143750\n- text: I'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty first\n  start_ms: 143750\n  end_ms: 146440\n- text: I run the radio, but I don't use them itty bitty words\n  start_ms: 146440\n  end_ms: 149180\n- text: I ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verbs\n  start_ms: 149180\n  end_ms: 150930\n- text: When I reach Heaven I want that nigga Biggie to be like \"Word!\"\n  start_ms: 150930\n  end_ms: 152720\n- text: City slicker New York delivery when I swerve\n  start_ms: 152720\n  end_ms: 156450\n- text: Hold that mic like the Statue of Liberty\n  start_ms: 156450\n  end_ms: 158210\n- text: I deserve a shot at the title, Spitter of the Year\n  start_ms: 158210\n  end_ms: 161880\n- text: Erry year, let's be clear, put some fingers in the air\n  start_ms: 161880\n  end_ms: 162770\n- text: And hold 'em up high!\n  start_ms: 162770\n  end_ms: 164520\n- text: 'Female: Joey'\n  start_ms: 164520\n  end_ms: 165530\n- text: 'Joey: Work on your half court shot, I''m money from far'\n  start_ms: 165530\n  end_ms: 167320\n- text: Get 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\n  start_ms: 167320\n  end_ms: 170010\n- text: And that's rate, getting hate from the wannabe stars\n  start_ms: 170010\n  end_ms: 172790\n- text: And that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\n  start_ms: 172790\n  end_ms: 175410\n- text: See that bullet coming from around the corner\n  start_ms: 175410\n  end_ms: 177230\n- text: Like a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun; think Joey the one\n  start_ms: 177230\n  end_ms: 179170\n- text: I'm a fake? Ain't your run-of-the-mill\n  start_ms: 179170\n  end_ms: 181850\n- text: I'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\n  start_ms: 181850\n  end_ms: 184520\n- text: For me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\n  start_ms: 184520\n  end_ms: 186320\n- text: He Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\n  start_ms: 186320\n  end_ms: 189980\n- text: Play with a match, FUCK what you take it as\n  start_ms: 189980\n  end_ms: 192790\n- text: No good straight jacket, all I did break the match\n  start_ms: 192790\n  end_ms: 195400\n- text: They say he talk tough with his fake ass\n  start_ms: 195400\n  end_ms: 198130\n- text: Four pounds put me in another weight class\n  start_ms: 198130\n  end_ms: 200960\n- text: Great Escape the pad\n  start_ms: 200960\n  end_ms: 201860\n- text: Took the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\n  start_ms: 201860\n  end_ms: 204590\n- text: You diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\n  start_ms: 204590\n  end_ms: 206320\n- text: Take a fully-automatic and spray at gas\n  start_ms: 206320\n  end_ms: 209080\n- text: Me? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\n  start_ms: 209080\n  end_ms: 211880\n- text: In your whole camp, nobody focused\n  start_ms: 211880\n  end_ms: 216360\n- text: They say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\n  start_ms: 216360\n  end_ms: 217230\n- text: You die and come back, won't nobody notice\n  start_ms: 217230\n  end_ms: 219130\n- text: Drive by, screaming it's a new crew repping\n  start_ms: 219130\n  end_ms: 220940\n- text: Hanging out the window, like it's \"227\"\n  start_ms: 220940\n  end_ms: 223670\n- text: Get 'em up HIGH\n  start_ms: 223670\n  end_ms: 225450\n- text: 'Fatman Scoop: Get ''em up high, get ''em up high'\n  start_ms: 225450\n  end_ms: 228290\n- text: Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n  start_ms: 228290\n  end_ms: 230080\n- text: Get 'em up high, in the sky\n  start_ms: 230080\n  end_ms: 230930\n- text: Put 'em up high, put 'em up high\n  start_ms: 230930\n  end_ms: 233660\n- text: Put 'em up high, fingers in the sky\n  start_ms: 233660\n  end_ms: 235400\n- text: Put 'em up! Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\n  start_ms: 235400\n  end_ms: 239170\n- text: Ohh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  start_ms: 239170\n  end_ms: 242780\n- text: Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  start_ms: 242780\n  end_ms: 245410\n- text: Put 'em high, woo! Ohh\n  start_ms: 245410\n  end_ms: 250970\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 250970\nplain: |-\n  Royce: Yeah, I said,\n  Once upon a time in the city that's mine\n  There was a nigga named Nickel who spit like Big in his prime\n  Got a 52 box, original tick in the mind\n  Listenin' to Pac in the drop with prestigious design\n  My niggas is dimes, my bitches is dimes\n  I came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\n  I been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MCs\n  Sittin' watchin' my green grow like I'm watering seeds\n  The problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\n  Niggas callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\n  If I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\n  Probably cause I live by the art of for-keeps\n  I get indicted after my products release\n  We a different form, different centrifugal force\n  Every line is like grippin' on the stick shift in the Porsche\n  My niggas ask what direction they go on this track\n  I said \"Fuck a direction, spaz out\"\n  Get 'em up high\n\n  Female: Crooked\n\n  Crooked: And for them wack songs that you made\n  I want you to throw your pen, but hold the grenade\n  Explode to your grave\n  And go straight to hell, where your soul is enflamed for the road that you paved\n  For the role that you played\n  In fuckin' up hip-hop\n  You owe, so you paid, the fo' fo' close to your brain\n  Closer than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\n  Don't fuck with me, don't fuck with J-O-E\n  With Nickel we gon' make more cheese\n  Heavy hitter call me Joell David Ortiz (What up!)\n  I point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\n  On some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\n  I'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\n  It's like you won an appeal, my gun put your back on the streets\n  Spine on the concrete, lookin' at the sun\n  Eyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\n  He was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\n  Fully automatic, umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\n  Listen, don't make a nigga find ya dame\n  And make the dime give me brains until my mind is drained\n  Listen, don't make me grab a nine and aim\n  And how your dime did me, do yo mind the same but different\n  The West Coast King, Crooked I\n\n  I'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'till I die\n\n  Get 'em up high\n\n  Female: Joell\n\n  Joell: Here we go again, you know of him\n  Mr. Ortiz, soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MCs\n  Pick the disease, we got it, I vomit, sniffle, and sneeze\n  Lyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord help get rid of this fever\n  I'm like a hundred fifty degrees\n  16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\n  A nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\n  Used to dream about livin', now I'm livin' my dream\n  The bitch's fiend, made my dick a machine\n  Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\n  When I'm spittin' it's mean\n  Me and government intervene\n  A couple presidents literally live in my jeans\n  Give 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\n  When I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\n  And I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\n  Niggas hate, bitches Cheer like I'm Norm, Cliff, and Diane\n  I'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty first\n  I run the radio, but I don't use them itty bitty words\n  I ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verbs\n  When I reach Heaven I want that nigga Biggie to be like \"Word!\"\n  City slicker New York delivery when I swerve\n\n  Hold that mic like the Statue of Liberty\n\n  I deserve a shot at the title, Spitter of the Year\n  Erry year, let's be clear, put some fingers in the air\n  And hold 'em up high!\n\n  Female: Joey\n\n  Joey: Work on your half court shot, I'm money from far\n  Get 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\n  And that's rate, getting hate from the wannabe stars\n  And that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\n  See that bullet coming from around the corner\n  Like a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun; think Joey the one\n  I'm a fake? Ain't your run-of-the-mill\n  I'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\n  For me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\n  He Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\n  Play with a match, FUCK what you take it as\n  No good straight jacket, all I did break the match\n  They say he talk tough with his fake ass\n  Four pounds put me in another weight class\n  Great Escape the pad\n  Took the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\n  You diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\n  Take a fully-automatic and spray at gas\n  Me? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\n\n  In your whole camp, nobody focused\n  They say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\n  You die and come back, won't nobody notice\n  Drive by, screaming it's a new crew repping\n  Hanging out the window, like it's \"227\"\n  Get 'em up HIGH\n\n  Fatman Scoop: Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n  Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n  Get 'em up high, in the sky\n  Put 'em up high, put 'em up high\n  Put 'em up high, fingers in the sky\n  Put 'em up! Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\n  Ohh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  Put 'em high, woo! Ohh\n"},{"id":22548660,"name":"Onslaught 2 Ft. Fatman Scoop (Produced By Emile)","trackName":"Onslaught 2 Ft. Fatman Scoop (Produced By Emile)","artistName":"Slaughterhouse","albumName":"Slaughterhouse","duration":267.937959,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Yeah, I said, \"Once upon a time in a city that's mine\"\nThere was a nigga named Nickel that spit like Big in his prime\nHe got a 52 box, original tick in the mind\nListenin' to 'Pac and them drop with a prestigious design\nMy niggaz is dimes, my bitches is dimes\n\nI came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\nI been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MC's\nSit and watchin' my green grow like I'm waterin' seeds\nThe problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\n\nNiggaz callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\nIf I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\nProbably 'cause I live by the art of for keeps\nI get indicted after my product's released\n\nWe a different form, a different centrifugal force\nEvery line is like grippin' on a stick shift in a Porsche\nMy niggaz asked for direction to go on this track\nI said, \"Fuck a direction, spaz out, get 'em up high\"\n\nCrooked and for them wack songs that you made\nI want you to throw your pin, but hold the grenade\nExplode to your grave and go straight to hell\nWhen your soul is en-flamed for the road that you paved\n\nThe role that played, in fuckin' up hip-hop\nYou owe so you paid, the fo'-fo' close to your brain\nCloser than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\nDon't fuck with me, don't fuck with J O E\n\nWith Nickel we gon' make more cheese\nHeavy hitter, call me Joell David Ortiz\nI point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\nOn some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\n\nI'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\nIt's like you wanting a pill, my gun put your back on the streets\nSpine on the concrete lookin' at the sun\nEyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\n\nHe was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\nFully automatic umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\nListen, don't make a nigga find your dame\nAnd make the dime give me brains 'til my mind is drained\n\nListen, don't make me grab a 9 and aim\nAnd how your dime did me, do yo' mind the same\nBut different, the West Coast king Crooked I\nI'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'til I die, get 'em up high\n\nJoell, here we go again, you know I'm him, Mr. Ortiz\nSoon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MC's\nPick a disease we got it, I vomit sniffle and sneeze\nLyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord, help get rid of this fever\n\nI'm like 150 degrees\n16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\nA nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\nUsed to dream about livin' now I'm livin' my dreams\n\nThe bitches fiend, made my dick a machine\nMaybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\nWhen I'm spittin' this mean, me and government intervene\nA couple presidents, literally live in my jeans\n\nI give 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\nWhen I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\nAnd I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\nNiggaz hate, bitches cheer like Norm, Cliff and Diane\n\nI'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty verse\nI run radio but I don't use them itty bitty words\nI ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verb\nWhen I reach heaven I want the nigga Biggie to be like word\n\nCity slicker, New York delivery when I swerve\nHold that mic like the Statue of Liberty, I deserve\nA shot at the title, spitter of the year, every year, let's be clear\nPut some fingers in the air and hold 'em up high\n\nJoey, work on your half-court shot, I'm money from far\nGet 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\nAnd that's rate, gettin' hate from the wannabe stars\nAnd that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\n\nSee that bullet comin' from around the corner\nLike a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun, think Joey the one\nI'm a fake, ain't your run of the mill?\nI'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\n\nFor me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\nHe Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\nPlay with a match, fuck what you take it as\nNo good straight jacket, all I did break the match\n\nThey say he talk tough with his fake ass\nFour pounds put me in another weight class\nGreat Escape the pad\nTook the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\n\nYou diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\nTake a fully automatic and spray at gas\nMe? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\nIn your whole camp, nobody focused\n\nThey say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\nYou die and come back, won't nobody know this\nDrive by, screamin' it's a new crew reppin'\nHangin' out the window, like it's 227, get 'em up high\n\nGet 'em up high, get 'em up high\nGet 'em up high, get 'em up high\nGet 'em up high in the sky\n\nPut 'em up high, put 'em up high\nPut 'em up high, fingers in the sky\nPut 'em up, Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\n\nOhh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\nFatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\nPut 'em high, woo, ohh","syncedLyrics":"[00:03.79] Yeah, I said, \"Once upon a time in a city that's mine\"\n[00:05.63] There was a nigga named Nickel that spit like Big in his prime\n[00:09.27] He got a 52 box, original tick in the mind\n[00:11.06] Listenin' to 'Pac and them drop with a prestigious design\n[00:13.75] My niggaz is dimes, my bitches is dimes\n[00:15.53] I came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\n[00:18.25] I been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MC's\n[00:20.94] Sit and watchin' my green grow like I'm waterin' seeds\n[00:23.60] The problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\n[00:25.46] Niggaz callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\n[00:27.27] If I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\n[00:29.11] Probably 'cause I live by the art of for keeps\n[00:30.98] I get indicted after my product's released\n[00:33.65] We a different form, a different centrifugal force\n[00:35.41] Every line is like grippin' on a stick shift in a Porsche\n[00:38.13] My niggaz asked for direction to go on this track\n[00:40.92] I said, \"Fuck a direction, spaz out, get 'em up high\"\n[00:45.47] Crooked and for them wack songs that you made\n[00:47.29] I want you to throw your pin, but hold the grenade\n[00:49.99] Explode to your grave and go straight to hell\n[00:52.69] When your soul is en-flamed for the road that you paved\n[00:54.42] The role that played, in fuckin' up hip-hop\n[00:57.13] You owe so you paid, the fo'-fo' close to your brain\n[00:59.88] Closer than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\n[01:02.65] Don't fuck with me, don't fuck with J O E\n[01:05.35] With Nickel we gon' make more cheese\n[01:07.10] Heavy hitter, call me Joell David Ortiz\n[01:09.89] I point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\n[01:11.62] On some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\n[01:14.38] I'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\n[01:16.15] It's like you wanting a pill, my gun put your back on the streets\n[01:18.82] Spine on the concrete lookin' at the sun\n[01:21.51] Eyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\n[01:24.32] He was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\n[01:26.19] Fully automatic umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\n[01:28.87] Listen, don't make a nigga find your dame\n[01:30.65] And make the dime give me brains 'til my mind is drained\n[01:33.34] Listen, don't make me grab a 9 and aim\n[01:36.01] And how your dime did me, do yo' mind the same\n[01:37.85] But different, the West Coast king Crooked I\n[01:40.50] I'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'til I die, get 'em up high\n[01:46.08] Joell, here we go again, you know I'm him, Mr. Ortiz\n[01:47.86] Soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MC's\n[01:50.58] Pick a disease we got it, I vomit sniffle and sneeze\n[01:52.34] Lyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord, help get rid of this fever\n[01:55.98] I'm like 150 degrees\n[01:56.82] 16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\n[01:59.65] A nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\n[02:02.36] Used to dream about livin' now I'm livin' my dreams\n[02:05.01] The bitches fiend, made my dick a machine\n[02:05.95] Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\n[02:09.55] When I'm spittin' this mean, me and government intervene\n[02:11.33] A couple presidents, literally live in my jeans\n[02:14.08] I give 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\n[02:16.74] When I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\n[02:19.49] And I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\n[02:21.32] Niggaz hate, bitches cheer like Norm, Cliff and Diane\n[02:24.04] I'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty verse\n[02:27.68] I run radio but I don't use them itty bitty words\n[02:28.55] I ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verb\n[02:31.23] When I reach heaven I want the nigga Biggie to be like word\n[02:33.94] City slicker, New York delivery when I swerve\n[02:35.78] Hold that mic like the Statue of Liberty, I deserve\n[02:38.45] A shot at the title, spitter of the year, every year, let's be clear\n[02:42.05] Put some fingers in the air and hold 'em up high\n[02:45.67] Joey, work on your half-court shot, I'm money from far\n[02:49.32] Get 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\n[02:50.21] And that's rate, gettin' hate from the wannabe stars\n[02:52.91] And that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\n[02:54.74] See that bullet comin' from around the corner\n[02:56.56] Like a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun, think Joey the one\n[03:00.12] I'm a fake, ain't your run of the mill?\n[03:01.92] I'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\n[03:04.63] For me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\n[03:06.41] He Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\n[03:10.17] Play with a match, fuck what you take it as\n[03:11.92] No good straight jacket, all I did break the match\n[03:14.63] They say he talk tough with his fake ass\n[03:17.33] Four pounds put me in another weight class\n[03:20.08] Great Escape the pad\n[03:20.95] Took the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\n[03:24.59] You diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\n[03:27.24] Take a fully automatic and spray at gas\n[03:29.09] Me? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\n[03:31.87] In your whole camp, nobody focused\n[03:33.68] They say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\n[03:36.38] You die and come back, won't nobody know this\n[03:39.00] Drive by, screamin' it's a new crew reppin'\n[03:40.83] Hangin' out the window, like it's 227, get 'em up high\n[03:45.37] Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n[03:47.16] Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n[03:48.96] Get 'em up high in the sky\n[03:51.61] Put 'em up high, put 'em up high\n[03:53.54] Put 'em up high, fingers in the sky\n[03:55.32] Put 'em up, Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\n[03:59.87] Ohh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n[04:02.51] Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n[04:05.25] Put 'em high, woo, ohh\n[04:10.68] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Onslaught 2 Ft. Fatman Scoop (Produced By Emile)\n  artist: Slaughterhouse\n  album: Slaughterhouse\n  duration_ms: 267938\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Yeah, I said, \"Once upon a time in a city that's mine\"\n  start_ms: 3790\n  end_ms: 5630\n- text: There was a nigga named Nickel that spit like Big in his prime\n  start_ms: 5630\n  end_ms: 9270\n- text: He got a 52 box, original tick in the mind\n  start_ms: 9270\n  end_ms: 11060\n- text: Listenin' to 'Pac and them drop with a prestigious design\n  start_ms: 11060\n  end_ms: 13750\n- text: My niggaz is dimes, my bitches is dimes\n  start_ms: 13750\n  end_ms: 15530\n- text: I came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\n  start_ms: 15530\n  end_ms: 18250\n- text: I been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MC's\n  start_ms: 18250\n  end_ms: 20940\n- text: Sit and watchin' my green grow like I'm waterin' seeds\n  start_ms: 20940\n  end_ms: 23600\n- text: The problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\n  start_ms: 23600\n  end_ms: 25460\n- text: Niggaz callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\n  start_ms: 25460\n  end_ms: 27270\n- text: If I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\n  start_ms: 27270\n  end_ms: 29110\n- text: Probably 'cause I live by the art of for keeps\n  start_ms: 29110\n  end_ms: 30980\n- text: I get indicted after my product's released\n  start_ms: 30980\n  end_ms: 33650\n- text: We a different form, a different centrifugal force\n  start_ms: 33650\n  end_ms: 35410\n- text: Every line is like grippin' on a stick shift in a Porsche\n  start_ms: 35410\n  end_ms: 38130\n- text: My niggaz asked for direction to go on this track\n  start_ms: 38130\n  end_ms: 40920\n- text: I said, \"Fuck a direction, spaz out, get 'em up high\"\n  start_ms: 40920\n  end_ms: 45470\n- text: Crooked and for them wack songs that you made\n  start_ms: 45470\n  end_ms: 47290\n- text: I want you to throw your pin, but hold the grenade\n  start_ms: 47290\n  end_ms: 49990\n- text: Explode to your grave and go straight to hell\n  start_ms: 49990\n  end_ms: 52690\n- text: When your soul is en-flamed for the road that you paved\n  start_ms: 52690\n  end_ms: 54420\n- text: The role that played, in fuckin' up hip-hop\n  start_ms: 54420\n  end_ms: 57130\n- text: You owe so you paid, the fo'-fo' close to your brain\n  start_ms: 57130\n  end_ms: 59880\n- text: Closer than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\n  start_ms: 59880\n  end_ms: 62650\n- text: Don't fuck with me, don't fuck with J O E\n  start_ms: 62650\n  end_ms: 65350\n- text: With Nickel we gon' make more cheese\n  start_ms: 65350\n  end_ms: 67100\n- text: Heavy hitter, call me Joell David Ortiz\n  start_ms: 67100\n  end_ms: 69890\n- text: I point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\n  start_ms: 69890\n  end_ms: 71620\n- text: On some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\n  start_ms: 71620\n  end_ms: 74380\n- text: I'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\n  start_ms: 74380\n  end_ms: 76150\n- text: It's like you wanting a pill, my gun put your back on the streets\n  start_ms: 76150\n  end_ms: 78820\n- text: Spine on the concrete lookin' at the sun\n  start_ms: 78820\n  end_ms: 81510\n- text: Eyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\n  start_ms: 81510\n  end_ms: 84320\n- text: He was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\n  start_ms: 84320\n  end_ms: 86190\n- text: Fully automatic umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\n  start_ms: 86190\n  end_ms: 88870\n- text: Listen, don't make a nigga find your dame\n  start_ms: 88870\n  end_ms: 90650\n- text: And make the dime give me brains 'til my mind is drained\n  start_ms: 90650\n  end_ms: 93340\n- text: Listen, don't make me grab a 9 and aim\n  start_ms: 93340\n  end_ms: 96010\n- text: And how your dime did me, do yo' mind the same\n  start_ms: 96010\n  end_ms: 97850\n- text: But different, the West Coast king Crooked I\n  start_ms: 97850\n  end_ms: 100500\n- text: I'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'til I die, get 'em up high\n  start_ms: 100500\n  end_ms: 106080\n- text: Joell, here we go again, you know I'm him, Mr. Ortiz\n  start_ms: 106080\n  end_ms: 107860\n- text: Soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MC's\n  start_ms: 107860\n  end_ms: 110580\n- text: Pick a disease we got it, I vomit sniffle and sneeze\n  start_ms: 110580\n  end_ms: 112340\n- text: Lyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord, help get rid of this fever\n  start_ms: 112340\n  end_ms: 115980\n- text: I'm like 150 degrees\n  start_ms: 115980\n  end_ms: 116820\n- text: 16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\n  start_ms: 116820\n  end_ms: 119650\n- text: A nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\n  start_ms: 119650\n  end_ms: 122360\n- text: Used to dream about livin' now I'm livin' my dreams\n  start_ms: 122360\n  end_ms: 125010\n- text: The bitches fiend, made my dick a machine\n  start_ms: 125010\n  end_ms: 125950\n- text: Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\n  start_ms: 125950\n  end_ms: 129550\n- text: When I'm spittin' this mean, me and government intervene\n  start_ms: 129550\n  end_ms: 131330\n- text: A couple presidents, literally live in my jeans\n  start_ms: 131330\n  end_ms: 134080\n- text: I give 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\n  start_ms: 134080\n  end_ms: 136740\n- text: When I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\n  start_ms: 136740\n  end_ms: 139490\n- text: And I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\n  start_ms: 139490\n  end_ms: 141320\n- text: Niggaz hate, bitches cheer like Norm, Cliff and Diane\n  start_ms: 141320\n  end_ms: 144040\n- text: I'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty verse\n  start_ms: 144040\n  end_ms: 147680\n- text: I run radio but I don't use them itty bitty words\n  start_ms: 147680\n  end_ms: 148550\n- text: I ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verb\n  start_ms: 148550\n  end_ms: 151230\n- text: When I reach heaven I want the nigga Biggie to be like word\n  start_ms: 151230\n  end_ms: 153940\n- text: City slicker, New York delivery when I swerve\n  start_ms: 153940\n  end_ms: 155780\n- text: Hold that mic like the Statue of Liberty, I deserve\n  start_ms: 155780\n  end_ms: 158450\n- text: A shot at the title, spitter of the year, every year, let's be clear\n  start_ms: 158450\n  end_ms: 162050\n- text: Put some fingers in the air and hold 'em up high\n  start_ms: 162050\n  end_ms: 165670\n- text: Joey, work on your half-court shot, I'm money from far\n  start_ms: 165670\n  end_ms: 169320\n- text: Get 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\n  start_ms: 169320\n  end_ms: 170210\n- text: And that's rate, gettin' hate from the wannabe stars\n  start_ms: 170210\n  end_ms: 172910\n- text: And that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\n  start_ms: 172910\n  end_ms: 174740\n- text: See that bullet comin' from around the corner\n  start_ms: 174740\n  end_ms: 176560\n- text: Like a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun, think Joey the one\n  start_ms: 176560\n  end_ms: 180120\n- text: I'm a fake, ain't your run of the mill?\n  start_ms: 180120\n  end_ms: 181920\n- text: I'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\n  start_ms: 181920\n  end_ms: 184630\n- text: For me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\n  start_ms: 184630\n  end_ms: 186410\n- text: He Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\n  start_ms: 186410\n  end_ms: 190170\n- text: Play with a match, fuck what you take it as\n  start_ms: 190170\n  end_ms: 191920\n- text: No good straight jacket, all I did break the match\n  start_ms: 191920\n  end_ms: 194630\n- text: They say he talk tough with his fake ass\n  start_ms: 194630\n  end_ms: 197330\n- text: Four pounds put me in another weight class\n  start_ms: 197330\n  end_ms: 200080\n- text: Great Escape the pad\n  start_ms: 200080\n  end_ms: 200950\n- text: Took the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\n  start_ms: 200950\n  end_ms: 204590\n- text: You diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\n  start_ms: 204590\n  end_ms: 207240\n- text: Take a fully automatic and spray at gas\n  start_ms: 207240\n  end_ms: 209090\n- text: Me? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\n  start_ms: 209090\n  end_ms: 211870\n- text: In your whole camp, nobody focused\n  start_ms: 211870\n  end_ms: 213680\n- text: They say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\n  start_ms: 213680\n  end_ms: 216380\n- text: You die and come back, won't nobody know this\n  start_ms: 216380\n  end_ms: 219000\n- text: Drive by, screamin' it's a new crew reppin'\n  start_ms: 219000\n  end_ms: 220830\n- text: Hangin' out the window, like it's 227, get 'em up high\n  start_ms: 220830\n  end_ms: 225370\n- text: Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n  start_ms: 225370\n  end_ms: 227160\n- text: Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n  start_ms: 227160\n  end_ms: 228960\n- text: Get 'em up high in the sky\n  start_ms: 228960\n  end_ms: 231610\n- text: Put 'em up high, put 'em up high\n  start_ms: 231610\n  end_ms: 233540\n- text: Put 'em up high, fingers in the sky\n  start_ms: 233540\n  end_ms: 235320\n- text: Put 'em up, Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\n  start_ms: 235320\n  end_ms: 239870\n- text: Ohh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  start_ms: 239870\n  end_ms: 242510\n- text: Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  start_ms: 242510\n  end_ms: 245250\n- text: Put 'em high, woo, ohh\n  start_ms: 245250\n  end_ms: 250680\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 250680\nplain: |-\n  Yeah, I said, \"Once upon a time in a city that's mine\"\n  There was a nigga named Nickel that spit like Big in his prime\n  He got a 52 box, original tick in the mind\n  Listenin' to 'Pac and them drop with a prestigious design\n  My niggaz is dimes, my bitches is dimes\n\n  I came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\n  I been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MC's\n  Sit and watchin' my green grow like I'm waterin' seeds\n  The problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\n\n  Niggaz callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\n  If I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\n  Probably 'cause I live by the art of for keeps\n  I get indicted after my product's released\n\n  We a different form, a different centrifugal force\n  Every line is like grippin' on a stick shift in a Porsche\n  My niggaz asked for direction to go on this track\n  I said, \"Fuck a direction, spaz out, get 'em up high\"\n\n  Crooked and for them wack songs that you made\n  I want you to throw your pin, but hold the grenade\n  Explode to your grave and go straight to hell\n  When your soul is en-flamed for the road that you paved\n\n  The role that played, in fuckin' up hip-hop\n  You owe so you paid, the fo'-fo' close to your brain\n  Closer than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\n  Don't fuck with me, don't fuck with J O E\n\n  With Nickel we gon' make more cheese\n  Heavy hitter, call me Joell David Ortiz\n  I point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\n  On some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\n\n  I'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\n  It's like you wanting a pill, my gun put your back on the streets\n  Spine on the concrete lookin' at the sun\n  Eyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\n\n  He was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\n  Fully automatic umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\n  Listen, don't make a nigga find your dame\n  And make the dime give me brains 'til my mind is drained\n\n  Listen, don't make me grab a 9 and aim\n  And how your dime did me, do yo' mind the same\n  But different, the West Coast king Crooked I\n  I'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'til I die, get 'em up high\n\n  Joell, here we go again, you know I'm him, Mr. Ortiz\n  Soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MC's\n  Pick a disease we got it, I vomit sniffle and sneeze\n  Lyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord, help get rid of this fever\n\n  I'm like 150 degrees\n  16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\n  A nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\n  Used to dream about livin' now I'm livin' my dreams\n\n  The bitches fiend, made my dick a machine\n  Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\n  When I'm spittin' this mean, me and government intervene\n  A couple presidents, literally live in my jeans\n\n  I give 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\n  When I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\n  And I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\n  Niggaz hate, bitches cheer like Norm, Cliff and Diane\n\n  I'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty verse\n  I run radio but I don't use them itty bitty words\n  I ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verb\n  When I reach heaven I want the nigga Biggie to be like word\n\n  City slicker, New York delivery when I swerve\n  Hold that mic like the Statue of Liberty, I deserve\n  A shot at the title, spitter of the year, every year, let's be clear\n  Put some fingers in the air and hold 'em up high\n\n  Joey, work on your half-court shot, I'm money from far\n  Get 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\n  And that's rate, gettin' hate from the wannabe stars\n  And that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\n\n  See that bullet comin' from around the corner\n  Like a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun, think Joey the one\n  I'm a fake, ain't your run of the mill?\n  I'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\n\n  For me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\n  He Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\n  Play with a match, fuck what you take it as\n  No good straight jacket, all I did break the match\n\n  They say he talk tough with his fake ass\n  Four pounds put me in another weight class\n  Great Escape the pad\n  Took the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\n\n  You diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\n  Take a fully automatic and spray at gas\n  Me? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\n  In your whole camp, nobody focused\n\n  They say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\n  You die and come back, won't nobody know this\n  Drive by, screamin' it's a new crew reppin'\n  Hangin' out the window, like it's 227, get 'em up high\n\n  Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n  Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n  Get 'em up high in the sky\n\n  Put 'em up high, put 'em up high\n  Put 'em up high, fingers in the sky\n  Put 'em up, Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\n\n  Ohh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  Put 'em high, woo, ohh\n"},{"id":7564377,"name":"Onslaught 2","trackName":"Onslaught 2","artistName":"Slaughterhouse feat. Fatman Scoop","albumName":"Slaughterhouse (Bonus Track Version)","duration":270.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Royce: Yeah, I said,\nOnce upon a time in the city that's mine\nThere was a nigga named Nickel who spit like Big in his prime\nGot a 52 box, original tick in the mind\nListenin' to Pac in the drop with prestigious design\nMy niggas is dimes, my bitches is dimes\nI came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\nI been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MCs\nSittin' watchin' my green grow like I'm watering seeds\nThe problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\nNiggas callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\nIf I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\nProbably cause I live by the art of for-keeps\nI get indicted after my products release\nWe a different form, different centrifugal force\nEvery line is like grippin' on the stick shift in the Porsche\nMy niggas ask what direction they go on this track\nI said \"Fuck a direction, spaz out\"\nGet 'em up high\n\nFemale: Crooked\n\nCrooked: And for them wack songs that you made\nI want you to throw your pen, but hold the grenade\nExplode to your grave\nAnd go straight to hell, where your soul is enflamed for the road that you paved\nFor the role that you played\nIn fuckin' up hip-hop\nYou owe, so you paid, the fo' fo' close to your brain\nCloser than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\nDon't fuck with me, don't fuck with J-O-E\nWith Nickel we gon' make more cheese\nHeavy hitter call me Joell David Ortiz (What up!)\nI point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\nOn some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\nI'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\nIt's like you won an appeal, my gun put your back on the streets\nSpine on the concrete, lookin' at the sun\nEyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\nHe was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\nFully automatic, umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\nListen, don't make a nigga find ya dame\nAnd make the dime give me brains until my mind is drained\nListen, don't make me grab a nine and aim\nAnd how your dime did me, do yo mind the same but different\nThe West Coast King, Crooked I\n\nI'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'till I die\n\nGet 'em up high\n\nFemale: Joell\n\nJoell: Here we go again, you know of him\nMr. Ortiz, soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MCs\nPick the disease, we got it, I vomit, sniffle, and sneeze\nLyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord help get rid of this fever\nI'm like a hundred fifty degrees\n16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\nA nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\nUsed to dream about livin', now I'm livin' my dream\nThe bitch's fiend, made my dick a machine\nMaybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\nWhen I'm spittin' it's mean\nMe and government intervene\nA couple presidents literally live in my jeans\nGive 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\nWhen I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\nAnd I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\nNiggas hate, bitches Cheer like I'm Norm, Cliff, and Diane\nI'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty first\nI run the radio, but I don't use them itty bitty words\nI ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verbs\nWhen I reach Heaven I want that nigga Biggie to be like \"Word!\"\nCity slicker New York delivery when I swerve\n\nHold that mic like the Statue of Liberty\n\nI deserve a shot at the title, Spitter of the Year\nErry year, let's be clear, put some fingers in the air\nAnd hold 'em up high!\n\nFemale: Joey\n\nJoey: Work on your half court shot, I'm money from far\nGet 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\nAnd that's rate, getting hate from the wannabe stars\nAnd that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\nSee that bullet coming from around the corner\nLike a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun; think Joey the one\nI'm a fake? Ain't your run-of-the-mill\nI'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\nFor me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\nHe Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\nPlay with a match, FUCK what you take it as\nNo good straight jacket, all I did break the match\nThey say he talk tough with his fake ass\nFour pounds put me in another weight class\nGreat Escape the pad\nTook the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\nYou diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\nTake a fully-automatic and spray at gas\nMe? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\n\nIn your whole camp, nobody focused\nThey say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\nYou die and come back, won't nobody notice\nDrive by, screaming it's a new crew repping\nHanging out the window, like it's \"227\"\nGet 'em up HIGH\n\nFatman Scoop: Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\nGet 'em up high, get 'em up high\nGet 'em up high, in the sky\nPut 'em up high, put 'em up high\nPut 'em up high, fingers in the sky\nPut 'em up! Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\nOhh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\nFatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\nPut 'em high, woo! Ohh","syncedLyrics":"[00:03.75] Royce: Yeah, I said,\n[00:04.63] Once upon a time in the city that's mine\n[00:05.56] There was a nigga named Nickel who spit like Big in his prime\n[00:08.20] Got a 52 box, original tick in the mind\n[00:10.09] Listenin' to Pac in the drop with prestigious design\n[00:12.85] My niggas is dimes, my bitches is dimes\n[00:15.58] I came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\n[00:18.29] I been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MCs\n[00:20.15] Sittin' watchin' my green grow like I'm watering seeds\n[00:22.84] The problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\n[00:25.54] Niggas callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\n[00:27.34] If I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\n[00:29.24] Probably cause I live by the art of for-keeps\n[00:31.98] I get indicted after my products release\n[00:32.84] We a different form, different centrifugal force\n[00:35.52] Every line is like grippin' on the stick shift in the Porsche\n[00:37.38] My niggas ask what direction they go on this track\n[00:40.12] I said \"Fuck a direction, spaz out\"\n[00:42.82] Get 'em up high\n[00:44.64] Female: Crooked\n[00:45.56] Crooked: And for them wack songs that you made\n[00:47.37] I want you to throw your pen, but hold the grenade\n[00:49.29] Explode to your grave\n[00:51.98] And go straight to hell, where your soul is enflamed for the road that you paved\n[00:53.72] For the role that you played\n[00:55.52] In fuckin' up hip-hop\n[00:57.38] You owe, so you paid, the fo' fo' close to your brain\n[00:58.28] Closer than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\n[01:01.90] Don't fuck with me, don't fuck with J-O-E\n[01:04.60] With Nickel we gon' make more cheese\n[01:06.46] Heavy hitter call me Joell David Ortiz (What up!)\n[01:10.13] I point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\n[01:11.96] On some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\n[01:13.73] I'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\n[01:16.46] It's like you won an appeal, my gun put your back on the streets\n[01:19.15] Spine on the concrete, lookin' at the sun\n[01:21.08] Eyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\n[01:23.77] He was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\n[01:26.46] Fully automatic, umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\n[01:28.27] Listen, don't make a nigga find ya dame\n[01:30.96] And make the dime give me brains until my mind is drained\n[01:33.72] Listen, don't make me grab a nine and aim\n[01:36.41] And how your dime did me, do yo mind the same but different\n[01:38.25] The West Coast King, Crooked I\n[01:40.94] I'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'till I die\n[01:42.88] Get 'em up high\n[01:44.65] Female: Joell\n[01:46.49] Joell: Here we go again, you know of him\n[01:47.32] Mr. Ortiz, soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MCs\n[01:50.08] Pick the disease, we got it, I vomit, sniffle, and sneeze\n[01:52.83] Lyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord help get rid of this fever\n[01:55.58] I'm like a hundred fifty degrees\n[01:57.35] 16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\n[01:59.13] A nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\n[02:01.87] Used to dream about livin', now I'm livin' my dream\n[02:04.67] The bitch's fiend, made my dick a machine\n[02:06.45] Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\n[02:09.16] When I'm spittin' it's mean\n[02:10.97] Me and government intervene\n[02:11.86] A couple presidents literally live in my jeans\n[02:14.66] Give 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\n[02:15.52] When I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\n[02:20.09] And I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\n[02:21.84] Niggas hate, bitches Cheer like I'm Norm, Cliff, and Diane\n[02:23.75] I'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty first\n[02:26.44] I run the radio, but I don't use them itty bitty words\n[02:29.18] I ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verbs\n[02:30.93] When I reach Heaven I want that nigga Biggie to be like \"Word!\"\n[02:32.72] City slicker New York delivery when I swerve\n[02:36.45] Hold that mic like the Statue of Liberty\n[02:38.21] I deserve a shot at the title, Spitter of the Year\n[02:41.88] Erry year, let's be clear, put some fingers in the air\n[02:42.77] And hold 'em up high!\n[02:44.52] Female: Joey\n[02:45.53] Joey: Work on your half court shot, I'm money from far\n[02:47.32] Get 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\n[02:50.01] And that's rate, getting hate from the wannabe stars\n[02:52.79] And that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\n[02:55.41] See that bullet coming from around the corner\n[02:57.23] Like a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun; think Joey the one\n[02:59.17] I'm a fake? Ain't your run-of-the-mill\n[03:01.85] I'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\n[03:04.52] For me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\n[03:06.32] He Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\n[03:09.98] Play with a match, FUCK what you take it as\n[03:12.79] No good straight jacket, all I did break the match\n[03:15.40] They say he talk tough with his fake ass\n[03:18.13] Four pounds put me in another weight class\n[03:20.96] Great Escape the pad\n[03:21.86] Took the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\n[03:24.59] You diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\n[03:26.32] Take a fully-automatic and spray at gas\n[03:29.08] Me? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\n[03:31.88] In your whole camp, nobody focused\n[03:36.36] They say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\n[03:37.23] You die and come back, won't nobody notice\n[03:39.13] Drive by, screaming it's a new crew repping\n[03:40.94] Hanging out the window, like it's \"227\"\n[03:43.67] Get 'em up HIGH\n[03:45.45] Fatman Scoop: Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n[03:48.29] Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n[03:50.08] Get 'em up high, in the sky\n[03:50.93] Put 'em up high, put 'em up high\n[03:53.66] Put 'em up high, fingers in the sky\n[03:55.40] Put 'em up! Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\n[03:59.17] Ohh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n[04:02.78] Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n[04:05.41] Put 'em high, woo! Ohh\n[04:10.97] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Onslaught 2\n  artist: Slaughterhouse feat. Fatman Scoop\n  album: Slaughterhouse (Bonus Track Version)\n  duration_ms: 270000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: 'Royce: Yeah, I said,'\n  start_ms: 3750\n  end_ms: 4630\n- text: Once upon a time in the city that's mine\n  start_ms: 4630\n  end_ms: 5560\n- text: There was a nigga named Nickel who spit like Big in his prime\n  start_ms: 5560\n  end_ms: 8200\n- text: Got a 52 box, original tick in the mind\n  start_ms: 8200\n  end_ms: 10090\n- text: Listenin' to Pac in the drop with prestigious design\n  start_ms: 10090\n  end_ms: 12850\n- text: My niggas is dimes, my bitches is dimes\n  start_ms: 12850\n  end_ms: 15580\n- text: I came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\n  start_ms: 15580\n  end_ms: 18290\n- text: I been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MCs\n  start_ms: 18290\n  end_ms: 20150\n- text: Sittin' watchin' my green grow like I'm watering seeds\n  start_ms: 20150\n  end_ms: 22840\n- text: The problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\n  start_ms: 22840\n  end_ms: 25540\n- text: Niggas callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\n  start_ms: 25540\n  end_ms: 27340\n- text: If I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\n  start_ms: 27340\n  end_ms: 29240\n- text: Probably cause I live by the art of for-keeps\n  start_ms: 29240\n  end_ms: 31980\n- text: I get indicted after my products release\n  start_ms: 31980\n  end_ms: 32840\n- text: We a different form, different centrifugal force\n  start_ms: 32840\n  end_ms: 35520\n- text: Every line is like grippin' on the stick shift in the Porsche\n  start_ms: 35520\n  end_ms: 37380\n- text: My niggas ask what direction they go on this track\n  start_ms: 37380\n  end_ms: 40120\n- text: I said \"Fuck a direction, spaz out\"\n  start_ms: 40120\n  end_ms: 42820\n- text: Get 'em up high\n  start_ms: 42820\n  end_ms: 44640\n- text: 'Female: Crooked'\n  start_ms: 44640\n  end_ms: 45560\n- text: 'Crooked: And for them wack songs that you made'\n  start_ms: 45560\n  end_ms: 47370\n- text: I want you to throw your pen, but hold the grenade\n  start_ms: 47370\n  end_ms: 49290\n- text: Explode to your grave\n  start_ms: 49290\n  end_ms: 51980\n- text: And go straight to hell, where your soul is enflamed for the road that you paved\n  start_ms: 51980\n  end_ms: 53720\n- text: For the role that you played\n  start_ms: 53720\n  end_ms: 55520\n- text: In fuckin' up hip-hop\n  start_ms: 55520\n  end_ms: 57380\n- text: You owe, so you paid, the fo' fo' close to your brain\n  start_ms: 57380\n  end_ms: 58280\n- text: Closer than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\n  start_ms: 58280\n  end_ms: 61900\n- text: Don't fuck with me, don't fuck with J-O-E\n  start_ms: 61900\n  end_ms: 64600\n- text: With Nickel we gon' make more cheese\n  start_ms: 64600\n  end_ms: 66460\n- text: Heavy hitter call me Joell David Ortiz (What up!)\n  start_ms: 66460\n  end_ms: 70130\n- text: I point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\n  start_ms: 70130\n  end_ms: 71960\n- text: On some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\n  start_ms: 71960\n  end_ms: 73730\n- text: I'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\n  start_ms: 73730\n  end_ms: 76460\n- text: It's like you won an appeal, my gun put your back on the streets\n  start_ms: 76460\n  end_ms: 79150\n- text: Spine on the concrete, lookin' at the sun\n  start_ms: 79150\n  end_ms: 81080\n- text: Eyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\n  start_ms: 81080\n  end_ms: 83770\n- text: He was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\n  start_ms: 83770\n  end_ms: 86460\n- text: Fully automatic, umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\n  start_ms: 86460\n  end_ms: 88270\n- text: Listen, don't make a nigga find ya dame\n  start_ms: 88270\n  end_ms: 90960\n- text: And make the dime give me brains until my mind is drained\n  start_ms: 90960\n  end_ms: 93720\n- text: Listen, don't make me grab a nine and aim\n  start_ms: 93720\n  end_ms: 96410\n- text: And how your dime did me, do yo mind the same but different\n  start_ms: 96410\n  end_ms: 98250\n- text: The West Coast King, Crooked I\n  start_ms: 98250\n  end_ms: 100940\n- text: I'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'till I die\n  start_ms: 100940\n  end_ms: 102880\n- text: Get 'em up high\n  start_ms: 102880\n  end_ms: 104650\n- text: 'Female: Joell'\n  start_ms: 104650\n  end_ms: 106490\n- text: 'Joell: Here we go again, you know of him'\n  start_ms: 106490\n  end_ms: 107320\n- text: Mr. Ortiz, soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MCs\n  start_ms: 107320\n  end_ms: 110080\n- text: Pick the disease, we got it, I vomit, sniffle, and sneeze\n  start_ms: 110080\n  end_ms: 112830\n- text: Lyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord help get rid of this fever\n  start_ms: 112830\n  end_ms: 115580\n- text: I'm like a hundred fifty degrees\n  start_ms: 115580\n  end_ms: 117350\n- text: 16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\n  start_ms: 117350\n  end_ms: 119130\n- text: A nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\n  start_ms: 119130\n  end_ms: 121870\n- text: Used to dream about livin', now I'm livin' my dream\n  start_ms: 121870\n  end_ms: 124670\n- text: The bitch's fiend, made my dick a machine\n  start_ms: 124670\n  end_ms: 126450\n- text: Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\n  start_ms: 126450\n  end_ms: 129160\n- text: When I'm spittin' it's mean\n  start_ms: 129160\n  end_ms: 130970\n- text: Me and government intervene\n  start_ms: 130970\n  end_ms: 131860\n- text: A couple presidents literally live in my jeans\n  start_ms: 131860\n  end_ms: 134660\n- text: Give 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\n  start_ms: 134660\n  end_ms: 135520\n- text: When I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\n  start_ms: 135520\n  end_ms: 140090\n- text: And I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\n  start_ms: 140090\n  end_ms: 141840\n- text: Niggas hate, bitches Cheer like I'm Norm, Cliff, and Diane\n  start_ms: 141840\n  end_ms: 143750\n- text: I'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty first\n  start_ms: 143750\n  end_ms: 146440\n- text: I run the radio, but I don't use them itty bitty words\n  start_ms: 146440\n  end_ms: 149180\n- text: I ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verbs\n  start_ms: 149180\n  end_ms: 150930\n- text: When I reach Heaven I want that nigga Biggie to be like \"Word!\"\n  start_ms: 150930\n  end_ms: 152720\n- text: City slicker New York delivery when I swerve\n  start_ms: 152720\n  end_ms: 156450\n- text: Hold that mic like the Statue of Liberty\n  start_ms: 156450\n  end_ms: 158210\n- text: I deserve a shot at the title, Spitter of the Year\n  start_ms: 158210\n  end_ms: 161880\n- text: Erry year, let's be clear, put some fingers in the air\n  start_ms: 161880\n  end_ms: 162770\n- text: And hold 'em up high!\n  start_ms: 162770\n  end_ms: 164520\n- text: 'Female: Joey'\n  start_ms: 164520\n  end_ms: 165530\n- text: 'Joey: Work on your half court shot, I''m money from far'\n  start_ms: 165530\n  end_ms: 167320\n- text: Get 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\n  start_ms: 167320\n  end_ms: 170010\n- text: And that's rate, getting hate from the wannabe stars\n  start_ms: 170010\n  end_ms: 172790\n- text: And that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\n  start_ms: 172790\n  end_ms: 175410\n- text: See that bullet coming from around the corner\n  start_ms: 175410\n  end_ms: 177230\n- text: Like a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun; think Joey the one\n  start_ms: 177230\n  end_ms: 179170\n- text: I'm a fake? Ain't your run-of-the-mill\n  start_ms: 179170\n  end_ms: 181850\n- text: I'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\n  start_ms: 181850\n  end_ms: 184520\n- text: For me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\n  start_ms: 184520\n  end_ms: 186320\n- text: He Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\n  start_ms: 186320\n  end_ms: 189980\n- text: Play with a match, FUCK what you take it as\n  start_ms: 189980\n  end_ms: 192790\n- text: No good straight jacket, all I did break the match\n  start_ms: 192790\n  end_ms: 195400\n- text: They say he talk tough with his fake ass\n  start_ms: 195400\n  end_ms: 198130\n- text: Four pounds put me in another weight class\n  start_ms: 198130\n  end_ms: 200960\n- text: Great Escape the pad\n  start_ms: 200960\n  end_ms: 201860\n- text: Took the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\n  start_ms: 201860\n  end_ms: 204590\n- text: You diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\n  start_ms: 204590\n  end_ms: 206320\n- text: Take a fully-automatic and spray at gas\n  start_ms: 206320\n  end_ms: 209080\n- text: Me? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\n  start_ms: 209080\n  end_ms: 211880\n- text: In your whole camp, nobody focused\n  start_ms: 211880\n  end_ms: 216360\n- text: They say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\n  start_ms: 216360\n  end_ms: 217230\n- text: You die and come back, won't nobody notice\n  start_ms: 217230\n  end_ms: 219130\n- text: Drive by, screaming it's a new crew repping\n  start_ms: 219130\n  end_ms: 220940\n- text: Hanging out the window, like it's \"227\"\n  start_ms: 220940\n  end_ms: 223670\n- text: Get 'em up HIGH\n  start_ms: 223670\n  end_ms: 225450\n- text: 'Fatman Scoop: Get ''em up high, get ''em up high'\n  start_ms: 225450\n  end_ms: 228290\n- text: Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n  start_ms: 228290\n  end_ms: 230080\n- text: Get 'em up high, in the sky\n  start_ms: 230080\n  end_ms: 230930\n- text: Put 'em up high, put 'em up high\n  start_ms: 230930\n  end_ms: 233660\n- text: Put 'em up high, fingers in the sky\n  start_ms: 233660\n  end_ms: 235400\n- text: Put 'em up! Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\n  start_ms: 235400\n  end_ms: 239170\n- text: Ohh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  start_ms: 239170\n  end_ms: 242780\n- text: Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  start_ms: 242780\n  end_ms: 245410\n- text: Put 'em high, woo! Ohh\n  start_ms: 245410\n  end_ms: 250970\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 250970\nplain: |-\n  Royce: Yeah, I said,\n  Once upon a time in the city that's mine\n  There was a nigga named Nickel who spit like Big in his prime\n  Got a 52 box, original tick in the mind\n  Listenin' to Pac in the drop with prestigious design\n  My niggas is dimes, my bitches is dimes\n  I came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\n  I been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MCs\n  Sittin' watchin' my green grow like I'm watering seeds\n  The problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\n  Niggas callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\n  If I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\n  Probably cause I live by the art of for-keeps\n  I get indicted after my products release\n  We a different form, different centrifugal force\n  Every line is like grippin' on the stick shift in the Porsche\n  My niggas ask what direction they go on this track\n  I said \"Fuck a direction, spaz out\"\n  Get 'em up high\n\n  Female: Crooked\n\n  Crooked: And for them wack songs that you made\n  I want you to throw your pen, but hold the grenade\n  Explode to your grave\n  And go straight to hell, where your soul is enflamed for the road that you paved\n  For the role that you played\n  In fuckin' up hip-hop\n  You owe, so you paid, the fo' fo' close to your brain\n  Closer than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\n  Don't fuck with me, don't fuck with J-O-E\n  With Nickel we gon' make more cheese\n  Heavy hitter call me Joell David Ortiz (What up!)\n  I point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\n  On some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\n  I'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\n  It's like you won an appeal, my gun put your back on the streets\n  Spine on the concrete, lookin' at the sun\n  Eyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\n  He was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\n  Fully automatic, umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\n  Listen, don't make a nigga find ya dame\n  And make the dime give me brains until my mind is drained\n  Listen, don't make me grab a nine and aim\n  And how your dime did me, do yo mind the same but different\n  The West Coast King, Crooked I\n\n  I'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'till I die\n\n  Get 'em up high\n\n  Female: Joell\n\n  Joell: Here we go again, you know of him\n  Mr. Ortiz, soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MCs\n  Pick the disease, we got it, I vomit, sniffle, and sneeze\n  Lyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord help get rid of this fever\n  I'm like a hundred fifty degrees\n  16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\n  A nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\n  Used to dream about livin', now I'm livin' my dream\n  The bitch's fiend, made my dick a machine\n  Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\n  When I'm spittin' it's mean\n  Me and government intervene\n  A couple presidents literally live in my jeans\n  Give 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\n  When I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\n  And I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\n  Niggas hate, bitches Cheer like I'm Norm, Cliff, and Diane\n  I'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty first\n  I run the radio, but I don't use them itty bitty words\n  I ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verbs\n  When I reach Heaven I want that nigga Biggie to be like \"Word!\"\n  City slicker New York delivery when I swerve\n\n  Hold that mic like the Statue of Liberty\n\n  I deserve a shot at the title, Spitter of the Year\n  Erry year, let's be clear, put some fingers in the air\n  And hold 'em up high!\n\n  Female: Joey\n\n  Joey: Work on your half court shot, I'm money from far\n  Get 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\n  And that's rate, getting hate from the wannabe stars\n  And that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\n  See that bullet coming from around the corner\n  Like a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun; think Joey the one\n  I'm a fake? Ain't your run-of-the-mill\n  I'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\n  For me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\n  He Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\n  Play with a match, FUCK what you take it as\n  No good straight jacket, all I did break the match\n  They say he talk tough with his fake ass\n  Four pounds put me in another weight class\n  Great Escape the pad\n  Took the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\n  You diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\n  Take a fully-automatic and spray at gas\n  Me? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\n\n  In your whole camp, nobody focused\n  They say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\n  You die and come back, won't nobody notice\n  Drive by, screaming it's a new crew repping\n  Hanging out the window, like it's \"227\"\n  Get 'em up HIGH\n\n  Fatman Scoop: Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n  Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n  Get 'em up high, in the sky\n  Put 'em up high, put 'em up high\n  Put 'em up high, fingers in the sky\n  Put 'em up! Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\n  Ohh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  Put 'em high, woo! Ohh\n"},{"id":27889808,"name":"Onslaught 2 (feat. Fatman Scoop)","trackName":"Onslaught 2 (feat. Fatman Scoop)","artistName":"Slaughterhouse","albumName":"Slaughterhouse (Bonus Track Version)","duration":270.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Royce: Yeah, I said,\nOnce upon a time in the city that's mine\nThere was a nigga named Nickel who spit like Big in his prime\nGot a 52 box, original tick in the mind\nListenin' to Pac in the drop with prestigious design\nMy niggas is dimes, my bitches is dimes\nI came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\nI been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MCs\nSittin' watchin' my green grow like I'm watering seeds\nThe problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\nNiggas callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\nIf I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\nProbably cause I live by the art of for-keeps\nI get indicted after my products release\nWe a different form, different centrifugal force\nEvery line is like grippin' on the stick shift in the Porsche\nMy niggas ask what direction they go on this track\nI said \"Fuck a direction, spaz out\"\nGet 'em up high\n\nFemale: Crooked\n\nCrooked: And for them wack songs that you made\nI want you to throw your pen, but hold the grenade\nExplode to your grave\nAnd go straight to hell, where your soul is enflamed for the road that you paved\nFor the role that you played\nIn fuckin' up hip-hop\nYou owe, so you paid, the fo' fo' close to your brain\nCloser than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\nDon't fuck with me, don't fuck with J-O-E\nWith Nickel we gon' make more cheese\nHeavy hitter call me Joell David Ortiz (What up!)\nI point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\nOn some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\nI'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\nIt's like you won an appeal, my gun put your back on the streets\nSpine on the concrete, lookin' at the sun\nEyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\nHe was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\nFully automatic, umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\nListen, don't make a nigga find ya dame\nAnd make the dime give me brains until my mind is drained\nListen, don't make me grab a nine and aim\nAnd how your dime did me, do yo mind the same but different\nThe West Coast King, Crooked I\n\nI'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'till I die\n\nGet 'em up high\n\nFemale: Joell\n\nJoell: Here we go again, you know of him\nMr. Ortiz, soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MCs\nPick the disease, we got it, I vomit, sniffle, and sneeze\nLyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord help get rid of this fever\nI'm like a hundred fifty degrees\n16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\nA nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\nUsed to dream about livin', now I'm livin' my dream\nThe bitch's fiend, made my dick a machine\nMaybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\nWhen I'm spittin' it's mean\nMe and government intervene\nA couple presidents literally live in my jeans\nGive 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\nWhen I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\nAnd I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\nNiggas hate, bitches Cheer like I'm Norm, Cliff, and Diane\nI'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty first\nI run the radio, but I don't use them itty bitty words\nI ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verbs\nWhen I reach Heaven I want that nigga Biggie to be like \"Word!\"\nCity slicker New York delivery when I swerve\n\nHold that mic like the Statue of Liberty\n\nI deserve a shot at the title, Spitter of the Year\nErry year, let's be clear, put some fingers in the air\nAnd hold 'em up high!\n\nFemale: Joey\n\nJoey: Work on your half court shot, I'm money from far\nGet 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\nAnd that's rate, getting hate from the wannabe stars\nAnd that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\nSee that bullet coming from around the corner\nLike a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun; think Joey the one\nI'm a fake? Ain't your run-of-the-mill\nI'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\nFor me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\nHe Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\nPlay with a match, FUCK what you take it as\nNo good straight jacket, all I did break the match\nThey say he talk tough with his fake ass\nFour pounds put me in another weight class\nGreat Escape the pad\nTook the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\nYou diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\nTake a fully-automatic and spray at gas\nMe? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\n\nIn your whole camp, nobody focused\nThey say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\nYou die and come back, won't nobody notice\nDrive by, screaming it's a new crew repping\nHanging out the window, like it's \"227\"\nGet 'em up HIGH\n\nFatman Scoop: Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\nGet 'em up high, get 'em up high\nGet 'em up high, in the sky\nPut 'em up high, put 'em up high\nPut 'em up high, fingers in the sky\nPut 'em up! Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\nOhh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\nFatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\nPut 'em high, woo! Ohh","syncedLyrics":"[00:03.75] Royce: Yeah, I said,\n[00:04.63] Once upon a time in the city that's mine\n[00:05.56] There was a nigga named Nickel who spit like Big in his prime\n[00:08.20] Got a 52 box, original tick in the mind\n[00:10.09] Listenin' to Pac in the drop with prestigious design\n[00:12.85] My niggas is dimes, my bitches is dimes\n[00:15.58] I came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\n[00:18.29] I been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MCs\n[00:20.15] Sittin' watchin' my green grow like I'm watering seeds\n[00:22.84] The problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\n[00:25.54] Niggas callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\n[00:27.34] If I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\n[00:29.24] Probably cause I live by the art of for-keeps\n[00:31.98] I get indicted after my products release\n[00:32.84] We a different form, different centrifugal force\n[00:35.52] Every line is like grippin' on the stick shift in the Porsche\n[00:37.38] My niggas ask what direction they go on this track\n[00:40.12] I said \"Fuck a direction, spaz out\"\n[00:42.82] Get 'em up high\n[00:44.64] Female: Crooked\n[00:45.56] Crooked: And for them wack songs that you made\n[00:47.37] I want you to throw your pen, but hold the grenade\n[00:49.29] Explode to your grave\n[00:51.98] And go straight to hell, where your soul is enflamed for the road that you paved\n[00:53.72] For the role that you played\n[00:55.52] In fuckin' up hip-hop\n[00:57.38] You owe, so you paid, the fo' fo' close to your brain\n[00:58.28] Closer than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\n[01:01.90] Don't fuck with me, don't fuck with J-O-E\n[01:04.60] With Nickel we gon' make more cheese\n[01:06.46] Heavy hitter call me Joell David Ortiz (What up!)\n[01:10.13] I point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\n[01:11.96] On some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\n[01:13.73] I'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\n[01:16.46] It's like you won an appeal, my gun put your back on the streets\n[01:19.15] Spine on the concrete, lookin' at the sun\n[01:21.08] Eyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\n[01:23.77] He was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\n[01:26.46] Fully automatic, umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\n[01:28.27] Listen, don't make a nigga find ya dame\n[01:30.96] And make the dime give me brains until my mind is drained\n[01:33.72] Listen, don't make me grab a nine and aim\n[01:36.41] And how your dime did me, do yo mind the same but different\n[01:38.25] The West Coast King, Crooked I\n[01:40.94] I'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'till I die\n[01:42.88] Get 'em up high\n[01:44.65] Female: Joell\n[01:46.49] Joell: Here we go again, you know of him\n[01:47.32] Mr. Ortiz, soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MCs\n[01:50.08] Pick the disease, we got it, I vomit, sniffle, and sneeze\n[01:52.83] Lyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord help get rid of this fever\n[01:55.58] I'm like a hundred fifty degrees\n[01:57.35] 16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\n[01:59.13] A nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\n[02:01.87] Used to dream about livin', now I'm livin' my dream\n[02:04.67] The bitch's fiend, made my dick a machine\n[02:06.45] Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\n[02:09.16] When I'm spittin' it's mean\n[02:10.97] Me and government intervene\n[02:11.86] A couple presidents literally live in my jeans\n[02:14.66] Give 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\n[02:15.52] When I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\n[02:20.09] And I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\n[02:21.84] Niggas hate, bitches Cheer like I'm Norm, Cliff, and Diane\n[02:23.75] I'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty first\n[02:26.44] I run the radio, but I don't use them itty bitty words\n[02:29.18] I ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verbs\n[02:30.93] When I reach Heaven I want that nigga Biggie to be like \"Word!\"\n[02:32.72] City slicker New York delivery when I swerve\n[02:36.45] Hold that mic like the Statue of Liberty\n[02:38.21] I deserve a shot at the title, Spitter of the Year\n[02:41.88] Erry year, let's be clear, put some fingers in the air\n[02:42.77] And hold 'em up high!\n[02:44.52] Female: Joey\n[02:45.53] Joey: Work on your half court shot, I'm money from far\n[02:47.32] Get 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\n[02:50.01] And that's rate, getting hate from the wannabe stars\n[02:52.79] And that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\n[02:55.41] See that bullet coming from around the corner\n[02:57.23] Like a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun; think Joey the one\n[02:59.17] I'm a fake? Ain't your run-of-the-mill\n[03:01.85] I'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\n[03:04.52] For me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\n[03:06.32] He Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\n[03:09.98] Play with a match, FUCK what you take it as\n[03:12.79] No good straight jacket, all I did break the match\n[03:15.40] They say he talk tough with his fake ass\n[03:18.13] Four pounds put me in another weight class\n[03:20.96] Great Escape the pad\n[03:21.86] Took the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\n[03:24.59] You diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\n[03:26.32] Take a fully-automatic and spray at gas\n[03:29.08] Me? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\n[03:31.88] In your whole camp, nobody focused\n[03:36.36] They say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\n[03:37.23] You die and come back, won't nobody notice\n[03:39.13] Drive by, screaming it's a new crew repping\n[03:40.94] Hanging out the window, like it's \"227\"\n[03:43.67] Get 'em up HIGH\n[03:45.45] Fatman Scoop: Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n[03:48.29] Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n[03:50.08] Get 'em up high, in the sky\n[03:50.93] Put 'em up high, put 'em up high\n[03:53.66] Put 'em up high, fingers in the sky\n[03:55.40] Put 'em up! Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\n[03:59.17] Ohh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n[04:02.78] Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n[04:05.41] Put 'em high, woo! Ohh\n[04:10.97] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Onslaught 2 (feat. Fatman Scoop)\n  artist: Slaughterhouse\n  album: Slaughterhouse (Bonus Track Version)\n  duration_ms: 270000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: 'Royce: Yeah, I said,'\n  start_ms: 3750\n  end_ms: 4630\n- text: Once upon a time in the city that's mine\n  start_ms: 4630\n  end_ms: 5560\n- text: There was a nigga named Nickel who spit like Big in his prime\n  start_ms: 5560\n  end_ms: 8200\n- text: Got a 52 box, original tick in the mind\n  start_ms: 8200\n  end_ms: 10090\n- text: Listenin' to Pac in the drop with prestigious design\n  start_ms: 10090\n  end_ms: 12850\n- text: My niggas is dimes, my bitches is dimes\n  start_ms: 12850\n  end_ms: 15580\n- text: I came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\n  start_ms: 15580\n  end_ms: 18290\n- text: I been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MCs\n  start_ms: 18290\n  end_ms: 20150\n- text: Sittin' watchin' my green grow like I'm watering seeds\n  start_ms: 20150\n  end_ms: 22840\n- text: The problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\n  start_ms: 22840\n  end_ms: 25540\n- text: Niggas callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\n  start_ms: 25540\n  end_ms: 27340\n- text: If I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\n  start_ms: 27340\n  end_ms: 29240\n- text: Probably cause I live by the art of for-keeps\n  start_ms: 29240\n  end_ms: 31980\n- text: I get indicted after my products release\n  start_ms: 31980\n  end_ms: 32840\n- text: We a different form, different centrifugal force\n  start_ms: 32840\n  end_ms: 35520\n- text: Every line is like grippin' on the stick shift in the Porsche\n  start_ms: 35520\n  end_ms: 37380\n- text: My niggas ask what direction they go on this track\n  start_ms: 37380\n  end_ms: 40120\n- text: I said \"Fuck a direction, spaz out\"\n  start_ms: 40120\n  end_ms: 42820\n- text: Get 'em up high\n  start_ms: 42820\n  end_ms: 44640\n- text: 'Female: Crooked'\n  start_ms: 44640\n  end_ms: 45560\n- text: 'Crooked: And for them wack songs that you made'\n  start_ms: 45560\n  end_ms: 47370\n- text: I want you to throw your pen, but hold the grenade\n  start_ms: 47370\n  end_ms: 49290\n- text: Explode to your grave\n  start_ms: 49290\n  end_ms: 51980\n- text: And go straight to hell, where your soul is enflamed for the road that you paved\n  start_ms: 51980\n  end_ms: 53720\n- text: For the role that you played\n  start_ms: 53720\n  end_ms: 55520\n- text: In fuckin' up hip-hop\n  start_ms: 55520\n  end_ms: 57380\n- text: You owe, so you paid, the fo' fo' close to your brain\n  start_ms: 57380\n  end_ms: 58280\n- text: Closer than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\n  start_ms: 58280\n  end_ms: 61900\n- text: Don't fuck with me, don't fuck with J-O-E\n  start_ms: 61900\n  end_ms: 64600\n- text: With Nickel we gon' make more cheese\n  start_ms: 64600\n  end_ms: 66460\n- text: Heavy hitter call me Joell David Ortiz (What up!)\n  start_ms: 66460\n  end_ms: 70130\n- text: I point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\n  start_ms: 70130\n  end_ms: 71960\n- text: On some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\n  start_ms: 71960\n  end_ms: 73730\n- text: I'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\n  start_ms: 73730\n  end_ms: 76460\n- text: It's like you won an appeal, my gun put your back on the streets\n  start_ms: 76460\n  end_ms: 79150\n- text: Spine on the concrete, lookin' at the sun\n  start_ms: 79150\n  end_ms: 81080\n- text: Eyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\n  start_ms: 81080\n  end_ms: 83770\n- text: He was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\n  start_ms: 83770\n  end_ms: 86460\n- text: Fully automatic, umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\n  start_ms: 86460\n  end_ms: 88270\n- text: Listen, don't make a nigga find ya dame\n  start_ms: 88270\n  end_ms: 90960\n- text: And make the dime give me brains until my mind is drained\n  start_ms: 90960\n  end_ms: 93720\n- text: Listen, don't make me grab a nine and aim\n  start_ms: 93720\n  end_ms: 96410\n- text: And how your dime did me, do yo mind the same but different\n  start_ms: 96410\n  end_ms: 98250\n- text: The West Coast King, Crooked I\n  start_ms: 98250\n  end_ms: 100940\n- text: I'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'till I die\n  start_ms: 100940\n  end_ms: 102880\n- text: Get 'em up high\n  start_ms: 102880\n  end_ms: 104650\n- text: 'Female: Joell'\n  start_ms: 104650\n  end_ms: 106490\n- text: 'Joell: Here we go again, you know of him'\n  start_ms: 106490\n  end_ms: 107320\n- text: Mr. Ortiz, soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MCs\n  start_ms: 107320\n  end_ms: 110080\n- text: Pick the disease, we got it, I vomit, sniffle, and sneeze\n  start_ms: 110080\n  end_ms: 112830\n- text: Lyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord help get rid of this fever\n  start_ms: 112830\n  end_ms: 115580\n- text: I'm like a hundred fifty degrees\n  start_ms: 115580\n  end_ms: 117350\n- text: 16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\n  start_ms: 117350\n  end_ms: 119130\n- text: A nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\n  start_ms: 119130\n  end_ms: 121870\n- text: Used to dream about livin', now I'm livin' my dream\n  start_ms: 121870\n  end_ms: 124670\n- text: The bitch's fiend, made my dick a machine\n  start_ms: 124670\n  end_ms: 126450\n- text: Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\n  start_ms: 126450\n  end_ms: 129160\n- text: When I'm spittin' it's mean\n  start_ms: 129160\n  end_ms: 130970\n- text: Me and government intervene\n  start_ms: 130970\n  end_ms: 131860\n- text: A couple presidents literally live in my jeans\n  start_ms: 131860\n  end_ms: 134660\n- text: Give 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\n  start_ms: 134660\n  end_ms: 135520\n- text: When I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\n  start_ms: 135520\n  end_ms: 140090\n- text: And I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\n  start_ms: 140090\n  end_ms: 141840\n- text: Niggas hate, bitches Cheer like I'm Norm, Cliff, and Diane\n  start_ms: 141840\n  end_ms: 143750\n- text: I'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty first\n  start_ms: 143750\n  end_ms: 146440\n- text: I run the radio, but I don't use them itty bitty words\n  start_ms: 146440\n  end_ms: 149180\n- text: I ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verbs\n  start_ms: 149180\n  end_ms: 150930\n- text: When I reach Heaven I want that nigga Biggie to be like \"Word!\"\n  start_ms: 150930\n  end_ms: 152720\n- text: City slicker New York delivery when I swerve\n  start_ms: 152720\n  end_ms: 156450\n- text: Hold that mic like the Statue of Liberty\n  start_ms: 156450\n  end_ms: 158210\n- text: I deserve a shot at the title, Spitter of the Year\n  start_ms: 158210\n  end_ms: 161880\n- text: Erry year, let's be clear, put some fingers in the air\n  start_ms: 161880\n  end_ms: 162770\n- text: And hold 'em up high!\n  start_ms: 162770\n  end_ms: 164520\n- text: 'Female: Joey'\n  start_ms: 164520\n  end_ms: 165530\n- text: 'Joey: Work on your half court shot, I''m money from far'\n  start_ms: 165530\n  end_ms: 167320\n- text: Get 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\n  start_ms: 167320\n  end_ms: 170010\n- text: And that's rate, getting hate from the wannabe stars\n  start_ms: 170010\n  end_ms: 172790\n- text: And that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\n  start_ms: 172790\n  end_ms: 175410\n- text: See that bullet coming from around the corner\n  start_ms: 175410\n  end_ms: 177230\n- text: Like a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun; think Joey the one\n  start_ms: 177230\n  end_ms: 179170\n- text: I'm a fake? Ain't your run-of-the-mill\n  start_ms: 179170\n  end_ms: 181850\n- text: I'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\n  start_ms: 181850\n  end_ms: 184520\n- text: For me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\n  start_ms: 184520\n  end_ms: 186320\n- text: He Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\n  start_ms: 186320\n  end_ms: 189980\n- text: Play with a match, FUCK what you take it as\n  start_ms: 189980\n  end_ms: 192790\n- text: No good straight jacket, all I did break the match\n  start_ms: 192790\n  end_ms: 195400\n- text: They say he talk tough with his fake ass\n  start_ms: 195400\n  end_ms: 198130\n- text: Four pounds put me in another weight class\n  start_ms: 198130\n  end_ms: 200960\n- text: Great Escape the pad\n  start_ms: 200960\n  end_ms: 201860\n- text: Took the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\n  start_ms: 201860\n  end_ms: 204590\n- text: You diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\n  start_ms: 204590\n  end_ms: 206320\n- text: Take a fully-automatic and spray at gas\n  start_ms: 206320\n  end_ms: 209080\n- text: Me? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\n  start_ms: 209080\n  end_ms: 211880\n- text: In your whole camp, nobody focused\n  start_ms: 211880\n  end_ms: 216360\n- text: They say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\n  start_ms: 216360\n  end_ms: 217230\n- text: You die and come back, won't nobody notice\n  start_ms: 217230\n  end_ms: 219130\n- text: Drive by, screaming it's a new crew repping\n  start_ms: 219130\n  end_ms: 220940\n- text: Hanging out the window, like it's \"227\"\n  start_ms: 220940\n  end_ms: 223670\n- text: Get 'em up HIGH\n  start_ms: 223670\n  end_ms: 225450\n- text: 'Fatman Scoop: Get ''em up high, get ''em up high'\n  start_ms: 225450\n  end_ms: 228290\n- text: Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n  start_ms: 228290\n  end_ms: 230080\n- text: Get 'em up high, in the sky\n  start_ms: 230080\n  end_ms: 230930\n- text: Put 'em up high, put 'em up high\n  start_ms: 230930\n  end_ms: 233660\n- text: Put 'em up high, fingers in the sky\n  start_ms: 233660\n  end_ms: 235400\n- text: Put 'em up! Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\n  start_ms: 235400\n  end_ms: 239170\n- text: Ohh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  start_ms: 239170\n  end_ms: 242780\n- text: Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  start_ms: 242780\n  end_ms: 245410\n- text: Put 'em high, woo! Ohh\n  start_ms: 245410\n  end_ms: 250970\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 250970\nplain: |-\n  Royce: Yeah, I said,\n  Once upon a time in the city that's mine\n  There was a nigga named Nickel who spit like Big in his prime\n  Got a 52 box, original tick in the mind\n  Listenin' to Pac in the drop with prestigious design\n  My niggas is dimes, my bitches is dimes\n  I came up behind Eminem in '99 and I took the baton\n  I been runnin' shit ever since then, slaughtered MCs\n  Sittin' watchin' my green grow like I'm watering seeds\n  The problem with me is I'm the heart of the streets\n  Niggas callin' for peace, they can't even call the police\n  If I ain't better than you I'm harder to beat\n  Probably cause I live by the art of for-keeps\n  I get indicted after my products release\n  We a different form, different centrifugal force\n  Every line is like grippin' on the stick shift in the Porsche\n  My niggas ask what direction they go on this track\n  I said \"Fuck a direction, spaz out\"\n  Get 'em up high\n\n  Female: Crooked\n\n  Crooked: And for them wack songs that you made\n  I want you to throw your pen, but hold the grenade\n  Explode to your grave\n  And go straight to hell, where your soul is enflamed for the road that you paved\n  For the role that you played\n  In fuckin' up hip-hop\n  You owe, so you paid, the fo' fo' close to your brain\n  Closer than the close shave of a low fuckin' fade\n  Don't fuck with me, don't fuck with J-O-E\n  With Nickel we gon' make more cheese\n  Heavy hitter call me Joell David Ortiz (What up!)\n  I point a burner at the plaque on your teeth\n  On some leftover shit, it's a wrap on the beef\n  I'm one in a mil', comin' to kill\n  It's like you won an appeal, my gun put your back on the streets\n  Spine on the concrete, lookin' at the sun\n  Eyelids heavy, \"Why did Crooked have to come?\"\n  He was full of 'gnac and rum, like a bully actin' dumb\n  Fully automatic, umm, that's Crooked havin' fun\n  Listen, don't make a nigga find ya dame\n  And make the dime give me brains until my mind is drained\n  Listen, don't make me grab a nine and aim\n  And how your dime did me, do yo mind the same but different\n  The West Coast King, Crooked I\n\n  I'm a kamikaze pilot, I stay fly 'till I die\n\n  Get 'em up high\n\n  Female: Joell\n\n  Joell: Here we go again, you know of him\n  Mr. Ortiz, soon as I hold a pen I co-defend the sickest MCs\n  Pick the disease, we got it, I vomit, sniffle, and sneeze\n  Lyrics squeeze, listen please, Lord help get rid of this fever\n  I'm like a hundred fifty degrees\n  16's used to be sweet, now they're a bit of a tease\n  A nigga need a infinite instrumental just to be pleased\n  Used to dream about livin', now I'm livin' my dream\n  The bitch's fiend, made my dick a machine\n  Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I am just as fuckin' big as I seem\n  When I'm spittin' it's mean\n  Me and government intervene\n  A couple presidents literally live in my jeans\n  Give 'em residence, they just let me pick anything\n  When I'm in the mall, they show me the latest kicks on the scene\n  And I get 'em all, I ball like the nigga I am\n  Niggas hate, bitches Cheer like I'm Norm, Cliff, and Diane\n  I'm in a state, of mind that should be the fifty first\n  I run the radio, but I don't use them itty bitty words\n  I ain't shabby with the nouns, I ain't shitty with the verbs\n  When I reach Heaven I want that nigga Biggie to be like \"Word!\"\n  City slicker New York delivery when I swerve\n\n  Hold that mic like the Statue of Liberty\n\n  I deserve a shot at the title, Spitter of the Year\n  Erry year, let's be clear, put some fingers in the air\n  And hold 'em up high!\n\n  Female: Joey\n\n  Joey: Work on your half court shot, I'm money from far\n  Get 'em mad, see a ape on your monkey bars\n  And that's rate, getting hate from the wannabe stars\n  And that's great, mean he feel it and know he numb\n  See that bullet coming from around the corner\n  Like a shot from Angelina Jolie's gun; think Joey the one\n  I'm a fake? Ain't your run-of-the-mill\n  I'm from where they kill you for one of your bills\n  For me it's fun, your man think we evenly skilled\n  He Mel Gibson, all that shit he believe, gon' get his son killed\n  Play with a match, FUCK what you take it as\n  No good straight jacket, all I did break the match\n  They say he talk tough with his fake ass\n  Four pounds put me in another weight class\n  Great Escape the pad\n  Took the jumpsuit off my naked ass and ate the mask\n  You diss me, you wanna be a great that fast?\n  Take a fully-automatic and spray at gas\n  Me? Body a whole shit with a verse probably atrocious\n\n  In your whole camp, nobody focused\n  They say you the Ultimate Warrior, I agree\n  You die and come back, won't nobody notice\n  Drive by, screaming it's a new crew repping\n  Hanging out the window, like it's \"227\"\n  Get 'em up HIGH\n\n  Fatman Scoop: Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n  Get 'em up high, get 'em up high\n  Get 'em up high, in the sky\n  Put 'em up high, put 'em up high\n  Put 'em up high, fingers in the sky\n  Put 'em up! Slaughterhouse, Slaughterhouse\n  Ohh, ohh, Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  Fatman Scoop, Slaughterhouse\n  Put 'em high, woo! Ohh\n"}]