[{"id":16031653,"name":"Rap Phenomenon (Instrumental)","trackName":"Rap Phenomenon (Instrumental)","artistName":"The Notorious B.I.G.","albumName":"Rap Phenomenon","duration":240.28499,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Meth-Tical\nBiggie. Biggie, (mmmhmmmmmm)\n\nUhh. uhh. uhh (yo c'mon Big) uhh\nFuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\nThe prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\nFlooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\nSmack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\nSo I grab it, never run, the outcome\nIs usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\nOr where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n\nLeave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\nThe rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\nIt's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\nIt's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\nBut they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n\nI could chill, the heat doesn't\nRan up in your shell about a dozen\nYou never see bank like Frank White\nYour hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\nYou 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n\nI don't brownnose out of town hoes\nI'm up around four with the crowbar to the five point oh\nI get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\nYou ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\nExplode the pyros when Doc guest appear\nI'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n\nYour time is near, so get your body dropped off\nI stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\nIt's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\nBy the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\nI.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n\nI break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\nThe Doc was born with a grenade palm\nI'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\nYo Biggie, what what, she havin my bay-bayy\nIf I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n\nThis rule is so underrated\nActin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\nAin't no other kings in this rap thing\nBiggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\nThis rule is so underrated\nActin as if it can't happen, you're fronting\nAin't no other kings in this rap thing\nBiggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\nUhh, uhh\nI got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\nY'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\nMotherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\nFuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\nMe and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n\nBought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\nFrom Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\nBitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\nDon't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\nNiggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n\nIn and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\nMake his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\nBlastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\nFrank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\nPlay hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\nSlash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n\nDon't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\nI take these adolescents back to Spofford\nMentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\nThat's infinity, too many sick niggas, nickel nines\nBring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n\nUnnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\nStuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\nUntil they got love for my music\nStar Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\nAnd three charges, I got to see-three-P.O.'s\n\nThis is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\nEyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the war\nThat's my people, sho' nuff, before I roll up\nThis is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\nI rep S.I., the unpretty, word to left eye\n\nNew york shitty, put they weight on it\nAnd who better for the job than biggie the notorious\nJeee-zus, unbelievable rhyme that reaches\nAnd touch individual, small frame buck and change\nMC, what's your name, tuck your chain\n\nAll about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\nKick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\nHot, forcin my way up in the door\nTo kill the bullshit like a matador\nKeep your hands high (what?)","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Rap Phenomenon (Instrumental)\n  artist: The Notorious B.I.G.\n  album: Rap Phenomenon\n  duration_ms: 240285\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Meth-Tical\n  Biggie. Biggie, (mmmhmmmmmm)\n\n  Uhh. uhh. uhh (yo c'mon Big) uhh\n  Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n  The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n  Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n  Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n  So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n  Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n  Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n\n  Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n  The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n  It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n  It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n  But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n\n  I could chill, the heat doesn't\n  Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n  You never see bank like Frank White\n  Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n  You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n\n  I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n  I'm up around four with the crowbar to the five point oh\n  I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n  You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n  Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n  I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n\n  Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n  I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n  It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n  By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n  I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n\n  I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n  The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n  I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n  Yo Biggie, what what, she havin my bay-bayy\n  If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n\n  This rule is so underrated\n  Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\n  Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\n  This rule is so underrated\n  Actin as if it can't happen, you're fronting\n  Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\n  Uhh, uhh\n  I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n  Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n  Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n  Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\n  Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n\n  Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n  From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n  Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n  Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n  Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n\n  In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n  Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n  Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n  Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n  Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n  Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n\n  Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n  I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n  Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n  That's infinity, too many sick niggas, nickel nines\n  Bring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n\n  Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n  Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n  Until they got love for my music\n  Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n  And three charges, I got to see-three-P.O.'s\n\n  This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n  Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the war\n  That's my people, sho' nuff, before I roll up\n  This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n  I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to left eye\n\n  New york shitty, put they weight on it\n  And who better for the job than biggie the notorious\n  Jeee-zus, unbelievable rhyme that reaches\n  And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n  MC, what's your name, tuck your chain\n\n  All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n  Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n  Hot, forcin my way up in the door\n  To kill the bullshit like a matador\n  Keep your hands high (what?)\n"},{"id":16957332,"name":"Rap Phenomenon (Radio) (Feat. Redman & Method Man)","trackName":"Rap Phenomenon (Radio) (Feat. Redman & Method Man)","artistName":"The Notorious B.I.G.","albumName":"Rap Phenomenon","duration":240.540604,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Well, it's the Funk Docta Spock\nMeth-Tical\nBiggie, Biggie\nUh, uh, uh, (yo, c'mon Big), uh\n\nFuck that, I preach it, my .9 reaches (wooh!)\nThe prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\nFlooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\nSmack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\nSo, I grab it, never run, the outcome\nIs usually a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\nOr where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\nLeave most in the blood they layin' in, what, what?\n\nThe rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\nIt's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\nIt's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented (yeah)\nBut they wasn't, so run it, cousin\nI could chill, the heat doesn't (yeah)\nRan up in your shell about a dozen\nYou never see bank like Frank White\nYour hand clutchin', your chest-plate contemplate\nYou 'bout to die (yo), nigga wait, keep yo' hands high (yo, yo)\n\nI don't brownnose out of town hoes\nI'm up around fo' with the crowbar to the five point, oh\nI get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\nYou ass like prime roastin', Calvin Klein clothes\nExplode the pyros when Doc guest appear\nI'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\nYour time is near, so get your body dropped off\nI stopped trustin' niggaz since Gotti got caught\n\nIt's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\nBy the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\nI.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\nI break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\nThe Doc was born with a grenade palm\nI'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\nYo, Biggie (what? What?) She havin' my bay-bay\nIf I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n\nThis rule is so underrated\nActin' as if it can't happen, you're frontin'\nAin't no other kings in this rap thing\nBiggie, a motherfuckin' rap phenomenon\nThis rule is so underrated\nActin' as if it can't happen, you're frontin'\nAin't no other kings in this rap thing\nBiggie, a motherfuckin' rap phenomenon (uh, uh)\n\nI got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\nY'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\nMotherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\nFuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\nMe and my nigga Lance took Kim and Cee's advance\nBought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\nFrom Branson, now we lampin' 12 room mansion\nBitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n\nDon't forget \"One More Chance\" and my other hits, other shit\nNiggaz spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\nIn and out like fuckin' rapidly, pass the gat to me\nMake his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin' blasphemy\nBlastin' me, your family, rest in coffins often\nFrank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\nPlay hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\nSlash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer (now, now)\n\nDon't approach me with that rah-rah shit, you out of pocket\nI take these adolescents back to Spofford\nMentally my energy is like a figure eight, on it's side\nThat's infinity, too many sick niggaz, nickel nines\nBring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\nUnnecessary roughness, career endin' injuries for suckers\nStuck on stupid, shoot 'em with a dart like Cupid\nUntil they got love for my music\n\nStar Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\nAnd three charges, I got to \"See-three-P.O.'s\"\nThis is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\nEyeball blower with no equal, niggaz swingin' swords in the war\nThat's my people, sho' nuff, befo' I roll up\nThis is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\nI rep S.I., the unpretty, word to Left Eye\nNew York Shitty, put they weight on it\n\nAnd who better for the job than Biggie? The Notorious\nJeee-zus, \"Unbelievable\" rhyme that reaches\nAnd touch individual, small frame buck and change\nMC, What's-Your-Name, tuck your chain\nAll about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin'\nKick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin'\nHot, forcin' my way up in the door to kill the bullshit like a matador\nKeep your hands high (what?)","syncedLyrics":"[00:00.17] Well, it's the Funk Docta Spock\n[00:02.32] Meth-Tical\n[00:03.47] Biggie, Biggie\n[00:06.80] Uh, uh, uh, (yo, c'mon Big), uh\n[00:11.67] Fuck that, I preach it, my .9 reaches (wooh!)\n[00:14.43] The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n[00:17.16] Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n[00:20.06] Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n[00:23.01] So, I grab it, never run, the outcome\n[00:25.79] Is usually a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n[00:28.53] Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n[00:30.92] Leave most in the blood they layin' in, what, what?\n[00:34.07] The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n[00:36.73] It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n[00:39.53] It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented (yeah)\n[00:42.34] But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n[00:44.63] I could chill, the heat doesn't (yeah)\n[00:46.69] Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n[00:48.59] You never see bank like Frank White\n[00:50.89] Your hand clutchin', your chest-plate contemplate\n[00:53.16] You 'bout to die (yo), nigga wait, keep yo' hands high (yo, yo)\n[00:55.96] I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n[00:58.33] I'm up around fo' with the crowbar to the five point, oh\n[01:01.74] I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n[01:04.34] You ass like prime roastin', Calvin Klein clothes\n[01:07.52] Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n[01:10.27] I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n[01:12.88] Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n[01:15.60] I stopped trustin' niggaz since Gotti got caught\n[01:18.44] It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n[01:21.20] By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n[01:24.27] I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n[01:27.16] I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n[01:30.07] The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n[01:32.07] I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n[01:35.03] Yo, Biggie (what? What?) She havin' my bay-bay\n[01:38.00] If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n[01:41.53] This rule is so underrated\n[01:43.60] Actin' as if it can't happen, you're frontin'\n[01:46.42] Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n[01:49.13] Biggie, a motherfuckin' rap phenomenon\n[01:52.55] This rule is so underrated\n[01:54.64] Actin' as if it can't happen, you're frontin'\n[01:57.41] Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n[02:00.27] Biggie, a motherfuckin' rap phenomenon (uh, uh)\n[02:02.78] I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n[02:05.46] Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n[02:08.59] Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n[02:11.57] Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\n[02:14.05] Me and my nigga Lance took Kim and Cee's advance\n[02:16.98] Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n[02:19.45] From Branson, now we lampin' 12 room mansion\n[02:22.42] Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n[02:25.02] Don't forget \"One More Chance\" and my other hits, other shit\n[02:28.08] Niggaz spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n[02:30.78] In and out like fuckin' rapidly, pass the gat to me\n[02:33.54] Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin' blasphemy\n[02:36.67] Blastin' me, your family, rest in coffins often\n[02:39.55] Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n[02:41.35] Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n[02:45.80] Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer (now, now)\n[02:47.36] Don't approach me with that rah-rah shit, you out of pocket\n[02:50.01] I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n[02:52.47] Mentally my energy is like a figure eight, on it's side\n[02:55.43] That's infinity, too many sick niggaz, nickel nines\n[02:58.38] Bring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n[03:01.11] Unnecessary roughness, career endin' injuries for suckers\n[03:04.74] Stuck on stupid, shoot 'em with a dart like Cupid\n[03:07.62] Until they got love for my music\n[03:09.91] Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n[03:12.56] And three charges, I got to \"See-three-P.O.'s\"\n[03:15.26] This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n[03:17.35] Eyeball blower with no equal, niggaz swingin' swords in the war\n[03:21.31] That's my people, sho' nuff, befo' I roll up\n[03:23.67] This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n[03:26.62] I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to Left Eye\n[03:29.69] New York Shitty, put they weight on it\n[03:31.03] And who better for the job than Biggie? The Notorious\n[03:34.42] Jeee-zus, \"Unbelievable\" rhyme that reaches\n[03:37.47] And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n[03:40.29] MC, What's-Your-Name, tuck your chain\n[03:42.50] All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin'\n[03:46.11] Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin'\n[03:48.82] Hot, forcin' my way up in the door to kill the bullshit like a matador\n[03:53.52] Keep your hands high (what?)\n[03:55.00] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Rap Phenomenon (Radio) (Feat. Redman & Method Man)\n  artist: The Notorious B.I.G.\n  album: Rap Phenomenon\n  duration_ms: 240541\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Well, it's the Funk Docta Spock\n  start_ms: 170\n  end_ms: 2320\n- text: Meth-Tical\n  start_ms: 2320\n  end_ms: 3470\n- text: Biggie, Biggie\n  start_ms: 3470\n  end_ms: 6800\n- text: Uh, uh, uh, (yo, c'mon Big), uh\n  start_ms: 6800\n  end_ms: 11670\n- text: Fuck that, I preach it, my .9 reaches (wooh!)\n  start_ms: 11670\n  end_ms: 14430\n- text: The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n  start_ms: 14430\n  end_ms: 17160\n- text: Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n  start_ms: 17160\n  end_ms: 20060\n- text: Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n  start_ms: 20060\n  end_ms: 23010\n- text: So, I grab it, never run, the outcome\n  start_ms: 23010\n  end_ms: 25790\n- text: Is usually a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n  start_ms: 25790\n  end_ms: 28530\n- text: Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n  start_ms: 28530\n  end_ms: 30920\n- text: Leave most in the blood they layin' in, what, what?\n  start_ms: 30920\n  end_ms: 34070\n- text: The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n  start_ms: 34070\n  end_ms: 36730\n- text: It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n  start_ms: 36730\n  end_ms: 39530\n- text: It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented (yeah)\n  start_ms: 39530\n  end_ms: 42340\n- text: But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n  start_ms: 42340\n  end_ms: 44630\n- text: I could chill, the heat doesn't (yeah)\n  start_ms: 44630\n  end_ms: 46690\n- text: Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n  start_ms: 46690\n  end_ms: 48590\n- text: You never see bank like Frank White\n  start_ms: 48590\n  end_ms: 50890\n- text: Your hand clutchin', your chest-plate contemplate\n  start_ms: 50890\n  end_ms: 53160\n- text: You 'bout to die (yo), nigga wait, keep yo' hands high (yo, yo)\n  start_ms: 53160\n  end_ms: 55960\n- text: I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n  start_ms: 55960\n  end_ms: 58330\n- text: I'm up around fo' with the crowbar to the five point, oh\n  start_ms: 58330\n  end_ms: 61740\n- text: I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n  start_ms: 61740\n  end_ms: 64340\n- text: You ass like prime roastin', Calvin Klein clothes\n  start_ms: 64340\n  end_ms: 67520\n- text: Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n  start_ms: 67520\n  end_ms: 70270\n- text: I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n  start_ms: 70270\n  end_ms: 72880\n- text: Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n  start_ms: 72880\n  end_ms: 75600\n- text: I stopped trustin' niggaz since Gotti got caught\n  start_ms: 75600\n  end_ms: 78440\n- text: It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n  start_ms: 78440\n  end_ms: 81200\n- text: By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n  start_ms: 81200\n  end_ms: 84270\n- text: I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n  start_ms: 84270\n  end_ms: 87160\n- text: I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n  start_ms: 87160\n  end_ms: 90070\n- text: The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n  start_ms: 90070\n  end_ms: 92070\n- text: I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n  start_ms: 92070\n  end_ms: 95030\n- text: Yo, Biggie (what? What?) She havin' my bay-bay\n  start_ms: 95030\n  end_ms: 98000\n- text: If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n  start_ms: 98000\n  end_ms: 101530\n- text: This rule is so underrated\n  start_ms: 101530\n  end_ms: 103600\n- text: Actin' as if it can't happen, you're frontin'\n  start_ms: 103600\n  end_ms: 106420\n- text: Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  start_ms: 106420\n  end_ms: 109130\n- text: Biggie, a motherfuckin' rap phenomenon\n  start_ms: 109130\n  end_ms: 112550\n- text: This rule is so underrated\n  start_ms: 112550\n  end_ms: 114640\n- text: Actin' as if it can't happen, you're frontin'\n  start_ms: 114640\n  end_ms: 117410\n- text: Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  start_ms: 117410\n  end_ms: 120270\n- text: Biggie, a motherfuckin' rap phenomenon (uh, uh)\n  start_ms: 120270\n  end_ms: 122780\n- text: I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n  start_ms: 122780\n  end_ms: 125460\n- text: Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n  start_ms: 125460\n  end_ms: 128590\n- text: Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n  start_ms: 128590\n  end_ms: 131570\n- text: Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\n  start_ms: 131570\n  end_ms: 134050\n- text: Me and my nigga Lance took Kim and Cee's advance\n  start_ms: 134050\n  end_ms: 136980\n- text: Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n  start_ms: 136980\n  end_ms: 139450\n- text: From Branson, now we lampin' 12 room mansion\n  start_ms: 139450\n  end_ms: 142420\n- text: Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n  start_ms: 142420\n  end_ms: 145020\n- text: Don't forget \"One More Chance\" and my other hits, other shit\n  start_ms: 145020\n  end_ms: 148080\n- text: Niggaz spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n  start_ms: 148080\n  end_ms: 150780\n- text: In and out like fuckin' rapidly, pass the gat to me\n  start_ms: 150780\n  end_ms: 153540\n- text: Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin' blasphemy\n  start_ms: 153540\n  end_ms: 156670\n- text: Blastin' me, your family, rest in coffins often\n  start_ms: 156670\n  end_ms: 159550\n- text: Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n  start_ms: 159550\n  end_ms: 161350\n- text: Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n  start_ms: 161350\n  end_ms: 165800\n- text: Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer (now, now)\n  start_ms: 165800\n  end_ms: 167360\n- text: Don't approach me with that rah-rah shit, you out of pocket\n  start_ms: 167360\n  end_ms: 170010\n- text: I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n  start_ms: 170010\n  end_ms: 172470\n- text: Mentally my energy is like a figure eight, on it's side\n  start_ms: 172470\n  end_ms: 175430\n- text: That's infinity, too many sick niggaz, nickel nines\n  start_ms: 175430\n  end_ms: 178380\n- text: Bring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n  start_ms: 178380\n  end_ms: 181110\n- text: Unnecessary roughness, career endin' injuries for suckers\n  start_ms: 181110\n  end_ms: 184740\n- text: Stuck on stupid, shoot 'em with a dart like Cupid\n  start_ms: 184740\n  end_ms: 187620\n- text: Until they got love for my music\n  start_ms: 187620\n  end_ms: 189910\n- text: Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n  start_ms: 189910\n  end_ms: 192560\n- text: And three charges, I got to \"See-three-P.O.'s\"\n  start_ms: 192560\n  end_ms: 195260\n- text: This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n  start_ms: 195260\n  end_ms: 197350\n- text: Eyeball blower with no equal, niggaz swingin' swords in the war\n  start_ms: 197350\n  end_ms: 201310\n- text: That's my people, sho' nuff, befo' I roll up\n  start_ms: 201310\n  end_ms: 203670\n- text: This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n  start_ms: 203670\n  end_ms: 206620\n- text: I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to Left Eye\n  start_ms: 206620\n  end_ms: 209690\n- text: New York Shitty, put they weight on it\n  start_ms: 209690\n  end_ms: 211030\n- text: And who better for the job than Biggie? The Notorious\n  start_ms: 211030\n  end_ms: 214420\n- text: Jeee-zus, \"Unbelievable\" rhyme that reaches\n  start_ms: 214420\n  end_ms: 217470\n- text: And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n  start_ms: 217470\n  end_ms: 220290\n- text: MC, What's-Your-Name, tuck your chain\n  start_ms: 220290\n  end_ms: 222500\n- text: All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin'\n  start_ms: 222500\n  end_ms: 226110\n- text: Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin'\n  start_ms: 226110\n  end_ms: 228820\n- text: Hot, forcin' my way up in the door to kill the bullshit like a matador\n  start_ms: 228820\n  end_ms: 233520\n- text: Keep your hands high (what?)\n  start_ms: 233520\n  end_ms: 235000\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 235000\nplain: |-\n  Well, it's the Funk Docta Spock\n  Meth-Tical\n  Biggie, Biggie\n  Uh, uh, uh, (yo, c'mon Big), uh\n\n  Fuck that, I preach it, my .9 reaches (wooh!)\n  The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n  Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n  Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n  So, I grab it, never run, the outcome\n  Is usually a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n  Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n  Leave most in the blood they layin' in, what, what?\n\n  The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n  It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n  It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented (yeah)\n  But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n  I could chill, the heat doesn't (yeah)\n  Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n  You never see bank like Frank White\n  Your hand clutchin', your chest-plate contemplate\n  You 'bout to die (yo), nigga wait, keep yo' hands high (yo, yo)\n\n  I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n  I'm up around fo' with the crowbar to the five point, oh\n  I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n  You ass like prime roastin', Calvin Klein clothes\n  Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n  I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n  Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n  I stopped trustin' niggaz since Gotti got caught\n\n  It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n  By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n  I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n  I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n  The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n  I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n  Yo, Biggie (what? What?) She havin' my bay-bay\n  If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n\n  This rule is so underrated\n  Actin' as if it can't happen, you're frontin'\n  Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  Biggie, a motherfuckin' rap phenomenon\n  This rule is so underrated\n  Actin' as if it can't happen, you're frontin'\n  Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  Biggie, a motherfuckin' rap phenomenon (uh, uh)\n\n  I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n  Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n  Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n  Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\n  Me and my nigga Lance took Kim and Cee's advance\n  Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n  From Branson, now we lampin' 12 room mansion\n  Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n\n  Don't forget \"One More Chance\" and my other hits, other shit\n  Niggaz spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n  In and out like fuckin' rapidly, pass the gat to me\n  Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin' blasphemy\n  Blastin' me, your family, rest in coffins often\n  Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n  Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n  Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer (now, now)\n\n  Don't approach me with that rah-rah shit, you out of pocket\n  I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n  Mentally my energy is like a figure eight, on it's side\n  That's infinity, too many sick niggaz, nickel nines\n  Bring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n  Unnecessary roughness, career endin' injuries for suckers\n  Stuck on stupid, shoot 'em with a dart like Cupid\n  Until they got love for my music\n\n  Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n  And three charges, I got to \"See-three-P.O.'s\"\n  This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n  Eyeball blower with no equal, niggaz swingin' swords in the war\n  That's my people, sho' nuff, befo' I roll up\n  This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n  I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to Left Eye\n  New York Shitty, put they weight on it\n\n  And who better for the job than Biggie? The Notorious\n  Jeee-zus, \"Unbelievable\" rhyme that reaches\n  And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n  MC, What's-Your-Name, tuck your chain\n  All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin'\n  Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin'\n  Hot, forcin' my way up in the door to kill the bullshit like a matador\n  Keep your hands high (what?)\n"},{"id":16978139,"name":"Rap Phenomenon (Club Mix) (Feat. Redman & Method Man)","trackName":"Rap Phenomenon (Club Mix) (Feat. Redman & Method Man)","artistName":"The Notorious B.I.G.","albumName":"Rap Phenomenon","duration":241.266219,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Well, it's the Funk Docta Spock\nMeth-Tical\nBiggie, Biggie\nUh, uh, uh, (yo, c'mon Big), uh\n\nFuck that, I preach it, my .9 reaches (wooh!)\nThe prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\nFlooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\nSmack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\nSo, I grab it, never run, the outcome\nIs usually a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\nOr where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\nLeave most in the blood they layin' in, what, what?\n\nThe rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\nIt's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\nIt's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented (yeah)\nBut they wasn't, so run it, cousin\nI could chill, the heat doesn't (yeah)\nRan up in your shell about a dozen\nYou never see bank like Frank White\nYour hand clutchin', your chest-plate contemplate\nYou 'bout to die (yo), nigga wait, keep yo' hands high (yo, yo)\n\nI don't brownnose out of town hoes\nI'm up around fo' with the crowbar to the five point, oh\nI get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\nYou ass like prime roastin', Calvin Klein clothes\nExplode the pyros when Doc guest appear\nI'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\nYour time is near, so get your body dropped off\nI stopped trustin' niggaz since Gotti got caught\n\nIt's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\nBy the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\nI.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\nI break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\nThe Doc was born with a grenade palm\nI'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\nYo, Biggie (what? What?) She havin' my bay-bay\nIf I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n\nThis rule is so underrated\nActin' as if it can't happen, you're frontin'\nAin't no other kings in this rap thing\nBiggie, a motherfuckin' rap phenomenon\nThis rule is so underrated\nActin' as if it can't happen, you're frontin'\nAin't no other kings in this rap thing\nBiggie, a motherfuckin' rap phenomenon (uh, uh)\n\nI got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\nY'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\nMotherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\nFuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\nMe and my nigga Lance took Kim and Cee's advance\nBought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\nFrom Branson, now we lampin' 12 room mansion\nBitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n\nDon't forget \"One More Chance\" and my other hits, other shit\nNiggaz spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\nIn and out like fuckin' rapidly, pass the gat to me\nMake his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin' blasphemy\nBlastin' me, your family, rest in coffins often\nFrank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\nPlay hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\nSlash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer (now, now)\n\nDon't approach me with that rah-rah shit, you out of pocket\nI take these adolescents back to Spofford\nMentally my energy is like a figure eight, on it's side\nThat's infinity, too many sick niggaz, nickel nines\nBring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\nUnnecessary roughness, career endin' injuries for suckers\nStuck on stupid, shoot 'em with a dart like Cupid\nUntil they got love for my music\n\nStar Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\nAnd three charges, I got to \"See-three-P.O.'s\"\nThis is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\nEyeball blower with no equal, niggaz swingin' swords in the war\nThat's my people, sho' nuff, befo' I roll up\nThis is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\nI rep S.I., the unpretty, word to Left Eye\nNew York Shitty, put they weight on it\n\nAnd who better for the job than Biggie? The Notorious\nJeee-zus, \"Unbelievable\" rhyme that reaches\nAnd touch individual, small frame buck and change\nMC, What's-Your-Name, tuck your chain\nAll about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin'\nKick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin'\nHot, forcin' my way up in the door to kill the bullshit like a matador\nKeep your hands high (what?)","syncedLyrics":"[00:00.17] Well, it's the Funk Docta Spock\n[00:02.32] Meth-Tical\n[00:03.47] Biggie, Biggie\n[00:06.80] Uh, uh, uh, (yo, c'mon Big), uh\n[00:11.67] Fuck that, I preach it, my .9 reaches (wooh!)\n[00:14.43] The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n[00:17.16] Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n[00:20.06] Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n[00:23.01] So, I grab it, never run, the outcome\n[00:25.79] Is usually a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n[00:28.53] Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n[00:30.92] Leave most in the blood they layin' in, what, what?\n[00:34.07] The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n[00:36.73] It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n[00:39.53] It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented (yeah)\n[00:42.34] But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n[00:44.63] I could chill, the heat doesn't (yeah)\n[00:46.69] Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n[00:48.59] You never see bank like Frank White\n[00:50.89] Your hand clutchin', your chest-plate contemplate\n[00:53.16] You 'bout to die (yo), nigga wait, keep yo' hands high (yo, yo)\n[00:55.96] I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n[00:58.33] I'm up around fo' with the crowbar to the five point, oh\n[01:01.74] I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n[01:04.34] You ass like prime roastin', Calvin Klein clothes\n[01:07.52] Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n[01:10.27] I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n[01:12.88] Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n[01:15.60] I stopped trustin' niggaz since Gotti got caught\n[01:18.44] It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n[01:21.20] By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n[01:24.27] I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n[01:27.16] I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n[01:30.07] The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n[01:32.07] I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n[01:35.03] Yo, Biggie (what? What?) She havin' my bay-bay\n[01:38.00] If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n[01:41.53] This rule is so underrated\n[01:43.60] Actin' as if it can't happen, you're frontin'\n[01:46.42] Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n[01:49.13] Biggie, a motherfuckin' rap phenomenon\n[01:52.55] This rule is so underrated\n[01:54.64] Actin' as if it can't happen, you're frontin'\n[01:57.41] Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n[02:00.27] Biggie, a motherfuckin' rap phenomenon (uh, uh)\n[02:02.78] I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n[02:05.46] Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n[02:08.59] Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n[02:11.57] Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\n[02:14.05] Me and my nigga Lance took Kim and Cee's advance\n[02:16.98] Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n[02:19.45] From Branson, now we lampin' 12 room mansion\n[02:22.42] Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n[02:25.02] Don't forget \"One More Chance\" and my other hits, other shit\n[02:28.08] Niggaz spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n[02:30.78] In and out like fuckin' rapidly, pass the gat to me\n[02:33.54] Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin' blasphemy\n[02:36.67] Blastin' me, your family, rest in coffins often\n[02:39.55] Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n[02:41.35] Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n[02:45.80] Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer (now, now)\n[02:47.36] Don't approach me with that rah-rah shit, you out of pocket\n[02:50.01] I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n[02:52.47] Mentally my energy is like a figure eight, on it's side\n[02:55.43] That's infinity, too many sick niggaz, nickel nines\n[02:58.38] Bring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n[03:01.11] Unnecessary roughness, career endin' injuries for suckers\n[03:04.74] Stuck on stupid, shoot 'em with a dart like Cupid\n[03:07.62] Until they got love for my music\n[03:09.91] Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n[03:12.56] And three charges, I got to \"See-three-P.O.'s\"\n[03:15.26] This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n[03:17.35] Eyeball blower with no equal, niggaz swingin' swords in the war\n[03:21.31] That's my people, sho' nuff, befo' I roll up\n[03:23.67] This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n[03:26.62] I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to Left Eye\n[03:29.69] New York Shitty, put they weight on it\n[03:31.03] And who better for the job than Biggie? The Notorious\n[03:34.42] Jeee-zus, \"Unbelievable\" rhyme that reaches\n[03:37.47] And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n[03:40.29] MC, What's-Your-Name, tuck your chain\n[03:42.50] All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin'\n[03:46.11] Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin'\n[03:48.82] Hot, forcin' my way up in the door to kill the bullshit like a matador\n[03:53.52] Keep your hands high (what?)\n[03:55.00] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Rap Phenomenon (Club Mix) (Feat. Redman & Method Man)\n  artist: The Notorious B.I.G.\n  album: Rap Phenomenon\n  duration_ms: 241266\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Well, it's the Funk Docta Spock\n  start_ms: 170\n  end_ms: 2320\n- text: Meth-Tical\n  start_ms: 2320\n  end_ms: 3470\n- text: Biggie, Biggie\n  start_ms: 3470\n  end_ms: 6800\n- text: Uh, uh, uh, (yo, c'mon Big), uh\n  start_ms: 6800\n  end_ms: 11670\n- text: Fuck that, I preach it, my .9 reaches (wooh!)\n  start_ms: 11670\n  end_ms: 14430\n- text: The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n  start_ms: 14430\n  end_ms: 17160\n- text: Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n  start_ms: 17160\n  end_ms: 20060\n- text: Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n  start_ms: 20060\n  end_ms: 23010\n- text: So, I grab it, never run, the outcome\n  start_ms: 23010\n  end_ms: 25790\n- text: Is usually a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n  start_ms: 25790\n  end_ms: 28530\n- text: Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n  start_ms: 28530\n  end_ms: 30920\n- text: Leave most in the blood they layin' in, what, what?\n  start_ms: 30920\n  end_ms: 34070\n- text: The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n  start_ms: 34070\n  end_ms: 36730\n- text: It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n  start_ms: 36730\n  end_ms: 39530\n- text: It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented (yeah)\n  start_ms: 39530\n  end_ms: 42340\n- text: But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n  start_ms: 42340\n  end_ms: 44630\n- text: I could chill, the heat doesn't (yeah)\n  start_ms: 44630\n  end_ms: 46690\n- text: Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n  start_ms: 46690\n  end_ms: 48590\n- text: You never see bank like Frank White\n  start_ms: 48590\n  end_ms: 50890\n- text: Your hand clutchin', your chest-plate contemplate\n  start_ms: 50890\n  end_ms: 53160\n- text: You 'bout to die (yo), nigga wait, keep yo' hands high (yo, yo)\n  start_ms: 53160\n  end_ms: 55960\n- text: I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n  start_ms: 55960\n  end_ms: 58330\n- text: I'm up around fo' with the crowbar to the five point, oh\n  start_ms: 58330\n  end_ms: 61740\n- text: I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n  start_ms: 61740\n  end_ms: 64340\n- text: You ass like prime roastin', Calvin Klein clothes\n  start_ms: 64340\n  end_ms: 67520\n- text: Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n  start_ms: 67520\n  end_ms: 70270\n- text: I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n  start_ms: 70270\n  end_ms: 72880\n- text: Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n  start_ms: 72880\n  end_ms: 75600\n- text: I stopped trustin' niggaz since Gotti got caught\n  start_ms: 75600\n  end_ms: 78440\n- text: It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n  start_ms: 78440\n  end_ms: 81200\n- text: By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n  start_ms: 81200\n  end_ms: 84270\n- text: I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n  start_ms: 84270\n  end_ms: 87160\n- text: I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n  start_ms: 87160\n  end_ms: 90070\n- text: The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n  start_ms: 90070\n  end_ms: 92070\n- text: I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n  start_ms: 92070\n  end_ms: 95030\n- text: Yo, Biggie (what? What?) She havin' my bay-bay\n  start_ms: 95030\n  end_ms: 98000\n- text: If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n  start_ms: 98000\n  end_ms: 101530\n- text: This rule is so underrated\n  start_ms: 101530\n  end_ms: 103600\n- text: Actin' as if it can't happen, you're frontin'\n  start_ms: 103600\n  end_ms: 106420\n- text: Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  start_ms: 106420\n  end_ms: 109130\n- text: Biggie, a motherfuckin' rap phenomenon\n  start_ms: 109130\n  end_ms: 112550\n- text: This rule is so underrated\n  start_ms: 112550\n  end_ms: 114640\n- text: Actin' as if it can't happen, you're frontin'\n  start_ms: 114640\n  end_ms: 117410\n- text: Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  start_ms: 117410\n  end_ms: 120270\n- text: Biggie, a motherfuckin' rap phenomenon (uh, uh)\n  start_ms: 120270\n  end_ms: 122780\n- text: I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n  start_ms: 122780\n  end_ms: 125460\n- text: Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n  start_ms: 125460\n  end_ms: 128590\n- text: Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n  start_ms: 128590\n  end_ms: 131570\n- text: Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\n  start_ms: 131570\n  end_ms: 134050\n- text: Me and my nigga Lance took Kim and Cee's advance\n  start_ms: 134050\n  end_ms: 136980\n- text: Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n  start_ms: 136980\n  end_ms: 139450\n- text: From Branson, now we lampin' 12 room mansion\n  start_ms: 139450\n  end_ms: 142420\n- text: Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n  start_ms: 142420\n  end_ms: 145020\n- text: Don't forget \"One More Chance\" and my other hits, other shit\n  start_ms: 145020\n  end_ms: 148080\n- text: Niggaz spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n  start_ms: 148080\n  end_ms: 150780\n- text: In and out like fuckin' rapidly, pass the gat to me\n  start_ms: 150780\n  end_ms: 153540\n- text: Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin' blasphemy\n  start_ms: 153540\n  end_ms: 156670\n- text: Blastin' me, your family, rest in coffins often\n  start_ms: 156670\n  end_ms: 159550\n- text: Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n  start_ms: 159550\n  end_ms: 161350\n- text: Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n  start_ms: 161350\n  end_ms: 165800\n- text: Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer (now, now)\n  start_ms: 165800\n  end_ms: 167360\n- text: Don't approach me with that rah-rah shit, you out of pocket\n  start_ms: 167360\n  end_ms: 170010\n- text: I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n  start_ms: 170010\n  end_ms: 172470\n- text: Mentally my energy is like a figure eight, on it's side\n  start_ms: 172470\n  end_ms: 175430\n- text: That's infinity, too many sick niggaz, nickel nines\n  start_ms: 175430\n  end_ms: 178380\n- text: Bring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n  start_ms: 178380\n  end_ms: 181110\n- text: Unnecessary roughness, career endin' injuries for suckers\n  start_ms: 181110\n  end_ms: 184740\n- text: Stuck on stupid, shoot 'em with a dart like Cupid\n  start_ms: 184740\n  end_ms: 187620\n- text: Until they got love for my music\n  start_ms: 187620\n  end_ms: 189910\n- text: Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n  start_ms: 189910\n  end_ms: 192560\n- text: And three charges, I got to \"See-three-P.O.'s\"\n  start_ms: 192560\n  end_ms: 195260\n- text: This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n  start_ms: 195260\n  end_ms: 197350\n- text: Eyeball blower with no equal, niggaz swingin' swords in the war\n  start_ms: 197350\n  end_ms: 201310\n- text: That's my people, sho' nuff, befo' I roll up\n  start_ms: 201310\n  end_ms: 203670\n- text: This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n  start_ms: 203670\n  end_ms: 206620\n- text: I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to Left Eye\n  start_ms: 206620\n  end_ms: 209690\n- text: New York Shitty, put they weight on it\n  start_ms: 209690\n  end_ms: 211030\n- text: And who better for the job than Biggie? The Notorious\n  start_ms: 211030\n  end_ms: 214420\n- text: Jeee-zus, \"Unbelievable\" rhyme that reaches\n  start_ms: 214420\n  end_ms: 217470\n- text: And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n  start_ms: 217470\n  end_ms: 220290\n- text: MC, What's-Your-Name, tuck your chain\n  start_ms: 220290\n  end_ms: 222500\n- text: All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin'\n  start_ms: 222500\n  end_ms: 226110\n- text: Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin'\n  start_ms: 226110\n  end_ms: 228820\n- text: Hot, forcin' my way up in the door to kill the bullshit like a matador\n  start_ms: 228820\n  end_ms: 233520\n- text: Keep your hands high (what?)\n  start_ms: 233520\n  end_ms: 235000\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 235000\nplain: |-\n  Well, it's the Funk Docta Spock\n  Meth-Tical\n  Biggie, Biggie\n  Uh, uh, uh, (yo, c'mon Big), uh\n\n  Fuck that, I preach it, my .9 reaches (wooh!)\n  The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n  Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n  Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n  So, I grab it, never run, the outcome\n  Is usually a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n  Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n  Leave most in the blood they layin' in, what, what?\n\n  The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n  It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n  It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented (yeah)\n  But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n  I could chill, the heat doesn't (yeah)\n  Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n  You never see bank like Frank White\n  Your hand clutchin', your chest-plate contemplate\n  You 'bout to die (yo), nigga wait, keep yo' hands high (yo, yo)\n\n  I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n  I'm up around fo' with the crowbar to the five point, oh\n  I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n  You ass like prime roastin', Calvin Klein clothes\n  Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n  I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n  Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n  I stopped trustin' niggaz since Gotti got caught\n\n  It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n  By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n  I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n  I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n  The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n  I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n  Yo, Biggie (what? What?) She havin' my bay-bay\n  If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n\n  This rule is so underrated\n  Actin' as if it can't happen, you're frontin'\n  Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  Biggie, a motherfuckin' rap phenomenon\n  This rule is so underrated\n  Actin' as if it can't happen, you're frontin'\n  Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  Biggie, a motherfuckin' rap phenomenon (uh, uh)\n\n  I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n  Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n  Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n  Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\n  Me and my nigga Lance took Kim and Cee's advance\n  Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n  From Branson, now we lampin' 12 room mansion\n  Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n\n  Don't forget \"One More Chance\" and my other hits, other shit\n  Niggaz spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n  In and out like fuckin' rapidly, pass the gat to me\n  Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin' blasphemy\n  Blastin' me, your family, rest in coffins often\n  Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n  Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n  Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer (now, now)\n\n  Don't approach me with that rah-rah shit, you out of pocket\n  I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n  Mentally my energy is like a figure eight, on it's side\n  That's infinity, too many sick niggaz, nickel nines\n  Bring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n  Unnecessary roughness, career endin' injuries for suckers\n  Stuck on stupid, shoot 'em with a dart like Cupid\n  Until they got love for my music\n\n  Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n  And three charges, I got to \"See-three-P.O.'s\"\n  This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n  Eyeball blower with no equal, niggaz swingin' swords in the war\n  That's my people, sho' nuff, befo' I roll up\n  This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n  I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to Left Eye\n  New York Shitty, put they weight on it\n\n  And who better for the job than Biggie? The Notorious\n  Jeee-zus, \"Unbelievable\" rhyme that reaches\n  And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n  MC, What's-Your-Name, tuck your chain\n  All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin'\n  Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin'\n  Hot, forcin' my way up in the door to kill the bullshit like a matador\n  Keep your hands high (what?)\n"},{"id":12665147,"name":"11. The Notorious B.I.G. - Rap Phenomenon","trackName":"11. The Notorious B.I.G. - Rap Phenomenon","artistName":"The Notorious B.I.G.","albumName":"Born Again","duration":242.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Meth-Tical\nBiggie. Biggie, (mmmhmmmmmm)\n\nUhh. uhh. uhh (yo c'mon Big) uhh\nFuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\nThe prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\nFlooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\nSmack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\nSo I grab it, never run, the outcome\nIs usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\nOr where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n\nLeave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\nThe rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\nIt's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\nIt's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\nBut they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n\nI could chill, the heat doesn't\nRan up in your shell about a dozen\nYou never see bank like Frank White\nYour hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\nYou 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n\nI don't brownnose out of town hoes\nI'm up around four with the crowbar to the five point oh\nI get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\nYou ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\nExplode the pyros when Doc guest appear\nI'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n\nYour time is near, so get your body dropped off\nI stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\nIt's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\nBy the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\nI.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n\nI break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\nThe Doc was born with a grenade palm\nI'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\nYo Biggie, what what, she havin my bay-bayy\nIf I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n\nThis rule is so underrated\nActin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\nAin't no other kings in this rap thing\nBiggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\nThis rule is so underrated\nActin as if it can't happen, you're fronting\nAin't no other kings in this rap thing\nBiggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\nUhh, uhh\nI got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\nY'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\nMotherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\nFuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\nMe and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n\nBought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\nFrom Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\nBitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\nDon't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\nNiggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n\nIn and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\nMake his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\nBlastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\nFrank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\nPlay hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\nSlash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n\nDon't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\nI take these adolescents back to Spofford\nMentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\nThat's infinity, too many sick niggas, nickel nines\nBring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n\nUnnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\nStuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\nUntil they got love for my music\nStar Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\nAnd three charges, I got to see-three-P.O.'s\n\nThis is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\nEyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the war\nThat's my people, sho' nuff, before I roll up\nThis is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\nI rep S.I., the unpretty, word to left eye\n\nNew york shitty, put they weight on it\nAnd who better for the job than biggie the notorious\nJeee-zus, unbelievable rhyme that reaches\nAnd touch individual, small frame buck and change\nMC, what's your name, tuck your chain\n\nAll about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\nKick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\nHot, forcin my way up in the door\nTo kill the bullshit like a matador\nKeep your hands high (what?)","syncedLyrics":"[00:01.96] Meth-Tical\n[00:03.45] Biggie. Biggie, (mmmhmmmmmm)\n[00:05.94] Uhh. uhh. uhh (yo c'mon Big) uhh\n[00:11.20] Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n[00:14.36] The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n[00:16.71] Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n[00:19.17] Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n[00:22.03] So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n[00:25.38] Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n[00:28.21] Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n[00:31.04] Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n[00:33.82] The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n[00:36.42] It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n[00:38.86] It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n[00:42.26] But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n[00:44.55] I could chill, the heat doesn't\n[00:46.81] Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n[00:48.27] You never see bank like Frank White\n[00:50.02] Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n[00:52.99] You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n[00:55.93] I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n[00:57.62] I'm up around four with the crowbar to the five point oh\n[01:01.27] I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n[01:04.09] You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n[01:07.10] Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n[01:09.61] I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n[01:12.72] Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n[01:15.23] I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n[01:18.00] It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n[01:21.09] By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n[01:23.46] I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n[01:26.46] I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n[01:29.44] The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n[01:31.71] I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n[01:34.57] Yo Biggie, what what, she havin my bay-bayy\n[01:37.41] If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n[01:40.12] This rule is so underrated\n[01:43.34] Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\n[01:45.64] Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n[01:48.31] Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n[01:52.45] This rule is so underrated\n[01:54.58] Actin as if it can't happen, you're fronting\n[01:57.13] Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n[01:59.56] Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n[02:02.05] Uhh, uhh\n[02:03.09] I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n[02:04.92] Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n[02:07.76] Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n[02:10.77] Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\n[02:13.85] Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n[02:16.46] Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n[02:19.10] From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n[02:22.07] Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n[02:24.64] Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n[02:27.40] Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n[02:30.27] In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n[02:33.05] Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n[02:35.92] Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n[02:38.80] Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n[02:41.45] Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n[02:44.11] Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n[02:47.27] Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n[02:49.91] I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n[02:52.36] Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n[02:55.28] That's infinity, too many sick niggas, nickel nines\n[02:58.19] Bring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n[03:01.37] Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n[03:04.00] Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n[03:06.93] Until they got love for my music\n[03:09.81] Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n[03:12.11] And three charges, I got to see-three-P.O.'s\n[03:14.58] This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n[03:17.20] Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the war\n[03:20.35] That's my people, sho' nuff, before I roll up\n[03:23.25] This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n[03:25.95] I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to left eye\n[03:29.15] New york shitty, put they weight on it\n[03:31.28] And who better for the job than biggie the notorious\n[03:33.92] Jeee-zus, unbelievable rhyme that reaches\n[03:37.12] And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n[03:40.53] MC, what's your name, tuck your chain\n[03:42.28] All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n[03:44.63] Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n[03:48.00] Hot, forcin my way up in the door\n[03:50.62] To kill the bullshit like a matador\n[03:53.33] Keep your hands high (what?)\n[03:55.28] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: 11. 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Biggie, (mmmhmmmmmm)\n  start_ms: 3450\n  end_ms: 5940\n- text: Uhh. uhh. uhh (yo c'mon Big) uhh\n  start_ms: 5940\n  end_ms: 11200\n- text: Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n  start_ms: 11200\n  end_ms: 14360\n- text: The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n  start_ms: 14360\n  end_ms: 16710\n- text: Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n  start_ms: 16710\n  end_ms: 19170\n- text: Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n  start_ms: 19170\n  end_ms: 22030\n- text: So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n  start_ms: 22030\n  end_ms: 25380\n- text: Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n  start_ms: 25380\n  end_ms: 28210\n- text: Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n  start_ms: 28210\n  end_ms: 31040\n- text: Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n  start_ms: 31040\n  end_ms: 33820\n- text: The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n  start_ms: 33820\n  end_ms: 36420\n- text: It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n  start_ms: 36420\n  end_ms: 38860\n- text: It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n  start_ms: 38860\n  end_ms: 42260\n- text: But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n  start_ms: 42260\n  end_ms: 44550\n- text: I could chill, the heat doesn't\n  start_ms: 44550\n  end_ms: 46810\n- text: Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n  start_ms: 46810\n  end_ms: 48270\n- text: You never see bank like Frank White\n  start_ms: 48270\n  end_ms: 50020\n- text: Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n  start_ms: 50020\n  end_ms: 52990\n- text: You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n  start_ms: 52990\n  end_ms: 55930\n- text: I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n  start_ms: 55930\n  end_ms: 57620\n- text: I'm up around four with the crowbar to the five point oh\n  start_ms: 57620\n  end_ms: 61270\n- text: I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n  start_ms: 61270\n  end_ms: 64090\n- text: You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n  start_ms: 64090\n  end_ms: 67100\n- text: Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n  start_ms: 67100\n  end_ms: 69610\n- text: I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n  start_ms: 69610\n  end_ms: 72720\n- text: Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n  start_ms: 72720\n  end_ms: 75230\n- text: I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n  start_ms: 75230\n  end_ms: 78000\n- text: It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n  start_ms: 78000\n  end_ms: 81090\n- text: By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n  start_ms: 81090\n  end_ms: 83460\n- text: I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n  start_ms: 83460\n  end_ms: 86460\n- text: I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n  start_ms: 86460\n  end_ms: 89440\n- text: The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n  start_ms: 89440\n  end_ms: 91710\n- text: I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n  start_ms: 91710\n  end_ms: 94570\n- text: Yo Biggie, what what, she havin my bay-bayy\n  start_ms: 94570\n  end_ms: 97410\n- text: If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n  start_ms: 97410\n  end_ms: 100120\n- text: This rule is so underrated\n  start_ms: 100120\n  end_ms: 103340\n- text: Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\n  start_ms: 103340\n  end_ms: 105640\n- text: Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  start_ms: 105640\n  end_ms: 108310\n- text: Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n  start_ms: 108310\n  end_ms: 112450\n- text: This rule is so underrated\n  start_ms: 112450\n  end_ms: 114580\n- text: Actin as if it can't happen, you're fronting\n  start_ms: 114580\n  end_ms: 117130\n- text: Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  start_ms: 117130\n  end_ms: 119560\n- text: Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n  start_ms: 119560\n  end_ms: 122050\n- text: Uhh, uhh\n  start_ms: 122050\n  end_ms: 123090\n- text: I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n  start_ms: 123090\n  end_ms: 124920\n- text: Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n  start_ms: 124920\n  end_ms: 127760\n- text: Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n  start_ms: 127760\n  end_ms: 130770\n- text: Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\n  start_ms: 130770\n  end_ms: 133850\n- text: Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n  start_ms: 133850\n  end_ms: 136460\n- text: Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n  start_ms: 136460\n  end_ms: 139100\n- text: From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n  start_ms: 139100\n  end_ms: 142070\n- text: Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n  start_ms: 142070\n  end_ms: 144640\n- text: Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n  start_ms: 144640\n  end_ms: 147400\n- text: Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n  start_ms: 147400\n  end_ms: 150270\n- text: In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n  start_ms: 150270\n  end_ms: 153050\n- text: Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n  start_ms: 153050\n  end_ms: 155920\n- text: Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n  start_ms: 155920\n  end_ms: 158800\n- text: Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n  start_ms: 158800\n  end_ms: 161450\n- text: Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n  start_ms: 161450\n  end_ms: 164110\n- text: Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n  start_ms: 164110\n  end_ms: 167270\n- text: Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n  start_ms: 167270\n  end_ms: 169910\n- text: I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n  start_ms: 169910\n  end_ms: 172360\n- text: Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n  start_ms: 172360\n  end_ms: 175280\n- text: That's infinity, too many sick niggas, nickel nines\n  start_ms: 175280\n  end_ms: 178190\n- text: Bring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n  start_ms: 178190\n  end_ms: 181370\n- text: Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n  start_ms: 181370\n  end_ms: 184000\n- text: Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n  start_ms: 184000\n  end_ms: 186930\n- text: Until they got love for my music\n  start_ms: 186930\n  end_ms: 189810\n- text: Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n  start_ms: 189810\n  end_ms: 192110\n- text: And three charges, I got to see-three-P.O.'s\n  start_ms: 192110\n  end_ms: 194580\n- text: This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n  start_ms: 194580\n  end_ms: 197200\n- text: Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the war\n  start_ms: 197200\n  end_ms: 200350\n- text: That's my people, sho' nuff, before I roll up\n  start_ms: 200350\n  end_ms: 203250\n- text: This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n  start_ms: 203250\n  end_ms: 205950\n- text: I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to left eye\n  start_ms: 205950\n  end_ms: 209150\n- text: New york shitty, put they weight on it\n  start_ms: 209150\n  end_ms: 211280\n- text: And who better for the job than biggie the notorious\n  start_ms: 211280\n  end_ms: 213920\n- text: Jeee-zus, unbelievable rhyme that reaches\n  start_ms: 213920\n  end_ms: 217120\n- text: And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n  start_ms: 217120\n  end_ms: 220530\n- text: MC, what's your name, tuck your chain\n  start_ms: 220530\n  end_ms: 222280\n- text: All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n  start_ms: 222280\n  end_ms: 224630\n- text: Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n  start_ms: 224630\n  end_ms: 228000\n- text: Hot, forcin my way up in the door\n  start_ms: 228000\n  end_ms: 230620\n- text: To kill the bullshit like a matador\n  start_ms: 230620\n  end_ms: 233330\n- text: Keep your hands high (what?)\n  start_ms: 233330\n  end_ms: 235280\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 235280\nplain: |-\n  Meth-Tical\n  Biggie. Biggie, (mmmhmmmmmm)\n\n  Uhh. uhh. uhh (yo c'mon Big) uhh\n  Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n  The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n  Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n  Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n  So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n  Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n  Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n\n  Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n  The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n  It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n  It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n  But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n\n  I could chill, the heat doesn't\n  Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n  You never see bank like Frank White\n  Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n  You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n\n  I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n  I'm up around four with the crowbar to the five point oh\n  I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n  You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n  Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n  I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n\n  Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n  I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n  It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n  By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n  I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n\n  I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n  The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n  I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n  Yo Biggie, what what, she havin my bay-bayy\n  If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n\n  This rule is so underrated\n  Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\n  Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\n  This rule is so underrated\n  Actin as if it can't happen, you're fronting\n  Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\n  Uhh, uhh\n  I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n  Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n  Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n  Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\n  Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n\n  Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n  From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n  Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n  Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n  Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n\n  In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n  Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n  Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n  Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n  Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n  Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n\n  Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n  I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n  Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n  That's infinity, too many sick niggas, nickel nines\n  Bring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n\n  Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n  Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n  Until they got love for my music\n  Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n  And three charges, I got to see-three-P.O.'s\n\n  This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n  Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the war\n  That's my people, sho' nuff, before I roll up\n  This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n  I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to left eye\n\n  New york shitty, put they weight on it\n  And who better for the job than biggie the notorious\n  Jeee-zus, unbelievable rhyme that reaches\n  And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n  MC, what's your name, tuck your chain\n\n  All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n  Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n  Hot, forcin my way up in the door\n  To kill the bullshit like a matador\n  Keep your hands high (what?)\n"},{"id":6646804,"name":"Rap Phenomenon","trackName":"Rap Phenomenon","artistName":"The Notorious B.I.G.","albumName":"The Studio Album Collection","duration":242.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Meth-Tical\nBiggie. Biggie, (mmmhmmmmmm)\n\nUhh. uhh. uhh (yo c'mon Big) uhh\nFuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\nThe prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\nFlooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\nSmack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\nSo I grab it, never run, the outcome\nIs usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\nOr where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n\nLeave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\nThe rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\nIt's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\nIt's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\nBut they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n\nI could chill, the heat doesn't\nRan up in your shell about a dozen\nYou never see bank like Frank White\nYour hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\nYou 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n\nI don't brownnose out of town hoes\nI'm up around four with the crowbar to the five point oh\nI get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\nYou ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\nExplode the pyros when Doc guest appear\nI'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n\nYour time is near, so get your body dropped off\nI stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\nIt's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\nBy the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\nI.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n\nI break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\nThe Doc was born with a grenade palm\nI'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\nYo Biggie, what what, she havin my bay-bayy\nIf I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n\nThis rule is so underrated\nActin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\nAin't no other kings in this rap thing\nBiggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\nThis rule is so underrated\nActin as if it can't happen, you're fronting\nAin't no other kings in this rap thing\nBiggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\nUhh, uhh\nI got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\nY'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\nMotherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\nFuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\nMe and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n\nBought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\nFrom Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\nBitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\nDon't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\nNiggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n\nIn and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\nMake his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\nBlastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\nFrank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\nPlay hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\nSlash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n\nDon't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\nI take these adolescents back to Spofford\nMentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\nThat's infinity, too many sick niggas, nickel nines\nBring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n\nUnnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\nStuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\nUntil they got love for my music\nStar Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\nAnd three charges, I got to see-three-P.O.'s\n\nThis is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\nEyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the war\nThat's my people, sho' nuff, before I roll up\nThis is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\nI rep S.I., the unpretty, word to left eye\n\nNew york shitty, put they weight on it\nAnd who better for the job than biggie the notorious\nJeee-zus, unbelievable rhyme that reaches\nAnd touch individual, small frame buck and change\nMC, what's your name, tuck your chain\n\nAll about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\nKick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\nHot, forcin my way up in the door\nTo kill the bullshit like a matador\nKeep your hands high (what?)","syncedLyrics":"[00:01.90] Meth-Tical\n[00:03.42] Biggie. Biggie, (mmmhmmmmmm)\n[00:05.90] Uhh. uhh. uhh (yo c'mon Big) uhh\n[00:11.23] Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n[00:14.30] The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n[00:16.76] Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n[00:19.13] Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n[00:22.04] So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n[00:25.35] Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n[00:28.21] Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n[00:31.02] Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n[00:33.85] The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n[00:36.41] It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n[00:38.85] It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n[00:42.23] But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n[00:44.58] I could chill, the heat doesn't\n[00:46.81] Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n[00:48.24] You never see bank like Frank White\n[00:50.02] Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n[00:52.93] You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n[00:55.91] I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n[00:57.64] I'm up around four with the crowbar to the five point oh\n[01:01.28] I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n[01:04.00] You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n[01:07.18] Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n[01:09.69] I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n[01:12.76] Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n[01:15.24] I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n[01:18.09] It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n[01:21.04] By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n[01:23.41] I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n[01:26.49] I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n[01:29.46] The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n[01:31.73] I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n[01:34.52] Yo Biggie, what what, she havin my bay-bayy\n[01:37.44] If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n[01:40.18] This rule is so underrated\n[01:43.34] Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\n[01:45.69] Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n[01:48.35] Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n[01:52.44] This rule is so underrated\n[01:54.50] Actin as if it can't happen, you're fronting\n[01:57.19] Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n[01:59.55] Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n[02:02.04] Uhh, uhh\n[02:03.01] I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n[02:04.94] Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n[02:07.77] Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n[02:10.76] Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\n[02:13.85] Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n[02:16.40] Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n[02:19.16] From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n[02:22.01] Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n[02:24.70] Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n[02:27.47] Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n[02:30.29] In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n[02:33.08] Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n[02:35.93] Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n[02:38.82] Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n[02:41.47] Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n[02:44.16] Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n[02:47.25] Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n[02:49.96] I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n[02:52.31] Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n[02:55.27] That's infinity, too many sick niggas, nickel nines\n[02:58.19] Bring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n[03:01.37] Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n[03:04.05] Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n[03:06.93] Until they got love for my music\n[03:09.84] Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n[03:12.10] And three charges, I got to see-three-P.O.'s\n[03:14.59] This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n[03:17.24] Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the war\n[03:20.30] That's my people, sho' nuff, before I roll up\n[03:23.24] This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n[03:25.98] I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to left eye\n[03:29.11] New york shitty, put they weight on it\n[03:31.26] And who better for the job than biggie the notorious\n[03:33.95] Jeee-zus, unbelievable rhyme that reaches\n[03:37.16] And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n[03:40.53] MC, what's your name, tuck your chain\n[03:42.26] All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n[03:44.63] Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n[03:48.02] Hot, forcin my way up in the door\n[03:50.64] To kill the bullshit like a matador\n[03:53.30] Keep your hands high (what?)\n[03:55.20] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Rap Phenomenon\n  artist: The Notorious B.I.G.\n  album: The Studio Album Collection\n  duration_ms: 242000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Meth-Tical\n  start_ms: 1900\n  end_ms: 3420\n- text: Biggie. Biggie, (mmmhmmmmmm)\n  start_ms: 3420\n  end_ms: 5900\n- text: Uhh. uhh. uhh (yo c'mon Big) uhh\n  start_ms: 5900\n  end_ms: 11230\n- text: Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n  start_ms: 11230\n  end_ms: 14300\n- text: The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n  start_ms: 14300\n  end_ms: 16760\n- text: Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n  start_ms: 16760\n  end_ms: 19130\n- text: Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n  start_ms: 19130\n  end_ms: 22040\n- text: So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n  start_ms: 22040\n  end_ms: 25350\n- text: Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n  start_ms: 25350\n  end_ms: 28210\n- text: Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n  start_ms: 28210\n  end_ms: 31020\n- text: Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n  start_ms: 31020\n  end_ms: 33850\n- text: The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n  start_ms: 33850\n  end_ms: 36410\n- text: It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n  start_ms: 36410\n  end_ms: 38850\n- text: It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n  start_ms: 38850\n  end_ms: 42230\n- text: But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n  start_ms: 42230\n  end_ms: 44580\n- text: I could chill, the heat doesn't\n  start_ms: 44580\n  end_ms: 46810\n- text: Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n  start_ms: 46810\n  end_ms: 48240\n- text: You never see bank like Frank White\n  start_ms: 48240\n  end_ms: 50020\n- text: Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n  start_ms: 50020\n  end_ms: 52930\n- text: You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n  start_ms: 52930\n  end_ms: 55910\n- text: I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n  start_ms: 55910\n  end_ms: 57640\n- text: I'm up around four with the crowbar to the five point oh\n  start_ms: 57640\n  end_ms: 61280\n- text: I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n  start_ms: 61280\n  end_ms: 64000\n- text: You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n  start_ms: 64000\n  end_ms: 67180\n- text: Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n  start_ms: 67180\n  end_ms: 69690\n- text: I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n  start_ms: 69690\n  end_ms: 72760\n- text: Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n  start_ms: 72760\n  end_ms: 75240\n- text: I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n  start_ms: 75240\n  end_ms: 78090\n- text: It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n  start_ms: 78090\n  end_ms: 81040\n- text: By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n  start_ms: 81040\n  end_ms: 83410\n- text: I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n  start_ms: 83410\n  end_ms: 86490\n- text: I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n  start_ms: 86490\n  end_ms: 89460\n- text: The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n  start_ms: 89460\n  end_ms: 91730\n- text: I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n  start_ms: 91730\n  end_ms: 94520\n- text: Yo Biggie, what what, she havin my bay-bayy\n  start_ms: 94520\n  end_ms: 97440\n- text: If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n  start_ms: 97440\n  end_ms: 100180\n- text: This rule is so underrated\n  start_ms: 100180\n  end_ms: 103340\n- text: Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\n  start_ms: 103340\n  end_ms: 105690\n- text: Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  start_ms: 105690\n  end_ms: 108350\n- text: Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n  start_ms: 108350\n  end_ms: 112440\n- text: This rule is so underrated\n  start_ms: 112440\n  end_ms: 114500\n- text: Actin as if it can't happen, you're fronting\n  start_ms: 114500\n  end_ms: 117190\n- text: Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  start_ms: 117190\n  end_ms: 119550\n- text: Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n  start_ms: 119550\n  end_ms: 122040\n- text: Uhh, uhh\n  start_ms: 122040\n  end_ms: 123010\n- text: I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n  start_ms: 123010\n  end_ms: 124940\n- text: Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n  start_ms: 124940\n  end_ms: 127770\n- text: Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n  start_ms: 127770\n  end_ms: 130760\n- text: Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\n  start_ms: 130760\n  end_ms: 133850\n- text: Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n  start_ms: 133850\n  end_ms: 136400\n- text: Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n  start_ms: 136400\n  end_ms: 139160\n- text: From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n  start_ms: 139160\n  end_ms: 142010\n- text: Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n  start_ms: 142010\n  end_ms: 144700\n- text: Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n  start_ms: 144700\n  end_ms: 147470\n- text: Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n  start_ms: 147470\n  end_ms: 150290\n- text: In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n  start_ms: 150290\n  end_ms: 153080\n- text: Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n  start_ms: 153080\n  end_ms: 155930\n- text: Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n  start_ms: 155930\n  end_ms: 158820\n- text: Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n  start_ms: 158820\n  end_ms: 161470\n- text: Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n  start_ms: 161470\n  end_ms: 164160\n- text: Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n  start_ms: 164160\n  end_ms: 167250\n- text: Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n  start_ms: 167250\n  end_ms: 169960\n- text: I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n  start_ms: 169960\n  end_ms: 172310\n- text: Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n  start_ms: 172310\n  end_ms: 175270\n- text: That's infinity, too many sick niggas, nickel nines\n  start_ms: 175270\n  end_ms: 178190\n- text: Bring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n  start_ms: 178190\n  end_ms: 181370\n- text: Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n  start_ms: 181370\n  end_ms: 184050\n- text: Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n  start_ms: 184050\n  end_ms: 186930\n- text: Until they got love for my music\n  start_ms: 186930\n  end_ms: 189840\n- text: Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n  start_ms: 189840\n  end_ms: 192100\n- text: And three charges, I got to see-three-P.O.'s\n  start_ms: 192100\n  end_ms: 194590\n- text: This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n  start_ms: 194590\n  end_ms: 197240\n- text: Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the war\n  start_ms: 197240\n  end_ms: 200300\n- text: That's my people, sho' nuff, before I roll up\n  start_ms: 200300\n  end_ms: 203240\n- text: This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n  start_ms: 203240\n  end_ms: 205980\n- text: I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to left eye\n  start_ms: 205980\n  end_ms: 209110\n- text: New york shitty, put they weight on it\n  start_ms: 209110\n  end_ms: 211260\n- text: And who better for the job than biggie the notorious\n  start_ms: 211260\n  end_ms: 213950\n- text: Jeee-zus, unbelievable rhyme that reaches\n  start_ms: 213950\n  end_ms: 217160\n- text: And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n  start_ms: 217160\n  end_ms: 220530\n- text: MC, what's your name, tuck your chain\n  start_ms: 220530\n  end_ms: 222260\n- text: All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n  start_ms: 222260\n  end_ms: 224630\n- text: Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n  start_ms: 224630\n  end_ms: 228020\n- text: Hot, forcin my way up in the door\n  start_ms: 228020\n  end_ms: 230640\n- text: To kill the bullshit like a matador\n  start_ms: 230640\n  end_ms: 233300\n- text: Keep your hands high (what?)\n  start_ms: 233300\n  end_ms: 235200\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 235200\nplain: |-\n  Meth-Tical\n  Biggie. Biggie, (mmmhmmmmmm)\n\n  Uhh. uhh. uhh (yo c'mon Big) uhh\n  Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n  The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n  Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n  Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n  So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n  Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n  Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n\n  Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n  The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n  It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n  It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n  But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n\n  I could chill, the heat doesn't\n  Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n  You never see bank like Frank White\n  Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n  You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n\n  I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n  I'm up around four with the crowbar to the five point oh\n  I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n  You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n  Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n  I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n\n  Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n  I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n  It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n  By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n  I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n\n  I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n  The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n  I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n  Yo Biggie, what what, she havin my bay-bayy\n  If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n\n  This rule is so underrated\n  Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\n  Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\n  This rule is so underrated\n  Actin as if it can't happen, you're fronting\n  Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\n  Uhh, uhh\n  I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n  Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n  Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n  Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\n  Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n\n  Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n  From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n  Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n  Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n  Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n\n  In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n  Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n  Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n  Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n  Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n  Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n\n  Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n  I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n  Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n  That's infinity, too many sick niggas, nickel nines\n  Bring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n\n  Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n  Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n  Until they got love for my music\n  Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n  And three charges, I got to see-three-P.O.'s\n\n  This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n  Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the war\n  That's my people, sho' nuff, before I roll up\n  This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n  I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to left eye\n\n  New york shitty, put they weight on it\n  And who better for the job than biggie the notorious\n  Jeee-zus, unbelievable rhyme that reaches\n  And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n  MC, what's your name, tuck your chain\n\n  All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n  Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n  Hot, forcin my way up in the door\n  To kill the bullshit like a matador\n  Keep your hands high (what?)\n"},{"id":28633698,"name":"Rap Phenomenon","trackName":"Rap Phenomenon","artistName":"Notorious B.I.G.","albumName":"Rob n Hood-Biggie & Jay Z -Brooklyn The album we never got","duration":47.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Meth-Tical\nBiggie. Biggie, (mmmhmmmmmm)\n\nUhh. uhh. uhh (yo c'mon Big) uhh\nFuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\nThe prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\nFlooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\nSmack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\nSo I grab it, never run, the outcome\nIs usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\nOr where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n\nLeave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\nThe rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\nIt's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\nIt's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\nBut they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n\nI could chill, the heat doesn't\nRan up in your shell about a dozen\nYou never see bank like Frank White\nYour hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\nYou 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n\nI don't brownnose out of town hoes\nI'm up around four with the crowbar to the five point oh\nI get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\nYou ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\nExplode the pyros when Doc guest appear\nI'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n\nYour time is near, so get your body dropped off\nI stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\nIt's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\nBy the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\nI.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n\nI break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\nThe Doc was born with a grenade palm\nI'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\nYo Biggie, what what, she havin my bay-bayy\nIf I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n\nThis rule is so underrated\nActin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\nAin't no other kings in this rap thing\nBiggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\nThis rule is so underrated\nActin as if it can't happen, you're fronting\nAin't no other kings in this rap thing\nBiggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\nUhh, uhh\nI got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\nY'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\nMotherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\nFuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\nMe and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n\nBought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\nFrom Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\nBitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\nDon't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\nNiggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n\nIn and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\nMake his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\nBlastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\nFrank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\nPlay hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\nSlash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n\nDon't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\nI take these adolescents back to Spofford\nMentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\nThat's infinity, too many sick niggas, nickel nines\nBring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n\nUnnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\nStuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\nUntil they got love for my music\nStar Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\nAnd three charges, I got to see-three-P.O.'s\n\nThis is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\nEyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the war\nThat's my people, sho' nuff, before I roll up\nThis is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\nI rep S.I., the unpretty, word to left eye\n\nNew york shitty, put they weight on it\nAnd who better for the job than biggie the notorious\nJeee-zus, unbelievable rhyme that reaches\nAnd touch individual, small frame buck and change\nMC, what's your name, tuck your chain\n\nAll about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\nKick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\nHot, forcin my way up in the door\nTo kill the bullshit like a matador\nKeep your hands high (what?)","syncedLyrics":"[00:01.90] Meth-Tical\n[00:03.42] Biggie. Biggie, (mmmhmmmmmm)\n[00:05.90] Uhh. uhh. uhh (yo c'mon Big) uhh\n[00:11.23] Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n[00:14.30] The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n[00:16.76] Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n[00:19.13] Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n[00:22.04] So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n[00:25.35] Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n[00:28.21] Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n[00:31.02] Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n[00:33.85] The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n[00:36.41] It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n[00:38.85] It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n[00:42.23] But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n[00:44.58] I could chill, the heat doesn't\n[00:46.81] Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n[00:48.24] You never see bank like Frank White\n[00:50.02] Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n[00:52.93] You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n[00:55.91] I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n[00:57.64] I'm up around four with the crowbar to the five point oh\n[01:01.28] I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n[01:04.00] You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n[01:07.18] Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n[01:09.69] I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n[01:12.76] Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n[01:15.24] I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n[01:18.09] It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n[01:21.04] By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n[01:23.41] I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n[01:26.49] I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n[01:29.46] The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n[01:31.73] I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n[01:34.52] Yo Biggie, what what, she havin my bay-bayy\n[01:37.44] If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n[01:40.18] This rule is so underrated\n[01:43.34] Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\n[01:45.69] Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n[01:48.35] Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n[01:52.44] This rule is so underrated\n[01:54.50] Actin as if it can't happen, you're fronting\n[01:57.19] Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n[01:59.55] Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n[02:02.04] Uhh, uhh\n[02:03.01] I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n[02:04.94] Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n[02:07.77] Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n[02:10.76] Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\n[02:13.85] Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n[02:16.40] Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n[02:19.16] From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n[02:22.01] Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n[02:24.70] Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n[02:27.47] Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n[02:30.29] In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n[02:33.08] Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n[02:35.93] Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n[02:38.82] Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n[02:41.47] Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n[02:44.16] Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n[02:47.25] Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n[02:49.96] I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n[02:52.31] Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n[02:55.27] That's infinity, too many sick niggas, nickel nines\n[02:58.19] Bring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n[03:01.37] Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n[03:04.05] Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n[03:06.93] Until they got love for my music\n[03:09.84] Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n[03:12.10] And three charges, I got to see-three-P.O.'s\n[03:14.59] This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n[03:17.24] Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the war\n[03:20.30] That's my people, sho' nuff, before I roll up\n[03:23.24] This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n[03:25.98] I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to left eye\n[03:29.11] New york shitty, put they weight on it\n[03:31.26] And who better for the job than biggie the notorious\n[03:33.95] Jeee-zus, unbelievable rhyme that reaches\n[03:37.16] And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n[03:40.53] MC, what's your name, tuck your chain\n[03:42.26] All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n[03:44.63] Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n[03:48.02] Hot, forcin my way up in the door\n[03:50.64] To kill the bullshit like a matador\n[03:53.30] Keep your hands high (what?)\n[03:55.20] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Rap Phenomenon\n  artist: Notorious B.I.G.\n  album: Rob n Hood-Biggie & Jay Z -Brooklyn The album we never got\n  duration_ms: 47000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Meth-Tical\n  start_ms: 1900\n  end_ms: 3420\n- text: Biggie. Biggie, (mmmhmmmmmm)\n  start_ms: 3420\n  end_ms: 5900\n- text: Uhh. uhh. uhh (yo c'mon Big) uhh\n  start_ms: 5900\n  end_ms: 11230\n- text: Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n  start_ms: 11230\n  end_ms: 14300\n- text: The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n  start_ms: 14300\n  end_ms: 16760\n- text: Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n  start_ms: 16760\n  end_ms: 19130\n- text: Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n  start_ms: 19130\n  end_ms: 22040\n- text: So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n  start_ms: 22040\n  end_ms: 25350\n- text: Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n  start_ms: 25350\n  end_ms: 28210\n- text: Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n  start_ms: 28210\n  end_ms: 31020\n- text: Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n  start_ms: 31020\n  end_ms: 33850\n- text: The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n  start_ms: 33850\n  end_ms: 36410\n- text: It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n  start_ms: 36410\n  end_ms: 38850\n- text: It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n  start_ms: 38850\n  end_ms: 42230\n- text: But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n  start_ms: 42230\n  end_ms: 44580\n- text: I could chill, the heat doesn't\n  start_ms: 44580\n  end_ms: 46810\n- text: Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n  start_ms: 46810\n  end_ms: 48240\n- text: You never see bank like Frank White\n  start_ms: 48240\n  end_ms: 50020\n- text: Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n  start_ms: 50020\n  end_ms: 52930\n- text: You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n  start_ms: 52930\n  end_ms: 55910\n- text: I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n  start_ms: 55910\n  end_ms: 57640\n- text: I'm up around four with the crowbar to the five point oh\n  start_ms: 57640\n  end_ms: 61280\n- text: I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n  start_ms: 61280\n  end_ms: 64000\n- text: You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n  start_ms: 64000\n  end_ms: 67180\n- text: Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n  start_ms: 67180\n  end_ms: 69690\n- text: I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n  start_ms: 69690\n  end_ms: 72760\n- text: Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n  start_ms: 72760\n  end_ms: 75240\n- text: I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n  start_ms: 75240\n  end_ms: 78090\n- text: It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n  start_ms: 78090\n  end_ms: 81040\n- text: By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n  start_ms: 81040\n  end_ms: 83410\n- text: I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n  start_ms: 83410\n  end_ms: 86490\n- text: I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n  start_ms: 86490\n  end_ms: 89460\n- text: The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n  start_ms: 89460\n  end_ms: 91730\n- text: I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n  start_ms: 91730\n  end_ms: 94520\n- text: Yo Biggie, what what, she havin my bay-bayy\n  start_ms: 94520\n  end_ms: 97440\n- text: If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n  start_ms: 97440\n  end_ms: 100180\n- text: This rule is so underrated\n  start_ms: 100180\n  end_ms: 103340\n- text: Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\n  start_ms: 103340\n  end_ms: 105690\n- text: Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  start_ms: 105690\n  end_ms: 108350\n- text: Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n  start_ms: 108350\n  end_ms: 112440\n- text: This rule is so underrated\n  start_ms: 112440\n  end_ms: 114500\n- text: Actin as if it can't happen, you're fronting\n  start_ms: 114500\n  end_ms: 117190\n- text: Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  start_ms: 117190\n  end_ms: 119550\n- text: Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n  start_ms: 119550\n  end_ms: 122040\n- text: Uhh, uhh\n  start_ms: 122040\n  end_ms: 123010\n- text: I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n  start_ms: 123010\n  end_ms: 124940\n- text: Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n  start_ms: 124940\n  end_ms: 127770\n- text: Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n  start_ms: 127770\n  end_ms: 130760\n- text: Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\n  start_ms: 130760\n  end_ms: 133850\n- text: Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n  start_ms: 133850\n  end_ms: 136400\n- text: Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n  start_ms: 136400\n  end_ms: 139160\n- text: From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n  start_ms: 139160\n  end_ms: 142010\n- text: Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n  start_ms: 142010\n  end_ms: 144700\n- text: Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n  start_ms: 144700\n  end_ms: 147470\n- text: Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n  start_ms: 147470\n  end_ms: 150290\n- text: In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n  start_ms: 150290\n  end_ms: 153080\n- text: Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n  start_ms: 153080\n  end_ms: 155930\n- text: Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n  start_ms: 155930\n  end_ms: 158820\n- text: Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n  start_ms: 158820\n  end_ms: 161470\n- text: Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n  start_ms: 161470\n  end_ms: 164160\n- text: Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n  start_ms: 164160\n  end_ms: 167250\n- text: Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n  start_ms: 167250\n  end_ms: 169960\n- text: I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n  start_ms: 169960\n  end_ms: 172310\n- text: Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n  start_ms: 172310\n  end_ms: 175270\n- text: That's infinity, too many sick niggas, nickel nines\n  start_ms: 175270\n  end_ms: 178190\n- text: Bring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n  start_ms: 178190\n  end_ms: 181370\n- text: Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n  start_ms: 181370\n  end_ms: 184050\n- text: Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n  start_ms: 184050\n  end_ms: 186930\n- text: Until they got love for my music\n  start_ms: 186930\n  end_ms: 189840\n- text: Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n  start_ms: 189840\n  end_ms: 192100\n- text: And three charges, I got to see-three-P.O.'s\n  start_ms: 192100\n  end_ms: 194590\n- text: This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n  start_ms: 194590\n  end_ms: 197240\n- text: Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the war\n  start_ms: 197240\n  end_ms: 200300\n- text: That's my people, sho' nuff, before I roll up\n  start_ms: 200300\n  end_ms: 203240\n- text: This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n  start_ms: 203240\n  end_ms: 205980\n- text: I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to left eye\n  start_ms: 205980\n  end_ms: 209110\n- text: New york shitty, put they weight on it\n  start_ms: 209110\n  end_ms: 211260\n- text: And who better for the job than biggie the notorious\n  start_ms: 211260\n  end_ms: 213950\n- text: Jeee-zus, unbelievable rhyme that reaches\n  start_ms: 213950\n  end_ms: 217160\n- text: And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n  start_ms: 217160\n  end_ms: 220530\n- text: MC, what's your name, tuck your chain\n  start_ms: 220530\n  end_ms: 222260\n- text: All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n  start_ms: 222260\n  end_ms: 224630\n- text: Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n  start_ms: 224630\n  end_ms: 228020\n- text: Hot, forcin my way up in the door\n  start_ms: 228020\n  end_ms: 230640\n- text: To kill the bullshit like a matador\n  start_ms: 230640\n  end_ms: 233300\n- text: Keep your hands high (what?)\n  start_ms: 233300\n  end_ms: 235200\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 235200\nplain: |-\n  Meth-Tical\n  Biggie. Biggie, (mmmhmmmmmm)\n\n  Uhh. uhh. uhh (yo c'mon Big) uhh\n  Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n  The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n  Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n  Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n  So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n  Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n  Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n\n  Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n  The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n  It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n  It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n  But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n\n  I could chill, the heat doesn't\n  Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n  You never see bank like Frank White\n  Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n  You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n\n  I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n  I'm up around four with the crowbar to the five point oh\n  I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n  You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n  Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n  I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n\n  Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n  I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n  It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n  By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n  I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n\n  I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n  The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n  I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n  Yo Biggie, what what, she havin my bay-bayy\n  If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n\n  This rule is so underrated\n  Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\n  Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\n  This rule is so underrated\n  Actin as if it can't happen, you're fronting\n  Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\n  Uhh, uhh\n  I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n  Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n  Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n  Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\n  Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n\n  Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n  From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n  Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n  Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n  Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n\n  In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n  Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n  Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n  Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n  Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n  Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n\n  Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n  I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n  Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n  That's infinity, too many sick niggas, nickel nines\n  Bring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n\n  Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n  Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n  Until they got love for my music\n  Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n  And three charges, I got to see-three-P.O.'s\n\n  This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n  Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the war\n  That's my people, sho' nuff, before I roll up\n  This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n  I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to left eye\n\n  New york shitty, put they weight on it\n  And who better for the job than biggie the notorious\n  Jeee-zus, unbelievable rhyme that reaches\n  And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n  MC, what's your name, tuck your chain\n\n  All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n  Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n  Hot, forcin my way up in the door\n  To kill the bullshit like a matador\n  Keep your hands high (what?)\n"},{"id":38085382,"name":"Rap Phenomenon (Instrumental) -  Rap Phenomenon","trackName":"Rap Phenomenon (Instrumental) -  Rap Phenomenon","artistName":"The Notorious B.I.G.","albumName":"(Large EP Collections)","duration":240.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Meth-Tical\nBiggie. Biggie, (mmmhmmmmmm)\n\nUhh. uhh. uhh (yo c'mon Big) uhh\nFuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\nThe prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\nFlooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\nSmack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\nSo I grab it, never run, the outcome\nIs usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\nOr where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n\nLeave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\nThe rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\nIt's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\nIt's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\nBut they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n\nI could chill, the heat doesn't\nRan up in your shell about a dozen\nYou never see bank like Frank White\nYour hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\nYou 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n\nI don't brownnose out of town hoes\nI'm up around four with the crowbar to the five point oh\nI get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\nYou ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\nExplode the pyros when Doc guest appear\nI'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n\nYour time is near, so get your body dropped off\nI stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\nIt's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\nBy the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\nI.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n\nI break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\nThe Doc was born with a grenade palm\nI'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\nYo Biggie, what what, she havin my bay-bayy\nIf I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n\nThis rule is so underrated\nActin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\nAin't no other kings in this rap thing\nBiggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\nThis rule is so underrated\nActin as if it can't happen, you're fronting\nAin't no other kings in this rap thing\nBiggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\nUhh, uhh\nI got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\nY'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\nMotherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\nFuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\nMe and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n\nBought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\nFrom Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\nBitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\nDon't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\nNiggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n\nIn and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\nMake his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\nBlastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\nFrank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\nPlay hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\nSlash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n\nDon't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\nI take these adolescents back to Spofford\nMentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\nThat's infinity, too many sick niggas, nickel nines\nBring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n\nUnnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\nStuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\nUntil they got love for my music\nStar Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\nAnd three charges, I got to see-three-P.O.'s\n\nThis is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\nEyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the war\nThat's my people, sho' nuff, before I roll up\nThis is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\nI rep S.I., the unpretty, word to left eye\n\nNew york shitty, put they weight on it\nAnd who better for the job than biggie the notorious\nJeee-zus, unbelievable rhyme that reaches\nAnd touch individual, small frame buck and change\nMC, what's your name, tuck your chain\n\nAll about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\nKick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\nHot, forcin my way up in the door\nTo kill the bullshit like a matador\nKeep your hands high (what?)","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Rap Phenomenon (Instrumental) -  Rap Phenomenon\n  artist: The Notorious B.I.G.\n  album: (Large EP Collections)\n  duration_ms: 240000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Meth-Tical\n  Biggie. Biggie, (mmmhmmmmmm)\n\n  Uhh. uhh. uhh (yo c'mon Big) uhh\n  Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n  The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n  Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n  Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n  So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n  Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n  Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n\n  Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n  The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n  It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n  It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n  But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n\n  I could chill, the heat doesn't\n  Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n  You never see bank like Frank White\n  Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n  You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n\n  I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n  I'm up around four with the crowbar to the five point oh\n  I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n  You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n  Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n  I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n\n  Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n  I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n  It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n  By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n  I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n\n  I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n  The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n  I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n  Yo Biggie, what what, she havin my bay-bayy\n  If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n\n  This rule is so underrated\n  Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\n  Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\n  This rule is so underrated\n  Actin as if it can't happen, you're fronting\n  Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\n  Uhh, uhh\n  I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n  Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n  Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n  Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\n  Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n\n  Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n  From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n  Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n  Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n  Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n\n  In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n  Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n  Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n  Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n  Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n  Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n\n  Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n  I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n  Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n  That's infinity, too many sick niggas, nickel nines\n  Bring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n\n  Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n  Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n  Until they got love for my music\n  Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n  And three charges, I got to see-three-P.O.'s\n\n  This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n  Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the war\n  That's my people, sho' nuff, before I roll up\n  This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n  I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to left eye\n\n  New york shitty, put they weight on it\n  And who better for the job than biggie the notorious\n  Jeee-zus, unbelievable rhyme that reaches\n  And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n  MC, what's your name, tuck your chain\n\n  All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n  Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n  Hot, forcin my way up in the door\n  To kill the bullshit like a matador\n  Keep your hands high (what?)\n"},{"id":2154058,"name":"Rap Phenomenon","trackName":"Rap Phenomenon","artistName":"The Notorious B.I.G.","albumName":"Born Again","duration":242.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"\"Meth-Tical.\"\n\"Biggie. Biggie.\" (mmmhmmmmmm)\n\nUhh. uhh. uhh. (yo c'mon Big) uhh.\nFuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\nThe prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\nFlooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\nSmack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\nSo I grab it, never run, the outcome\nIs usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\nOr where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\nLeave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\nThe rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\nIt's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\nIt's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\nBut they wasn't, so run it, cousin\nI could chill, the heat doesn't\nRan up in your shell about a dozen\nYou never see bank like Frank White\nYour hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\nYou 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n\nYo. yo yo\nI don't brownnose out of town hoes\nI'm up around fo' with the crowbar to the five point oh\nI get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\nYou ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\nExplode the pyros when Doc guest appear\nI'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\nYour time is near, so get your body dropped off\nI stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\nIt's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\nBy the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\nI.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\nI break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\nThe Doc was born with a grenade palm\nI'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\nYo Biggie (what? what?) She havin my bay-bayy\nIf I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n\n\"This rule is so underrated.\" -]\n\"Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\" -\n\"Ain't no other kings in this rap thing.\" -\n\"Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\" -\n\nUhh, uhh\nI got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\nY'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\nMotherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\nFuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, andyou don't stops\nMe and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\nBought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\nFrom Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\nBitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\nDon't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\nNiggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\nIn and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\nMake his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\nBlastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\nFrank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\nPlay hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\nSlash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n\nNow now\nDon't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\nI take these adolescents back to Spofford\nMentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\nThat's infinity -- too many sick niggas, nickel nines;\nBring the remedy -- when you play the field, what's the penalty\nUnnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\nStuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\nUntil they got love for my music\nStar Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\nAnd three charges, I got to \"See-three-P.O.'s\"\nThis is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\nEyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the WAR\nThat's my people, sho' nuff, befo' I roll up\nThis is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\nI rep S.I., the unpretty, word to Left Eye\nNew York Shitty, put they weight on it\nAnd who better for the job than Biggie? The Notorious\nJeee-zus, \"Unbelievable\" rhyme that reaches\nAnd touch individual, small frame buck and change\nMC, What's-Your-Name, tuck your chain\nAll about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\nKick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\nHot -- forcin my way up in the door\nTo kill the bullshit like a matador\nKeep your hands high (what?)","syncedLyrics":"[00:03.16] \"Meth-Tical.\"\n[00:04.19] \"Biggie. Biggie.\" (mmmhmmmmmm)\n[00:07.19] Uhh. uhh. uhh. (yo c'mon Big) uhh.\n[00:11.67] Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n[00:14.30] The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n[00:17.24] Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n[00:20.01] Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n[00:22.91] So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n[00:25.48] Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n[00:28.50] Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n[00:31.05] Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n[00:34.15] The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n[00:36.75] It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n[00:39.45] It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n[00:42.58] But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n[00:44.72] I could chill, the heat doesn't\n[00:46.72] Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n[00:48.53] You never see bank like Frank White\n[00:50.98] Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n[00:53.53] You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n[00:55.80] Yo. yo yo\n[00:56.42] I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n[00:58.43] I'm up around fo' with the crowbar to the five point oh\n[01:01.68] I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n[01:04.77] You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n[01:07.26] Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n[01:10.19] I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n[01:12.73] Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n[01:15.67] I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n[01:18.66] It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n[01:21.15] By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n[01:24.23] I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n[01:26.55] I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n[01:29.84] The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n[01:32.20] I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n[01:35.16] Yo Biggie (what? what?) She havin my bay-bayy\n[01:38.07] If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n[01:40.51] \"This rule is so underrated.\" -]\n[01:43.98] \"Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\" -\n[01:46.45] \"Ain't no other kings in this rap thing.\" -\n[01:48.91] \"Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\" -\n[01:59.63] Uhh, uhh\n[02:03.01] I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n[02:05.87] Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n[02:08.49] Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n[02:11.39] Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, andyou don't stops\n[02:14.39] Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n[02:16.62] Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n[02:19.43] From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n[02:22.49] Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n[02:25.05] Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n[02:28.14] Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n[02:30.60] In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n[02:33.49] Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n[02:36.52] Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n[02:39.48] Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n[02:41.85] Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n[02:44.92] Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n[02:47.11] Now now\n[02:47.82] Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n[02:50.39] I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n[02:52.47] Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n[02:55.85] That's infinity -- too many sick niggas, nickel nines;\n[02:58.54] Bring the remedy -- when you play the field, what's the penalty\n[03:01.21] Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n[03:04.95] Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n[03:07.40] Until they got love for my music\n[03:09.78] Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n[03:12.56] And three charges, I got to \"See-three-P.O.'s\"\n[03:15.18] This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n[03:17.44] Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the WAR\n[03:21.58] That's my people, sho' nuff, befo' I roll up\n[03:23.82] This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n[03:26.95] I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to Left Eye\n[03:29.56] New York Shitty, put they weight on it\n[03:31.61] And who better for the job than Biggie? The Notorious\n[03:34.55] Jeee-zus, \"Unbelievable\" rhyme that reaches\n[03:36.85] And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n[03:40.53] MC, What's-Your-Name, tuck your chain\n[03:42.68] All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n[03:45.74] Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n[03:48.09] Hot -- forcin my way up in the door\n[03:51.22] To kill the bullshit like a matador\n[03:53.64] Keep your hands high (what?)\n[04:00.08] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Rap Phenomenon\n  artist: The Notorious B.I.G.\n  album: Born Again\n  duration_ms: 242000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: '\"Meth-Tical.\"'\n  start_ms: 3160\n  end_ms: 4190\n- text: '\"Biggie. Biggie.\" (mmmhmmmmmm)'\n  start_ms: 4190\n  end_ms: 7190\n- text: Uhh. uhh. uhh. (yo c'mon Big) uhh.\n  start_ms: 7190\n  end_ms: 11670\n- text: Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n  start_ms: 11670\n  end_ms: 14300\n- text: The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n  start_ms: 14300\n  end_ms: 17240\n- text: Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n  start_ms: 17240\n  end_ms: 20010\n- text: Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n  start_ms: 20010\n  end_ms: 22910\n- text: So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n  start_ms: 22910\n  end_ms: 25480\n- text: Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n  start_ms: 25480\n  end_ms: 28500\n- text: Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n  start_ms: 28500\n  end_ms: 31050\n- text: Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n  start_ms: 31050\n  end_ms: 34150\n- text: The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n  start_ms: 34150\n  end_ms: 36750\n- text: It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n  start_ms: 36750\n  end_ms: 39450\n- text: It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n  start_ms: 39450\n  end_ms: 42580\n- text: But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n  start_ms: 42580\n  end_ms: 44720\n- text: I could chill, the heat doesn't\n  start_ms: 44720\n  end_ms: 46720\n- text: Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n  start_ms: 46720\n  end_ms: 48530\n- text: You never see bank like Frank White\n  start_ms: 48530\n  end_ms: 50980\n- text: Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n  start_ms: 50980\n  end_ms: 53530\n- text: You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n  start_ms: 53530\n  end_ms: 55800\n- text: Yo. yo yo\n  start_ms: 55800\n  end_ms: 56420\n- text: I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n  start_ms: 56420\n  end_ms: 58430\n- text: I'm up around fo' with the crowbar to the five point oh\n  start_ms: 58430\n  end_ms: 61680\n- text: I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n  start_ms: 61680\n  end_ms: 64770\n- text: You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n  start_ms: 64770\n  end_ms: 67260\n- text: Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n  start_ms: 67260\n  end_ms: 70190\n- text: I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n  start_ms: 70190\n  end_ms: 72730\n- text: Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n  start_ms: 72730\n  end_ms: 75670\n- text: I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n  start_ms: 75670\n  end_ms: 78660\n- text: It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n  start_ms: 78660\n  end_ms: 81150\n- text: By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n  start_ms: 81150\n  end_ms: 84230\n- text: I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n  start_ms: 84230\n  end_ms: 86550\n- text: I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n  start_ms: 86550\n  end_ms: 89840\n- text: The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n  start_ms: 89840\n  end_ms: 92200\n- text: I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n  start_ms: 92200\n  end_ms: 95160\n- text: Yo Biggie (what? what?) She havin my bay-bayy\n  start_ms: 95160\n  end_ms: 98070\n- text: If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n  start_ms: 98070\n  end_ms: 100510\n- text: '\"This rule is so underrated.\" -]'\n  start_ms: 100510\n  end_ms: 103980\n- text: '\"Actin as if it can''t happen, you''re frontin\" -'\n  start_ms: 103980\n  end_ms: 106450\n- text: '\"Ain''t no other kings in this rap thing.\" -'\n  start_ms: 106450\n  end_ms: 108910\n- text: '\"Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\" -'\n  start_ms: 108910\n  end_ms: 119630\n- text: Uhh, uhh\n  start_ms: 119630\n  end_ms: 123010\n- text: I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n  start_ms: 123010\n  end_ms: 125870\n- text: Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n  start_ms: 125870\n  end_ms: 128490\n- text: Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n  start_ms: 128490\n  end_ms: 131390\n- text: Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, andyou don't stops\n  start_ms: 131390\n  end_ms: 134390\n- text: Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n  start_ms: 134390\n  end_ms: 136620\n- text: Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n  start_ms: 136620\n  end_ms: 139430\n- text: From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n  start_ms: 139430\n  end_ms: 142490\n- text: Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n  start_ms: 142490\n  end_ms: 145050\n- text: Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n  start_ms: 145050\n  end_ms: 148140\n- text: Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n  start_ms: 148140\n  end_ms: 150600\n- text: In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n  start_ms: 150600\n  end_ms: 153490\n- text: Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n  start_ms: 153490\n  end_ms: 156520\n- text: Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n  start_ms: 156520\n  end_ms: 159480\n- text: Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n  start_ms: 159480\n  end_ms: 161850\n- text: Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n  start_ms: 161850\n  end_ms: 164920\n- text: Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n  start_ms: 164920\n  end_ms: 167110\n- text: Now now\n  start_ms: 167110\n  end_ms: 167820\n- text: Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n  start_ms: 167820\n  end_ms: 170390\n- text: I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n  start_ms: 170390\n  end_ms: 172470\n- text: Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n  start_ms: 172470\n  end_ms: 175850\n- text: That's infinity -- too many sick niggas, nickel nines;\n  start_ms: 175850\n  end_ms: 178540\n- text: Bring the remedy -- when you play the field, what's the penalty\n  start_ms: 178540\n  end_ms: 181210\n- text: Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n  start_ms: 181210\n  end_ms: 184950\n- text: Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n  start_ms: 184950\n  end_ms: 187400\n- text: Until they got love for my music\n  start_ms: 187400\n  end_ms: 189780\n- text: Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n  start_ms: 189780\n  end_ms: 192560\n- text: And three charges, I got to \"See-three-P.O.'s\"\n  start_ms: 192560\n  end_ms: 195180\n- text: This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n  start_ms: 195180\n  end_ms: 197440\n- text: Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the WAR\n  start_ms: 197440\n  end_ms: 201580\n- text: That's my people, sho' nuff, befo' I roll up\n  start_ms: 201580\n  end_ms: 203820\n- text: This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n  start_ms: 203820\n  end_ms: 206950\n- text: I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to Left Eye\n  start_ms: 206950\n  end_ms: 209560\n- text: New York Shitty, put they weight on it\n  start_ms: 209560\n  end_ms: 211610\n- text: And who better for the job than Biggie? The Notorious\n  start_ms: 211610\n  end_ms: 214550\n- text: Jeee-zus, \"Unbelievable\" rhyme that reaches\n  start_ms: 214550\n  end_ms: 216850\n- text: And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n  start_ms: 216850\n  end_ms: 220530\n- text: MC, What's-Your-Name, tuck your chain\n  start_ms: 220530\n  end_ms: 222680\n- text: All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n  start_ms: 222680\n  end_ms: 225740\n- text: Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n  start_ms: 225740\n  end_ms: 228090\n- text: Hot -- forcin my way up in the door\n  start_ms: 228090\n  end_ms: 231220\n- text: To kill the bullshit like a matador\n  start_ms: 231220\n  end_ms: 233640\n- text: Keep your hands high (what?)\n  start_ms: 233640\n  end_ms: 240080\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 240080\nplain: |-\n  \"Meth-Tical.\"\n  \"Biggie. Biggie.\" (mmmhmmmmmm)\n\n  Uhh. uhh. uhh. (yo c'mon Big) uhh.\n  Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n  The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n  Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n  Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n  So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n  Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n  Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n  Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n  The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n  It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n  It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n  But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n  I could chill, the heat doesn't\n  Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n  You never see bank like Frank White\n  Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n  You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n\n  Yo. yo yo\n  I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n  I'm up around fo' with the crowbar to the five point oh\n  I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n  You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n  Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n  I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n  Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n  I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n  It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n  By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n  I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n  I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n  The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n  I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n  Yo Biggie (what? what?) She havin my bay-bayy\n  If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n\n  \"This rule is so underrated.\" -]\n  \"Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\" -\n  \"Ain't no other kings in this rap thing.\" -\n  \"Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\" -\n\n  Uhh, uhh\n  I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n  Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n  Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n  Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, andyou don't stops\n  Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n  Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n  From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n  Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n  Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n  Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n  In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n  Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n  Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n  Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n  Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n  Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n\n  Now now\n  Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n  I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n  Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n  That's infinity -- too many sick niggas, nickel nines;\n  Bring the remedy -- when you play the field, what's the penalty\n  Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n  Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n  Until they got love for my music\n  Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n  And three charges, I got to \"See-three-P.O.'s\"\n  This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n  Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the WAR\n  That's my people, sho' nuff, befo' I roll up\n  This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n  I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to Left Eye\n  New York Shitty, put they weight on it\n  And who better for the job than Biggie? The Notorious\n  Jeee-zus, \"Unbelievable\" rhyme that reaches\n  And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n  MC, What's-Your-Name, tuck your chain\n  All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n  Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n  Hot -- forcin my way up in the door\n  To kill the bullshit like a matador\n  Keep your hands high (what?)\n"},{"id":33148232,"name":"Rap Phenomenon","trackName":"Rap Phenomenon","artistName":"The Notorious B.I.G.","albumName":"Born Again (2005 Remaster)","duration":242.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"\"Meth-Tical.\"\n\"Biggie. Biggie.\" (mmmhmmmmmm)\n\nUhh. uhh. uhh. (yo c'mon Big) uhh.\nFuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\nThe prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\nFlooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\nSmack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\nSo I grab it, never run, the outcome\nIs usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\nOr where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\nLeave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\nThe rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\nIt's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\nIt's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\nBut they wasn't, so run it, cousin\nI could chill, the heat doesn't\nRan up in your shell about a dozen\nYou never see bank like Frank White\nYour hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\nYou 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n\nYo. yo yo\nI don't brownnose out of town hoes\nI'm up around fo' with the crowbar to the five point oh\nI get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\nYou ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\nExplode the pyros when Doc guest appear\nI'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\nYour time is near, so get your body dropped off\nI stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\nIt's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\nBy the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\nI.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\nI break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\nThe Doc was born with a grenade palm\nI'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\nYo Biggie (what? what?) She havin my bay-bayy\nIf I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n\n\"This rule is so underrated.\" -]\n\"Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\" -\n\"Ain't no other kings in this rap thing.\" -\n\"Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\" -\n\nUhh, uhh\nI got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\nY'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\nMotherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\nFuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, andyou don't stops\nMe and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\nBought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\nFrom Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\nBitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\nDon't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\nNiggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\nIn and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\nMake his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\nBlastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\nFrank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\nPlay hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\nSlash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n\nNow now\nDon't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\nI take these adolescents back to Spofford\nMentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\nThat's infinity -- too many sick niggas, nickel nines;\nBring the remedy -- when you play the field, what's the penalty\nUnnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\nStuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\nUntil they got love for my music\nStar Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\nAnd three charges, I got to \"See-three-P.O.'s\"\nThis is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\nEyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the WAR\nThat's my people, sho' nuff, befo' I roll up\nThis is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\nI rep S.I., the unpretty, word to Left Eye\nNew York Shitty, put they weight on it\nAnd who better for the job than Biggie? The Notorious\nJeee-zus, \"Unbelievable\" rhyme that reaches\nAnd touch individual, small frame buck and change\nMC, What's-Your-Name, tuck your chain\nAll about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\nKick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\nHot -- forcin my way up in the door\nTo kill the bullshit like a matador\nKeep your hands high (what?)","syncedLyrics":"[00:03.16] \"Meth-Tical.\"\n[00:04.19] \"Biggie. Biggie.\" (mmmhmmmmmm)\n[00:07.19] Uhh. uhh. uhh. (yo c'mon Big) uhh.\n[00:11.67] Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n[00:14.30] The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n[00:17.24] Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n[00:20.01] Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n[00:22.91] So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n[00:25.48] Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n[00:28.50] Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n[00:31.05] Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n[00:34.15] The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n[00:36.75] It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n[00:39.45] It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n[00:42.58] But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n[00:44.72] I could chill, the heat doesn't\n[00:46.72] Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n[00:48.53] You never see bank like Frank White\n[00:50.98] Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n[00:53.53] You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n[00:55.80] Yo. yo yo\n[00:56.42] I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n[00:58.43] I'm up around fo' with the crowbar to the five point oh\n[01:01.68] I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n[01:04.77] You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n[01:07.26] Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n[01:10.19] I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n[01:12.73] Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n[01:15.67] I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n[01:18.66] It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n[01:21.15] By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n[01:24.23] I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n[01:26.55] I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n[01:29.84] The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n[01:32.20] I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n[01:35.16] Yo Biggie (what? what?) She havin my bay-bayy\n[01:38.07] If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n[01:40.51] \"This rule is so underrated.\" -]\n[01:43.98] \"Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\" -\n[01:46.45] \"Ain't no other kings in this rap thing.\" -\n[01:48.91] \"Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\" -\n[01:59.63] Uhh, uhh\n[02:03.01] I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n[02:05.87] Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n[02:08.49] Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n[02:11.39] Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, andyou don't stops\n[02:14.39] Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n[02:16.62] Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n[02:19.43] From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n[02:22.49] Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n[02:25.05] Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n[02:28.14] Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n[02:30.60] In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n[02:33.49] Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n[02:36.52] Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n[02:39.48] Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n[02:41.85] Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n[02:44.92] Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n[02:47.11] Now now\n[02:47.82] Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n[02:50.39] I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n[02:52.47] Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n[02:55.85] That's infinity -- too many sick niggas, nickel nines;\n[02:58.54] Bring the remedy -- when you play the field, what's the penalty\n[03:01.21] Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n[03:04.95] Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n[03:07.40] Until they got love for my music\n[03:09.78] Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n[03:12.56] And three charges, I got to \"See-three-P.O.'s\"\n[03:15.18] This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n[03:17.44] Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the WAR\n[03:21.58] That's my people, sho' nuff, befo' I roll up\n[03:23.82] This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n[03:26.95] I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to Left Eye\n[03:29.56] New York Shitty, put they weight on it\n[03:31.61] And who better for the job than Biggie? The Notorious\n[03:34.55] Jeee-zus, \"Unbelievable\" rhyme that reaches\n[03:36.85] And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n[03:40.53] MC, What's-Your-Name, tuck your chain\n[03:42.68] All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n[03:45.74] Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n[03:48.09] Hot -- forcin my way up in the door\n[03:51.22] To kill the bullshit like a matador\n[03:53.64] Keep your hands high (what?)\n[04:00.08] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Rap Phenomenon\n  artist: The Notorious B.I.G.\n  album: Born Again (2005 Remaster)\n  duration_ms: 242000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: '\"Meth-Tical.\"'\n  start_ms: 3160\n  end_ms: 4190\n- text: '\"Biggie. Biggie.\" (mmmhmmmmmm)'\n  start_ms: 4190\n  end_ms: 7190\n- text: Uhh. uhh. uhh. (yo c'mon Big) uhh.\n  start_ms: 7190\n  end_ms: 11670\n- text: Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n  start_ms: 11670\n  end_ms: 14300\n- text: The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n  start_ms: 14300\n  end_ms: 17240\n- text: Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n  start_ms: 17240\n  end_ms: 20010\n- text: Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n  start_ms: 20010\n  end_ms: 22910\n- text: So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n  start_ms: 22910\n  end_ms: 25480\n- text: Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n  start_ms: 25480\n  end_ms: 28500\n- text: Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n  start_ms: 28500\n  end_ms: 31050\n- text: Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n  start_ms: 31050\n  end_ms: 34150\n- text: The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n  start_ms: 34150\n  end_ms: 36750\n- text: It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n  start_ms: 36750\n  end_ms: 39450\n- text: It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n  start_ms: 39450\n  end_ms: 42580\n- text: But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n  start_ms: 42580\n  end_ms: 44720\n- text: I could chill, the heat doesn't\n  start_ms: 44720\n  end_ms: 46720\n- text: Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n  start_ms: 46720\n  end_ms: 48530\n- text: You never see bank like Frank White\n  start_ms: 48530\n  end_ms: 50980\n- text: Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n  start_ms: 50980\n  end_ms: 53530\n- text: You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n  start_ms: 53530\n  end_ms: 55800\n- text: Yo. yo yo\n  start_ms: 55800\n  end_ms: 56420\n- text: I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n  start_ms: 56420\n  end_ms: 58430\n- text: I'm up around fo' with the crowbar to the five point oh\n  start_ms: 58430\n  end_ms: 61680\n- text: I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n  start_ms: 61680\n  end_ms: 64770\n- text: You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n  start_ms: 64770\n  end_ms: 67260\n- text: Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n  start_ms: 67260\n  end_ms: 70190\n- text: I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n  start_ms: 70190\n  end_ms: 72730\n- text: Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n  start_ms: 72730\n  end_ms: 75670\n- text: I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n  start_ms: 75670\n  end_ms: 78660\n- text: It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n  start_ms: 78660\n  end_ms: 81150\n- text: By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n  start_ms: 81150\n  end_ms: 84230\n- text: I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n  start_ms: 84230\n  end_ms: 86550\n- text: I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n  start_ms: 86550\n  end_ms: 89840\n- text: The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n  start_ms: 89840\n  end_ms: 92200\n- text: I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n  start_ms: 92200\n  end_ms: 95160\n- text: Yo Biggie (what? what?) She havin my bay-bayy\n  start_ms: 95160\n  end_ms: 98070\n- text: If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n  start_ms: 98070\n  end_ms: 100510\n- text: '\"This rule is so underrated.\" -]'\n  start_ms: 100510\n  end_ms: 103980\n- text: '\"Actin as if it can''t happen, you''re frontin\" -'\n  start_ms: 103980\n  end_ms: 106450\n- text: '\"Ain''t no other kings in this rap thing.\" -'\n  start_ms: 106450\n  end_ms: 108910\n- text: '\"Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\" -'\n  start_ms: 108910\n  end_ms: 119630\n- text: Uhh, uhh\n  start_ms: 119630\n  end_ms: 123010\n- text: I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n  start_ms: 123010\n  end_ms: 125870\n- text: Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n  start_ms: 125870\n  end_ms: 128490\n- text: Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n  start_ms: 128490\n  end_ms: 131390\n- text: Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, andyou don't stops\n  start_ms: 131390\n  end_ms: 134390\n- text: Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n  start_ms: 134390\n  end_ms: 136620\n- text: Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n  start_ms: 136620\n  end_ms: 139430\n- text: From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n  start_ms: 139430\n  end_ms: 142490\n- text: Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n  start_ms: 142490\n  end_ms: 145050\n- text: Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n  start_ms: 145050\n  end_ms: 148140\n- text: Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n  start_ms: 148140\n  end_ms: 150600\n- text: In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n  start_ms: 150600\n  end_ms: 153490\n- text: Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n  start_ms: 153490\n  end_ms: 156520\n- text: Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n  start_ms: 156520\n  end_ms: 159480\n- text: Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n  start_ms: 159480\n  end_ms: 161850\n- text: Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n  start_ms: 161850\n  end_ms: 164920\n- text: Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n  start_ms: 164920\n  end_ms: 167110\n- text: Now now\n  start_ms: 167110\n  end_ms: 167820\n- text: Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n  start_ms: 167820\n  end_ms: 170390\n- text: I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n  start_ms: 170390\n  end_ms: 172470\n- text: Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n  start_ms: 172470\n  end_ms: 175850\n- text: That's infinity -- too many sick niggas, nickel nines;\n  start_ms: 175850\n  end_ms: 178540\n- text: Bring the remedy -- when you play the field, what's the penalty\n  start_ms: 178540\n  end_ms: 181210\n- text: Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n  start_ms: 181210\n  end_ms: 184950\n- text: Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n  start_ms: 184950\n  end_ms: 187400\n- text: Until they got love for my music\n  start_ms: 187400\n  end_ms: 189780\n- text: Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n  start_ms: 189780\n  end_ms: 192560\n- text: And three charges, I got to \"See-three-P.O.'s\"\n  start_ms: 192560\n  end_ms: 195180\n- text: This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n  start_ms: 195180\n  end_ms: 197440\n- text: Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the WAR\n  start_ms: 197440\n  end_ms: 201580\n- text: That's my people, sho' nuff, befo' I roll up\n  start_ms: 201580\n  end_ms: 203820\n- text: This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n  start_ms: 203820\n  end_ms: 206950\n- text: I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to Left Eye\n  start_ms: 206950\n  end_ms: 209560\n- text: New York Shitty, put they weight on it\n  start_ms: 209560\n  end_ms: 211610\n- text: And who better for the job than Biggie? The Notorious\n  start_ms: 211610\n  end_ms: 214550\n- text: Jeee-zus, \"Unbelievable\" rhyme that reaches\n  start_ms: 214550\n  end_ms: 216850\n- text: And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n  start_ms: 216850\n  end_ms: 220530\n- text: MC, What's-Your-Name, tuck your chain\n  start_ms: 220530\n  end_ms: 222680\n- text: All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n  start_ms: 222680\n  end_ms: 225740\n- text: Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n  start_ms: 225740\n  end_ms: 228090\n- text: Hot -- forcin my way up in the door\n  start_ms: 228090\n  end_ms: 231220\n- text: To kill the bullshit like a matador\n  start_ms: 231220\n  end_ms: 233640\n- text: Keep your hands high (what?)\n  start_ms: 233640\n  end_ms: 240080\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 240080\nplain: |-\n  \"Meth-Tical.\"\n  \"Biggie. Biggie.\" (mmmhmmmmmm)\n\n  Uhh. uhh. uhh. (yo c'mon Big) uhh.\n  Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n  The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n  Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n  Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n  So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n  Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n  Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n  Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n  The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n  It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n  It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n  But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n  I could chill, the heat doesn't\n  Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n  You never see bank like Frank White\n  Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n  You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n\n  Yo. yo yo\n  I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n  I'm up around fo' with the crowbar to the five point oh\n  I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n  You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n  Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n  I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n  Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n  I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n  It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n  By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n  I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n  I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n  The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n  I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n  Yo Biggie (what? what?) She havin my bay-bayy\n  If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n\n  \"This rule is so underrated.\" -]\n  \"Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\" -\n  \"Ain't no other kings in this rap thing.\" -\n  \"Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\" -\n\n  Uhh, uhh\n  I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n  Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n  Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n  Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, andyou don't stops\n  Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n  Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n  From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n  Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n  Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n  Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n  In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n  Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n  Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n  Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n  Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n  Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n\n  Now now\n  Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n  I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n  Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n  That's infinity -- too many sick niggas, nickel nines;\n  Bring the remedy -- when you play the field, what's the penalty\n  Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n  Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n  Until they got love for my music\n  Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n  And three charges, I got to \"See-three-P.O.'s\"\n  This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n  Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the WAR\n  That's my people, sho' nuff, befo' I roll up\n  This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n  I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to Left Eye\n  New York Shitty, put they weight on it\n  And who better for the job than Biggie? The Notorious\n  Jeee-zus, \"Unbelievable\" rhyme that reaches\n  And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n  MC, What's-Your-Name, tuck your chain\n  All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n  Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n  Hot -- forcin my way up in the door\n  To kill the bullshit like a matador\n  Keep your hands high (what?)\n"},{"id":21219946,"name":"Rap Phenomenon","trackName":"Rap Phenomenon","artistName":"The Notorious B.I.G.","albumName":"Born Again","duration":244.157823,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"\"Meth-Tical.\"\n\"Biggie. Biggie.\" (mmmhmmmmmm)\n\nUhh. uhh. uhh. (yo c'mon Big) uhh.\nFuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\nThe prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\nFlooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\nSmack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\nSo I grab it, never run, the outcome\nIs usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\nOr where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\nLeave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\nThe rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\nIt's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\nIt's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\nBut they wasn't, so run it, cousin\nI could chill, the heat doesn't\nRan up in your shell about a dozen\nYou never see bank like Frank White\nYour hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\nYou 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n\nYo. yo yo\nI don't brownnose out of town hoes\nI'm up around fo' with the crowbar to the five point oh\nI get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\nYou ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\nExplode the pyros when Doc guest appear\nI'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\nYour time is near, so get your body dropped off\nI stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\nIt's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\nBy the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\nI.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\nI break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\nThe Doc was born with a grenade palm\nI'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\nYo Biggie (what? what?) She havin my bay-bayy\nIf I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n\n\"This rule is so underrated.\" -]\n\"Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\" -\n\"Ain't no other kings in this rap thing.\" -\n\"Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\" -\n\nUhh, uhh\nI got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\nY'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\nMotherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\nFuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, andyou don't stops\nMe and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\nBought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\nFrom Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\nBitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\nDon't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\nNiggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\nIn and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\nMake his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\nBlastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\nFrank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\nPlay hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\nSlash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n\nNow now\nDon't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\nI take these adolescents back to Spofford\nMentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\nThat's infinity -- too many sick niggas, nickel nines;\nBring the remedy -- when you play the field, what's the penalty\nUnnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\nStuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\nUntil they got love for my music\nStar Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\nAnd three charges, I got to \"See-three-P.O.'s\"\nThis is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\nEyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the WAR\nThat's my people, sho' nuff, befo' I roll up\nThis is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\nI rep S.I., the unpretty, word to Left Eye\nNew York Shitty, put they weight on it\nAnd who better for the job than Biggie? The Notorious\nJeee-zus, \"Unbelievable\" rhyme that reaches\nAnd touch individual, small frame buck and change\nMC, What's-Your-Name, tuck your chain\nAll about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\nKick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\nHot -- forcin my way up in the door\nTo kill the bullshit like a matador\nKeep your hands high (what?)","syncedLyrics":"[00:03.16] \"Meth-Tical.\"\n[00:04.19] \"Biggie. Biggie.\" (mmmhmmmmmm)\n[00:07.19] Uhh. uhh. uhh. (yo c'mon Big) uhh.\n[00:11.67] Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n[00:14.30] The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n[00:17.24] Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n[00:20.01] Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n[00:22.91] So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n[00:25.48] Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n[00:28.50] Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n[00:31.05] Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n[00:34.15] The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n[00:36.75] It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n[00:39.45] It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n[00:42.58] But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n[00:44.72] I could chill, the heat doesn't\n[00:46.72] Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n[00:48.53] You never see bank like Frank White\n[00:50.98] Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n[00:53.53] You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n[00:55.80] Yo. yo yo\n[00:56.42] I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n[00:58.43] I'm up around fo' with the crowbar to the five point oh\n[01:01.68] I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n[01:04.77] You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n[01:07.26] Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n[01:10.19] I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n[01:12.73] Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n[01:15.67] I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n[01:18.66] It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n[01:21.15] By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n[01:24.23] I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n[01:26.55] I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n[01:29.84] The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n[01:32.20] I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n[01:35.16] Yo Biggie (what? what?) She havin my bay-bayy\n[01:38.07] If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n[01:40.51] \"This rule is so underrated.\" -]\n[01:43.98] \"Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\" -\n[01:46.45] \"Ain't no other kings in this rap thing.\" -\n[01:48.91] \"Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\" -\n[01:59.63] Uhh, uhh\n[02:03.01] I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n[02:05.87] Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n[02:08.49] Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n[02:11.39] Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, andyou don't stops\n[02:14.39] Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n[02:16.62] Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n[02:19.43] From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n[02:22.49] Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n[02:25.05] Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n[02:28.14] Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n[02:30.60] In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n[02:33.49] Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n[02:36.52] Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n[02:39.48] Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n[02:41.85] Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n[02:44.92] Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n[02:47.11] Now now\n[02:47.82] Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n[02:50.39] I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n[02:52.47] Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n[02:55.85] That's infinity -- too many sick niggas, nickel nines;\n[02:58.54] Bring the remedy -- when you play the field, what's the penalty\n[03:01.21] Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n[03:04.95] Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n[03:07.40] Until they got love for my music\n[03:09.78] Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n[03:12.56] And three charges, I got to \"See-three-P.O.'s\"\n[03:15.18] This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n[03:17.44] Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the WAR\n[03:21.58] That's my people, sho' nuff, befo' I roll up\n[03:23.82] This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n[03:26.95] I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to Left Eye\n[03:29.56] New York Shitty, put they weight on it\n[03:31.61] And who better for the job than Biggie? The Notorious\n[03:34.55] Jeee-zus, \"Unbelievable\" rhyme that reaches\n[03:36.85] And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n[03:40.53] MC, What's-Your-Name, tuck your chain\n[03:42.68] All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n[03:45.74] Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n[03:48.09] Hot -- forcin my way up in the door\n[03:51.22] To kill the bullshit like a matador\n[03:53.64] Keep your hands high (what?)\n[04:00.08] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Rap Phenomenon\n  artist: The Notorious B.I.G.\n  album: Born Again\n  duration_ms: 244158\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: '\"Meth-Tical.\"'\n  start_ms: 3160\n  end_ms: 4190\n- text: '\"Biggie. Biggie.\" (mmmhmmmmmm)'\n  start_ms: 4190\n  end_ms: 7190\n- text: Uhh. uhh. uhh. (yo c'mon Big) uhh.\n  start_ms: 7190\n  end_ms: 11670\n- text: Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n  start_ms: 11670\n  end_ms: 14300\n- text: The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n  start_ms: 14300\n  end_ms: 17240\n- text: Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n  start_ms: 17240\n  end_ms: 20010\n- text: Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n  start_ms: 20010\n  end_ms: 22910\n- text: So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n  start_ms: 22910\n  end_ms: 25480\n- text: Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n  start_ms: 25480\n  end_ms: 28500\n- text: Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n  start_ms: 28500\n  end_ms: 31050\n- text: Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n  start_ms: 31050\n  end_ms: 34150\n- text: The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n  start_ms: 34150\n  end_ms: 36750\n- text: It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n  start_ms: 36750\n  end_ms: 39450\n- text: It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n  start_ms: 39450\n  end_ms: 42580\n- text: But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n  start_ms: 42580\n  end_ms: 44720\n- text: I could chill, the heat doesn't\n  start_ms: 44720\n  end_ms: 46720\n- text: Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n  start_ms: 46720\n  end_ms: 48530\n- text: You never see bank like Frank White\n  start_ms: 48530\n  end_ms: 50980\n- text: Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n  start_ms: 50980\n  end_ms: 53530\n- text: You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n  start_ms: 53530\n  end_ms: 55800\n- text: Yo. yo yo\n  start_ms: 55800\n  end_ms: 56420\n- text: I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n  start_ms: 56420\n  end_ms: 58430\n- text: I'm up around fo' with the crowbar to the five point oh\n  start_ms: 58430\n  end_ms: 61680\n- text: I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n  start_ms: 61680\n  end_ms: 64770\n- text: You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n  start_ms: 64770\n  end_ms: 67260\n- text: Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n  start_ms: 67260\n  end_ms: 70190\n- text: I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n  start_ms: 70190\n  end_ms: 72730\n- text: Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n  start_ms: 72730\n  end_ms: 75670\n- text: I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n  start_ms: 75670\n  end_ms: 78660\n- text: It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n  start_ms: 78660\n  end_ms: 81150\n- text: By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n  start_ms: 81150\n  end_ms: 84230\n- text: I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n  start_ms: 84230\n  end_ms: 86550\n- text: I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n  start_ms: 86550\n  end_ms: 89840\n- text: The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n  start_ms: 89840\n  end_ms: 92200\n- text: I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n  start_ms: 92200\n  end_ms: 95160\n- text: Yo Biggie (what? what?) She havin my bay-bayy\n  start_ms: 95160\n  end_ms: 98070\n- text: If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n  start_ms: 98070\n  end_ms: 100510\n- text: '\"This rule is so underrated.\" -]'\n  start_ms: 100510\n  end_ms: 103980\n- text: '\"Actin as if it can''t happen, you''re frontin\" -'\n  start_ms: 103980\n  end_ms: 106450\n- text: '\"Ain''t no other kings in this rap thing.\" -'\n  start_ms: 106450\n  end_ms: 108910\n- text: '\"Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\" -'\n  start_ms: 108910\n  end_ms: 119630\n- text: Uhh, uhh\n  start_ms: 119630\n  end_ms: 123010\n- text: I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n  start_ms: 123010\n  end_ms: 125870\n- text: Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n  start_ms: 125870\n  end_ms: 128490\n- text: Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n  start_ms: 128490\n  end_ms: 131390\n- text: Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, andyou don't stops\n  start_ms: 131390\n  end_ms: 134390\n- text: Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n  start_ms: 134390\n  end_ms: 136620\n- text: Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n  start_ms: 136620\n  end_ms: 139430\n- text: From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n  start_ms: 139430\n  end_ms: 142490\n- text: Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n  start_ms: 142490\n  end_ms: 145050\n- text: Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n  start_ms: 145050\n  end_ms: 148140\n- text: Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n  start_ms: 148140\n  end_ms: 150600\n- text: In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n  start_ms: 150600\n  end_ms: 153490\n- text: Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n  start_ms: 153490\n  end_ms: 156520\n- text: Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n  start_ms: 156520\n  end_ms: 159480\n- text: Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n  start_ms: 159480\n  end_ms: 161850\n- text: Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n  start_ms: 161850\n  end_ms: 164920\n- text: Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n  start_ms: 164920\n  end_ms: 167110\n- text: Now now\n  start_ms: 167110\n  end_ms: 167820\n- text: Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n  start_ms: 167820\n  end_ms: 170390\n- text: I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n  start_ms: 170390\n  end_ms: 172470\n- text: Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n  start_ms: 172470\n  end_ms: 175850\n- text: That's infinity -- too many sick niggas, nickel nines;\n  start_ms: 175850\n  end_ms: 178540\n- text: Bring the remedy -- when you play the field, what's the penalty\n  start_ms: 178540\n  end_ms: 181210\n- text: Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n  start_ms: 181210\n  end_ms: 184950\n- text: Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n  start_ms: 184950\n  end_ms: 187400\n- text: Until they got love for my music\n  start_ms: 187400\n  end_ms: 189780\n- text: Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n  start_ms: 189780\n  end_ms: 192560\n- text: And three charges, I got to \"See-three-P.O.'s\"\n  start_ms: 192560\n  end_ms: 195180\n- text: This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n  start_ms: 195180\n  end_ms: 197440\n- text: Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the WAR\n  start_ms: 197440\n  end_ms: 201580\n- text: That's my people, sho' nuff, befo' I roll up\n  start_ms: 201580\n  end_ms: 203820\n- text: This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n  start_ms: 203820\n  end_ms: 206950\n- text: I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to Left Eye\n  start_ms: 206950\n  end_ms: 209560\n- text: New York Shitty, put they weight on it\n  start_ms: 209560\n  end_ms: 211610\n- text: And who better for the job than Biggie? The Notorious\n  start_ms: 211610\n  end_ms: 214550\n- text: Jeee-zus, \"Unbelievable\" rhyme that reaches\n  start_ms: 214550\n  end_ms: 216850\n- text: And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n  start_ms: 216850\n  end_ms: 220530\n- text: MC, What's-Your-Name, tuck your chain\n  start_ms: 220530\n  end_ms: 222680\n- text: All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n  start_ms: 222680\n  end_ms: 225740\n- text: Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n  start_ms: 225740\n  end_ms: 228090\n- text: Hot -- forcin my way up in the door\n  start_ms: 228090\n  end_ms: 231220\n- text: To kill the bullshit like a matador\n  start_ms: 231220\n  end_ms: 233640\n- text: Keep your hands high (what?)\n  start_ms: 233640\n  end_ms: 240080\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 240080\nplain: |-\n  \"Meth-Tical.\"\n  \"Biggie. Biggie.\" (mmmhmmmmmm)\n\n  Uhh. uhh. uhh. (yo c'mon Big) uhh.\n  Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n  The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n  Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n  Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n  So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n  Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n  Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n  Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n  The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n  It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n  It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n  But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n  I could chill, the heat doesn't\n  Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n  You never see bank like Frank White\n  Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n  You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n\n  Yo. yo yo\n  I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n  I'm up around fo' with the crowbar to the five point oh\n  I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n  You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n  Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n  I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n  Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n  I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n  It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n  By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n  I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n  I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n  The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n  I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n  Yo Biggie (what? what?) She havin my bay-bayy\n  If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n\n  \"This rule is so underrated.\" -]\n  \"Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\" -\n  \"Ain't no other kings in this rap thing.\" -\n  \"Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\" -\n\n  Uhh, uhh\n  I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n  Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n  Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n  Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, andyou don't stops\n  Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n  Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n  From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n  Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n  Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n  Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n  In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n  Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n  Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n  Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n  Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n  Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n\n  Now now\n  Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n  I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n  Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n  That's infinity -- too many sick niggas, nickel nines;\n  Bring the remedy -- when you play the field, what's the penalty\n  Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n  Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n  Until they got love for my music\n  Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n  And three charges, I got to \"See-three-P.O.'s\"\n  This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n  Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the WAR\n  That's my people, sho' nuff, befo' I roll up\n  This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n  I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to Left Eye\n  New York Shitty, put they weight on it\n  And who better for the job than Biggie? The Notorious\n  Jeee-zus, \"Unbelievable\" rhyme that reaches\n  And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n  MC, What's-Your-Name, tuck your chain\n  All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n  Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n  Hot -- forcin my way up in the door\n  To kill the bullshit like a matador\n  Keep your hands high (what?)\n"},{"id":24710824,"name":"Rap Phenomenon","trackName":"Rap Phenomenon","artistName":"The Notorious B.I.G.","albumName":"Signature Sounds, Volume 1","duration":242.129,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"\"Meth-Tical.\"\n\"Biggie. Biggie.\" (mmmhmmmmmm)\n\nUhh. uhh. uhh. (yo c'mon Big) uhh.\nFuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\nThe prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\nFlooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\nSmack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\nSo I grab it, never run, the outcome\nIs usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\nOr where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\nLeave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\nThe rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\nIt's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\nIt's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\nBut they wasn't, so run it, cousin\nI could chill, the heat doesn't\nRan up in your shell about a dozen\nYou never see bank like Frank White\nYour hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\nYou 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n\nYo. yo yo\nI don't brownnose out of town hoes\nI'm up around fo' with the crowbar to the five point oh\nI get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\nYou ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\nExplode the pyros when Doc guest appear\nI'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\nYour time is near, so get your body dropped off\nI stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\nIt's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\nBy the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\nI.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\nI break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\nThe Doc was born with a grenade palm\nI'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\nYo Biggie (what? what?) She havin my bay-bayy\nIf I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n\n\"This rule is so underrated.\" -]\n\"Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\" -\n\"Ain't no other kings in this rap thing.\" -\n\"Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\" -\n\nUhh, uhh\nI got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\nY'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\nMotherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\nFuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, andyou don't stops\nMe and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\nBought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\nFrom Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\nBitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\nDon't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\nNiggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\nIn and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\nMake his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\nBlastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\nFrank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\nPlay hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\nSlash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n\nNow now\nDon't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\nI take these adolescents back to Spofford\nMentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\nThat's infinity -- too many sick niggas, nickel nines;\nBring the remedy -- when you play the field, what's the penalty\nUnnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\nStuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\nUntil they got love for my music\nStar Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\nAnd three charges, I got to \"See-three-P.O.'s\"\nThis is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\nEyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the WAR\nThat's my people, sho' nuff, befo' I roll up\nThis is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\nI rep S.I., the unpretty, word to Left Eye\nNew York Shitty, put they weight on it\nAnd who better for the job than Biggie? The Notorious\nJeee-zus, \"Unbelievable\" rhyme that reaches\nAnd touch individual, small frame buck and change\nMC, What's-Your-Name, tuck your chain\nAll about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\nKick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\nHot -- forcin my way up in the door\nTo kill the bullshit like a matador\nKeep your hands high (what?)","syncedLyrics":"[00:03.16] \"Meth-Tical.\"\n[00:04.19] \"Biggie. Biggie.\" (mmmhmmmmmm)\n[00:07.19] Uhh. uhh. uhh. (yo c'mon Big) uhh.\n[00:11.67] Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n[00:14.30] The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n[00:17.24] Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n[00:20.01] Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n[00:22.91] So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n[00:25.48] Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n[00:28.50] Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n[00:31.05] Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n[00:34.15] The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n[00:36.75] It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n[00:39.45] It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n[00:42.58] But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n[00:44.72] I could chill, the heat doesn't\n[00:46.72] Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n[00:48.53] You never see bank like Frank White\n[00:50.98] Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n[00:53.53] You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n[00:55.80] Yo. yo yo\n[00:56.42] I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n[00:58.43] I'm up around fo' with the crowbar to the five point oh\n[01:01.68] I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n[01:04.77] You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n[01:07.26] Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n[01:10.19] I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n[01:12.73] Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n[01:15.67] I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n[01:18.66] It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n[01:21.15] By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n[01:24.23] I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n[01:26.55] I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n[01:29.84] The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n[01:32.20] I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n[01:35.16] Yo Biggie (what? what?) She havin my bay-bayy\n[01:38.07] If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n[01:40.51] \"This rule is so underrated.\" -]\n[01:43.98] \"Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\" -\n[01:46.45] \"Ain't no other kings in this rap thing.\" -\n[01:48.91] \"Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\" -\n[01:59.63] Uhh, uhh\n[02:03.01] I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n[02:05.87] Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n[02:08.49] Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n[02:11.39] Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, andyou don't stops\n[02:14.39] Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n[02:16.62] Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n[02:19.43] From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n[02:22.49] Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n[02:25.05] Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n[02:28.14] Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n[02:30.60] In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n[02:33.49] Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n[02:36.52] Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n[02:39.48] Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n[02:41.85] Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n[02:44.92] Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n[02:47.11] Now now\n[02:47.82] Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n[02:50.39] I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n[02:52.47] Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n[02:55.85] That's infinity -- too many sick niggas, nickel nines;\n[02:58.54] Bring the remedy -- when you play the field, what's the penalty\n[03:01.21] Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n[03:04.95] Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n[03:07.40] Until they got love for my music\n[03:09.78] Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n[03:12.56] And three charges, I got to \"See-three-P.O.'s\"\n[03:15.18] This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n[03:17.44] Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the WAR\n[03:21.58] That's my people, sho' nuff, befo' I roll up\n[03:23.82] This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n[03:26.95] I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to Left Eye\n[03:29.56] New York Shitty, put they weight on it\n[03:31.61] And who better for the job than Biggie? The Notorious\n[03:34.55] Jeee-zus, \"Unbelievable\" rhyme that reaches\n[03:36.85] And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n[03:40.53] MC, What's-Your-Name, tuck your chain\n[03:42.68] All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n[03:45.74] Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n[03:48.09] Hot -- forcin my way up in the door\n[03:51.22] To kill the bullshit like a matador\n[03:53.64] Keep your hands high (what?)\n[04:00.08] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Rap Phenomenon\n  artist: The Notorious B.I.G.\n  album: Signature Sounds, Volume 1\n  duration_ms: 242129\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: '\"Meth-Tical.\"'\n  start_ms: 3160\n  end_ms: 4190\n- text: '\"Biggie. Biggie.\" (mmmhmmmmmm)'\n  start_ms: 4190\n  end_ms: 7190\n- text: Uhh. uhh. uhh. (yo c'mon Big) uhh.\n  start_ms: 7190\n  end_ms: 11670\n- text: Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n  start_ms: 11670\n  end_ms: 14300\n- text: The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n  start_ms: 14300\n  end_ms: 17240\n- text: Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n  start_ms: 17240\n  end_ms: 20010\n- text: Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n  start_ms: 20010\n  end_ms: 22910\n- text: So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n  start_ms: 22910\n  end_ms: 25480\n- text: Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n  start_ms: 25480\n  end_ms: 28500\n- text: Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n  start_ms: 28500\n  end_ms: 31050\n- text: Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n  start_ms: 31050\n  end_ms: 34150\n- text: The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n  start_ms: 34150\n  end_ms: 36750\n- text: It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n  start_ms: 36750\n  end_ms: 39450\n- text: It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n  start_ms: 39450\n  end_ms: 42580\n- text: But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n  start_ms: 42580\n  end_ms: 44720\n- text: I could chill, the heat doesn't\n  start_ms: 44720\n  end_ms: 46720\n- text: Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n  start_ms: 46720\n  end_ms: 48530\n- text: You never see bank like Frank White\n  start_ms: 48530\n  end_ms: 50980\n- text: Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n  start_ms: 50980\n  end_ms: 53530\n- text: You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n  start_ms: 53530\n  end_ms: 55800\n- text: Yo. yo yo\n  start_ms: 55800\n  end_ms: 56420\n- text: I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n  start_ms: 56420\n  end_ms: 58430\n- text: I'm up around fo' with the crowbar to the five point oh\n  start_ms: 58430\n  end_ms: 61680\n- text: I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n  start_ms: 61680\n  end_ms: 64770\n- text: You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n  start_ms: 64770\n  end_ms: 67260\n- text: Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n  start_ms: 67260\n  end_ms: 70190\n- text: I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n  start_ms: 70190\n  end_ms: 72730\n- text: Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n  start_ms: 72730\n  end_ms: 75670\n- text: I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n  start_ms: 75670\n  end_ms: 78660\n- text: It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n  start_ms: 78660\n  end_ms: 81150\n- text: By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n  start_ms: 81150\n  end_ms: 84230\n- text: I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n  start_ms: 84230\n  end_ms: 86550\n- text: I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n  start_ms: 86550\n  end_ms: 89840\n- text: The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n  start_ms: 89840\n  end_ms: 92200\n- text: I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n  start_ms: 92200\n  end_ms: 95160\n- text: Yo Biggie (what? what?) She havin my bay-bayy\n  start_ms: 95160\n  end_ms: 98070\n- text: If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n  start_ms: 98070\n  end_ms: 100510\n- text: '\"This rule is so underrated.\" -]'\n  start_ms: 100510\n  end_ms: 103980\n- text: '\"Actin as if it can''t happen, you''re frontin\" -'\n  start_ms: 103980\n  end_ms: 106450\n- text: '\"Ain''t no other kings in this rap thing.\" -'\n  start_ms: 106450\n  end_ms: 108910\n- text: '\"Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\" -'\n  start_ms: 108910\n  end_ms: 119630\n- text: Uhh, uhh\n  start_ms: 119630\n  end_ms: 123010\n- text: I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n  start_ms: 123010\n  end_ms: 125870\n- text: Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n  start_ms: 125870\n  end_ms: 128490\n- text: Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n  start_ms: 128490\n  end_ms: 131390\n- text: Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, andyou don't stops\n  start_ms: 131390\n  end_ms: 134390\n- text: Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n  start_ms: 134390\n  end_ms: 136620\n- text: Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n  start_ms: 136620\n  end_ms: 139430\n- text: From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n  start_ms: 139430\n  end_ms: 142490\n- text: Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n  start_ms: 142490\n  end_ms: 145050\n- text: Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n  start_ms: 145050\n  end_ms: 148140\n- text: Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n  start_ms: 148140\n  end_ms: 150600\n- text: In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n  start_ms: 150600\n  end_ms: 153490\n- text: Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n  start_ms: 153490\n  end_ms: 156520\n- text: Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n  start_ms: 156520\n  end_ms: 159480\n- text: Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n  start_ms: 159480\n  end_ms: 161850\n- text: Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n  start_ms: 161850\n  end_ms: 164920\n- text: Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n  start_ms: 164920\n  end_ms: 167110\n- text: Now now\n  start_ms: 167110\n  end_ms: 167820\n- text: Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n  start_ms: 167820\n  end_ms: 170390\n- text: I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n  start_ms: 170390\n  end_ms: 172470\n- text: Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n  start_ms: 172470\n  end_ms: 175850\n- text: That's infinity -- too many sick niggas, nickel nines;\n  start_ms: 175850\n  end_ms: 178540\n- text: Bring the remedy -- when you play the field, what's the penalty\n  start_ms: 178540\n  end_ms: 181210\n- text: Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n  start_ms: 181210\n  end_ms: 184950\n- text: Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n  start_ms: 184950\n  end_ms: 187400\n- text: Until they got love for my music\n  start_ms: 187400\n  end_ms: 189780\n- text: Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n  start_ms: 189780\n  end_ms: 192560\n- text: And three charges, I got to \"See-three-P.O.'s\"\n  start_ms: 192560\n  end_ms: 195180\n- text: This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n  start_ms: 195180\n  end_ms: 197440\n- text: Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the WAR\n  start_ms: 197440\n  end_ms: 201580\n- text: That's my people, sho' nuff, befo' I roll up\n  start_ms: 201580\n  end_ms: 203820\n- text: This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n  start_ms: 203820\n  end_ms: 206950\n- text: I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to Left Eye\n  start_ms: 206950\n  end_ms: 209560\n- text: New York Shitty, put they weight on it\n  start_ms: 209560\n  end_ms: 211610\n- text: And who better for the job than Biggie? The Notorious\n  start_ms: 211610\n  end_ms: 214550\n- text: Jeee-zus, \"Unbelievable\" rhyme that reaches\n  start_ms: 214550\n  end_ms: 216850\n- text: And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n  start_ms: 216850\n  end_ms: 220530\n- text: MC, What's-Your-Name, tuck your chain\n  start_ms: 220530\n  end_ms: 222680\n- text: All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n  start_ms: 222680\n  end_ms: 225740\n- text: Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n  start_ms: 225740\n  end_ms: 228090\n- text: Hot -- forcin my way up in the door\n  start_ms: 228090\n  end_ms: 231220\n- text: To kill the bullshit like a matador\n  start_ms: 231220\n  end_ms: 233640\n- text: Keep your hands high (what?)\n  start_ms: 233640\n  end_ms: 240080\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 240080\nplain: |-\n  \"Meth-Tical.\"\n  \"Biggie. Biggie.\" (mmmhmmmmmm)\n\n  Uhh. uhh. uhh. (yo c'mon Big) uhh.\n  Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n  The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n  Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n  Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n  So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n  Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n  Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n  Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n  The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n  It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n  It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n  But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n  I could chill, the heat doesn't\n  Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n  You never see bank like Frank White\n  Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n  You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n\n  Yo. yo yo\n  I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n  I'm up around fo' with the crowbar to the five point oh\n  I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n  You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n  Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n  I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n  Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n  I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n  It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n  By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n  I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n  I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n  The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n  I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n  Yo Biggie (what? what?) She havin my bay-bayy\n  If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n\n  \"This rule is so underrated.\" -]\n  \"Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\" -\n  \"Ain't no other kings in this rap thing.\" -\n  \"Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\" -\n\n  Uhh, uhh\n  I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n  Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n  Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n  Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, andyou don't stops\n  Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n  Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n  From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n  Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n  Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n  Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n  In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n  Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n  Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n  Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n  Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n  Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n\n  Now now\n  Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n  I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n  Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n  That's infinity -- too many sick niggas, nickel nines;\n  Bring the remedy -- when you play the field, what's the penalty\n  Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n  Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n  Until they got love for my music\n  Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n  And three charges, I got to \"See-three-P.O.'s\"\n  This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n  Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the WAR\n  That's my people, sho' nuff, befo' I roll up\n  This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n  I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to Left Eye\n  New York Shitty, put they weight on it\n  And who better for the job than Biggie? The Notorious\n  Jeee-zus, \"Unbelievable\" rhyme that reaches\n  And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n  MC, What's-Your-Name, tuck your chain\n  All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n  Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n  Hot -- forcin my way up in the door\n  To kill the bullshit like a matador\n  Keep your hands high (what?)\n"},{"id":10549178,"name":"Rap Phenomenon","trackName":"Rap Phenomenon","artistName":"The Notorious B.I.G.","albumName":"Meth & Red in da House","duration":242.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Meth-Tical\nBiggie. Biggie, (mmmhmmmmmm)\n\nUhh. uhh. uhh (yo c'mon Big) uhh\nFuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\nThe prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\nFlooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\nSmack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\nSo I grab it, never run, the outcome\nIs usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\nOr where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n\nLeave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\nThe rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\nIt's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\nIt's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\nBut they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n\nI could chill, the heat doesn't\nRan up in your shell about a dozen\nYou never see bank like Frank White\nYour hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\nYou 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n\nI don't brownnose out of town hoes\nI'm up around four with the crowbar to the five point oh\nI get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\nYou ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\nExplode the pyros when Doc guest appear\nI'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n\nYour time is near, so get your body dropped off\nI stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\nIt's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\nBy the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\nI.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n\nI break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\nThe Doc was born with a grenade palm\nI'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\nYo Biggie, what what, she havin my bay-bayy\nIf I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n\nThis rule is so underrated\nActin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\nAin't no other kings in this rap thing\nBiggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\nThis rule is so underrated\nActin as if it can't happen, you're fronting\nAin't no other kings in this rap thing\nBiggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\nUhh, uhh\nI got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\nY'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\nMotherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\nFuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\nMe and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n\nBought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\nFrom Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\nBitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\nDon't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\nNiggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n\nIn and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\nMake his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\nBlastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\nFrank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\nPlay hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\nSlash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n\nDon't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\nI take these adolescents back to Spofford\nMentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\nThat's infinity, too many sick niggas, nickel nines\nBring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n\nUnnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\nStuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\nUntil they got love for my music\nStar Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\nAnd three charges, I got to see-three-P.O.'s\n\nThis is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\nEyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the war\nThat's my people, sho' nuff, before I roll up\nThis is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\nI rep S.I., the unpretty, word to left eye\n\nNew york shitty, put they weight on it\nAnd who better for the job than biggie the notorious\nJeee-zus, unbelievable rhyme that reaches\nAnd touch individual, small frame buck and change\nMC, what's your name, tuck your chain\n\nAll about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\nKick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\nHot, forcin my way up in the door\nTo kill the bullshit like a matador\nKeep your hands high (what?)","syncedLyrics":"[00:01.96] Meth-Tical\n[00:03.45] Biggie. Biggie, (mmmhmmmmmm)\n[00:05.94] Uhh. uhh. uhh (yo c'mon Big) uhh\n[00:11.20] Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n[00:14.36] The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n[00:16.71] Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n[00:19.17] Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n[00:22.03] So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n[00:25.38] Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n[00:28.21] Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n[00:31.04] Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n[00:33.82] The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n[00:36.42] It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n[00:38.86] It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n[00:42.26] But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n[00:44.55] I could chill, the heat doesn't\n[00:46.81] Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n[00:48.27] You never see bank like Frank White\n[00:50.02] Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n[00:52.99] You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n[00:55.93] I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n[00:57.62] I'm up around four with the crowbar to the five point oh\n[01:01.27] I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n[01:04.09] You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n[01:07.10] Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n[01:09.61] I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n[01:12.72] Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n[01:15.23] I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n[01:18.00] It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n[01:21.09] By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n[01:23.46] I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n[01:26.46] I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n[01:29.44] The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n[01:31.71] I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n[01:34.57] Yo Biggie, what what, she havin my bay-bayy\n[01:37.41] If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n[01:40.12] This rule is so underrated\n[01:43.34] Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\n[01:45.64] Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n[01:48.31] Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n[01:52.45] This rule is so underrated\n[01:54.58] Actin as if it can't happen, you're fronting\n[01:57.13] Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n[01:59.56] Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n[02:02.05] Uhh, uhh\n[02:03.09] I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n[02:04.92] Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n[02:07.76] Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n[02:10.77] Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\n[02:13.85] Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n[02:16.46] Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n[02:19.10] From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n[02:22.07] Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n[02:24.64] Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n[02:27.40] Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n[02:30.27] In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n[02:33.05] Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n[02:35.92] Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n[02:38.80] Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n[02:41.45] Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n[02:44.11] Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n[02:47.27] Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n[02:49.91] I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n[02:52.36] Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n[02:55.28] That's infinity, too many sick niggas, nickel nines\n[02:58.19] Bring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n[03:01.37] Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n[03:04.00] Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n[03:06.93] Until they got love for my music\n[03:09.81] Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n[03:12.11] And three charges, I got to see-three-P.O.'s\n[03:14.58] This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n[03:17.20] Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the war\n[03:20.35] That's my people, sho' nuff, before I roll up\n[03:23.25] This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n[03:25.95] I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to left eye\n[03:29.15] New york shitty, put they weight on it\n[03:31.28] And who better for the job than biggie the notorious\n[03:33.92] Jeee-zus, unbelievable rhyme that reaches\n[03:37.12] And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n[03:40.53] MC, what's your name, tuck your chain\n[03:42.28] All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n[03:44.63] Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n[03:48.00] Hot, forcin my way up in the door\n[03:50.62] To kill the bullshit like a matador\n[03:53.33] Keep your hands high (what?)\n[03:55.28] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Rap Phenomenon\n  artist: The Notorious B.I.G.\n  album: Meth & Red in da House\n  duration_ms: 242000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Meth-Tical\n  start_ms: 1960\n  end_ms: 3450\n- text: Biggie. Biggie, (mmmhmmmmmm)\n  start_ms: 3450\n  end_ms: 5940\n- text: Uhh. uhh. uhh (yo c'mon Big) uhh\n  start_ms: 5940\n  end_ms: 11200\n- text: Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n  start_ms: 11200\n  end_ms: 14360\n- text: The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n  start_ms: 14360\n  end_ms: 16710\n- text: Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n  start_ms: 16710\n  end_ms: 19170\n- text: Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n  start_ms: 19170\n  end_ms: 22030\n- text: So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n  start_ms: 22030\n  end_ms: 25380\n- text: Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n  start_ms: 25380\n  end_ms: 28210\n- text: Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n  start_ms: 28210\n  end_ms: 31040\n- text: Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n  start_ms: 31040\n  end_ms: 33820\n- text: The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n  start_ms: 33820\n  end_ms: 36420\n- text: It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n  start_ms: 36420\n  end_ms: 38860\n- text: It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n  start_ms: 38860\n  end_ms: 42260\n- text: But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n  start_ms: 42260\n  end_ms: 44550\n- text: I could chill, the heat doesn't\n  start_ms: 44550\n  end_ms: 46810\n- text: Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n  start_ms: 46810\n  end_ms: 48270\n- text: You never see bank like Frank White\n  start_ms: 48270\n  end_ms: 50020\n- text: Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n  start_ms: 50020\n  end_ms: 52990\n- text: You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n  start_ms: 52990\n  end_ms: 55930\n- text: I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n  start_ms: 55930\n  end_ms: 57620\n- text: I'm up around four with the crowbar to the five point oh\n  start_ms: 57620\n  end_ms: 61270\n- text: I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n  start_ms: 61270\n  end_ms: 64090\n- text: You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n  start_ms: 64090\n  end_ms: 67100\n- text: Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n  start_ms: 67100\n  end_ms: 69610\n- text: I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n  start_ms: 69610\n  end_ms: 72720\n- text: Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n  start_ms: 72720\n  end_ms: 75230\n- text: I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n  start_ms: 75230\n  end_ms: 78000\n- text: It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n  start_ms: 78000\n  end_ms: 81090\n- text: By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n  start_ms: 81090\n  end_ms: 83460\n- text: I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n  start_ms: 83460\n  end_ms: 86460\n- text: I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n  start_ms: 86460\n  end_ms: 89440\n- text: The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n  start_ms: 89440\n  end_ms: 91710\n- text: I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n  start_ms: 91710\n  end_ms: 94570\n- text: Yo Biggie, what what, she havin my bay-bayy\n  start_ms: 94570\n  end_ms: 97410\n- text: If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n  start_ms: 97410\n  end_ms: 100120\n- text: This rule is so underrated\n  start_ms: 100120\n  end_ms: 103340\n- text: Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\n  start_ms: 103340\n  end_ms: 105640\n- text: Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  start_ms: 105640\n  end_ms: 108310\n- text: Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n  start_ms: 108310\n  end_ms: 112450\n- text: This rule is so underrated\n  start_ms: 112450\n  end_ms: 114580\n- text: Actin as if it can't happen, you're fronting\n  start_ms: 114580\n  end_ms: 117130\n- text: Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  start_ms: 117130\n  end_ms: 119560\n- text: Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n  start_ms: 119560\n  end_ms: 122050\n- text: Uhh, uhh\n  start_ms: 122050\n  end_ms: 123090\n- text: I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n  start_ms: 123090\n  end_ms: 124920\n- text: Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n  start_ms: 124920\n  end_ms: 127760\n- text: Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n  start_ms: 127760\n  end_ms: 130770\n- text: Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\n  start_ms: 130770\n  end_ms: 133850\n- text: Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n  start_ms: 133850\n  end_ms: 136460\n- text: Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n  start_ms: 136460\n  end_ms: 139100\n- text: From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n  start_ms: 139100\n  end_ms: 142070\n- text: Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n  start_ms: 142070\n  end_ms: 144640\n- text: Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n  start_ms: 144640\n  end_ms: 147400\n- text: Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n  start_ms: 147400\n  end_ms: 150270\n- text: In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n  start_ms: 150270\n  end_ms: 153050\n- text: Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n  start_ms: 153050\n  end_ms: 155920\n- text: Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n  start_ms: 155920\n  end_ms: 158800\n- text: Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n  start_ms: 158800\n  end_ms: 161450\n- text: Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n  start_ms: 161450\n  end_ms: 164110\n- text: Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n  start_ms: 164110\n  end_ms: 167270\n- text: Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n  start_ms: 167270\n  end_ms: 169910\n- text: I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n  start_ms: 169910\n  end_ms: 172360\n- text: Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n  start_ms: 172360\n  end_ms: 175280\n- text: That's infinity, too many sick niggas, nickel nines\n  start_ms: 175280\n  end_ms: 178190\n- text: Bring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n  start_ms: 178190\n  end_ms: 181370\n- text: Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n  start_ms: 181370\n  end_ms: 184000\n- text: Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n  start_ms: 184000\n  end_ms: 186930\n- text: Until they got love for my music\n  start_ms: 186930\n  end_ms: 189810\n- text: Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n  start_ms: 189810\n  end_ms: 192110\n- text: And three charges, I got to see-three-P.O.'s\n  start_ms: 192110\n  end_ms: 194580\n- text: This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n  start_ms: 194580\n  end_ms: 197200\n- text: Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the war\n  start_ms: 197200\n  end_ms: 200350\n- text: That's my people, sho' nuff, before I roll up\n  start_ms: 200350\n  end_ms: 203250\n- text: This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n  start_ms: 203250\n  end_ms: 205950\n- text: I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to left eye\n  start_ms: 205950\n  end_ms: 209150\n- text: New york shitty, put they weight on it\n  start_ms: 209150\n  end_ms: 211280\n- text: And who better for the job than biggie the notorious\n  start_ms: 211280\n  end_ms: 213920\n- text: Jeee-zus, unbelievable rhyme that reaches\n  start_ms: 213920\n  end_ms: 217120\n- text: And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n  start_ms: 217120\n  end_ms: 220530\n- text: MC, what's your name, tuck your chain\n  start_ms: 220530\n  end_ms: 222280\n- text: All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n  start_ms: 222280\n  end_ms: 224630\n- text: Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n  start_ms: 224630\n  end_ms: 228000\n- text: Hot, forcin my way up in the door\n  start_ms: 228000\n  end_ms: 230620\n- text: To kill the bullshit like a matador\n  start_ms: 230620\n  end_ms: 233330\n- text: Keep your hands high (what?)\n  start_ms: 233330\n  end_ms: 235280\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 235280\nplain: |-\n  Meth-Tical\n  Biggie. Biggie, (mmmhmmmmmm)\n\n  Uhh. uhh. uhh (yo c'mon Big) uhh\n  Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n  The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n  Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n  Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n  So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n  Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n  Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n\n  Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n  The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n  It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n  It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n  But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n\n  I could chill, the heat doesn't\n  Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n  You never see bank like Frank White\n  Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n  You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n\n  I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n  I'm up around four with the crowbar to the five point oh\n  I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n  You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n  Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n  I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n\n  Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n  I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n  It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n  By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n  I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n\n  I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n  The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n  I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n  Yo Biggie, what what, she havin my bay-bayy\n  If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n\n  This rule is so underrated\n  Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\n  Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\n  This rule is so underrated\n  Actin as if it can't happen, you're fronting\n  Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\n  Uhh, uhh\n  I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n  Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n  Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n  Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\n  Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n\n  Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n  From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n  Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n  Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n  Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n\n  In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n  Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n  Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n  Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n  Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n  Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n\n  Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n  I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n  Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n  That's infinity, too many sick niggas, nickel nines\n  Bring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n\n  Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n  Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n  Until they got love for my music\n  Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n  And three charges, I got to see-three-P.O.'s\n\n  This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n  Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the war\n  That's my people, sho' nuff, before I roll up\n  This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n  I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to left eye\n\n  New york shitty, put they weight on it\n  And who better for the job than biggie the notorious\n  Jeee-zus, unbelievable rhyme that reaches\n  And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n  MC, what's your name, tuck your chain\n\n  All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n  Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n  Hot, forcin my way up in the door\n  To kill the bullshit like a matador\n  Keep your hands high (what?)\n"},{"id":26250845,"name":"Rap Phenomenon","trackName":"Rap Phenomenon","artistName":"The Notorious B.I.G.","albumName":"Born Again","duration":236.042449,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"\"Meth-Tical.\"\n\"Biggie. Biggie.\" (mmmhmmmmmm)\n\nUhh. uhh. uhh. (yo c'mon Big) uhh.\nFuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\nThe prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\nFlooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\nSmack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\nSo I grab it, never run, the outcome\nIs usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\nOr where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\nLeave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\nThe rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\nIt's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\nIt's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\nBut they wasn't, so run it, cousin\nI could chill, the heat doesn't\nRan up in your shell about a dozen\nYou never see bank like Frank White\nYour hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\nYou 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n\nYo. yo yo\nI don't brownnose out of town hoes\nI'm up around fo' with the crowbar to the five point oh\nI get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\nYou ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\nExplode the pyros when Doc guest appear\nI'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\nYour time is near, so get your body dropped off\nI stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\nIt's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\nBy the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\nI.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\nI break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\nThe Doc was born with a grenade palm\nI'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\nYo Biggie (what? what?) She havin my bay-bayy\nIf I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n\n\"This rule is so underrated.\" -]\n\"Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\" -\n\"Ain't no other kings in this rap thing.\" -\n\"Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\" -\n\nUhh, uhh\nI got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\nY'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\nMotherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\nFuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, andyou don't stops\nMe and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\nBought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\nFrom Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\nBitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\nDon't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\nNiggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\nIn and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\nMake his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\nBlastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\nFrank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\nPlay hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\nSlash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n\nNow now\nDon't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\nI take these adolescents back to Spofford\nMentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\nThat's infinity -- too many sick niggas, nickel nines;\nBring the remedy -- when you play the field, what's the penalty\nUnnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\nStuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\nUntil they got love for my music\nStar Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\nAnd three charges, I got to \"See-three-P.O.'s\"\nThis is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\nEyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the WAR\nThat's my people, sho' nuff, befo' I roll up\nThis is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\nI rep S.I., the unpretty, word to Left Eye\nNew York Shitty, put they weight on it\nAnd who better for the job than Biggie? The Notorious\nJeee-zus, \"Unbelievable\" rhyme that reaches\nAnd touch individual, small frame buck and change\nMC, What's-Your-Name, tuck your chain\nAll about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\nKick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\nHot -- forcin my way up in the door\nTo kill the bullshit like a matador\nKeep your hands high (what?)","syncedLyrics":"[00:03.16] \"Meth-Tical.\"\n[00:04.19] \"Biggie. Biggie.\" (mmmhmmmmmm)\n[00:07.19] Uhh. uhh. uhh. (yo c'mon Big) uhh.\n[00:11.67] Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n[00:14.30] The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n[00:17.24] Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n[00:20.01] Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n[00:22.91] So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n[00:25.48] Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n[00:28.50] Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n[00:31.05] Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n[00:34.15] The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n[00:36.75] It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n[00:39.45] It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n[00:42.58] But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n[00:44.72] I could chill, the heat doesn't\n[00:46.72] Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n[00:48.53] You never see bank like Frank White\n[00:50.98] Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n[00:53.53] You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n[00:55.80] Yo. yo yo\n[00:56.42] I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n[00:58.43] I'm up around fo' with the crowbar to the five point oh\n[01:01.68] I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n[01:04.77] You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n[01:07.26] Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n[01:10.19] I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n[01:12.73] Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n[01:15.67] I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n[01:18.66] It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n[01:21.15] By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n[01:24.23] I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n[01:26.55] I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n[01:29.84] The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n[01:32.20] I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n[01:35.16] Yo Biggie (what? what?) She havin my bay-bayy\n[01:38.07] If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n[01:40.51] \"This rule is so underrated.\" -]\n[01:43.98] \"Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\" -\n[01:46.45] \"Ain't no other kings in this rap thing.\" -\n[01:48.91] \"Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\" -\n[01:59.63] Uhh, uhh\n[02:03.01] I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n[02:05.87] Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n[02:08.49] Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n[02:11.39] Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, andyou don't stops\n[02:14.39] Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n[02:16.62] Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n[02:19.43] From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n[02:22.49] Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n[02:25.05] Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n[02:28.14] Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n[02:30.60] In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n[02:33.49] Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n[02:36.52] Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n[02:39.48] Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n[02:41.85] Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n[02:44.92] Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n[02:47.11] Now now\n[02:47.82] Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n[02:50.39] I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n[02:52.47] Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n[02:55.85] That's infinity -- too many sick niggas, nickel nines;\n[02:58.54] Bring the remedy -- when you play the field, what's the penalty\n[03:01.21] Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n[03:04.95] Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n[03:07.40] Until they got love for my music\n[03:09.78] Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n[03:12.56] And three charges, I got to \"See-three-P.O.'s\"\n[03:15.18] This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n[03:17.44] Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the WAR\n[03:21.58] That's my people, sho' nuff, befo' I roll up\n[03:23.82] This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n[03:26.95] I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to Left Eye\n[03:29.56] New York Shitty, put they weight on it\n[03:31.61] And who better for the job than Biggie? The Notorious\n[03:34.55] Jeee-zus, \"Unbelievable\" rhyme that reaches\n[03:36.85] And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n[03:40.53] MC, What's-Your-Name, tuck your chain\n[03:42.68] All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n[03:45.74] Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n[03:48.09] Hot -- forcin my way up in the door\n[03:51.22] To kill the bullshit like a matador\n[03:53.64] Keep your hands high (what?)\n[04:00.08] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Rap Phenomenon\n  artist: The Notorious B.I.G.\n  album: Born Again\n  duration_ms: 236042\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: '\"Meth-Tical.\"'\n  start_ms: 3160\n  end_ms: 4190\n- text: '\"Biggie. Biggie.\" (mmmhmmmmmm)'\n  start_ms: 4190\n  end_ms: 7190\n- text: Uhh. uhh. uhh. (yo c'mon Big) uhh.\n  start_ms: 7190\n  end_ms: 11670\n- text: Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n  start_ms: 11670\n  end_ms: 14300\n- text: The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n  start_ms: 14300\n  end_ms: 17240\n- text: Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n  start_ms: 17240\n  end_ms: 20010\n- text: Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n  start_ms: 20010\n  end_ms: 22910\n- text: So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n  start_ms: 22910\n  end_ms: 25480\n- text: Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n  start_ms: 25480\n  end_ms: 28500\n- text: Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n  start_ms: 28500\n  end_ms: 31050\n- text: Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n  start_ms: 31050\n  end_ms: 34150\n- text: The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n  start_ms: 34150\n  end_ms: 36750\n- text: It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n  start_ms: 36750\n  end_ms: 39450\n- text: It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n  start_ms: 39450\n  end_ms: 42580\n- text: But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n  start_ms: 42580\n  end_ms: 44720\n- text: I could chill, the heat doesn't\n  start_ms: 44720\n  end_ms: 46720\n- text: Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n  start_ms: 46720\n  end_ms: 48530\n- text: You never see bank like Frank White\n  start_ms: 48530\n  end_ms: 50980\n- text: Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n  start_ms: 50980\n  end_ms: 53530\n- text: You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n  start_ms: 53530\n  end_ms: 55800\n- text: Yo. yo yo\n  start_ms: 55800\n  end_ms: 56420\n- text: I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n  start_ms: 56420\n  end_ms: 58430\n- text: I'm up around fo' with the crowbar to the five point oh\n  start_ms: 58430\n  end_ms: 61680\n- text: I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n  start_ms: 61680\n  end_ms: 64770\n- text: You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n  start_ms: 64770\n  end_ms: 67260\n- text: Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n  start_ms: 67260\n  end_ms: 70190\n- text: I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n  start_ms: 70190\n  end_ms: 72730\n- text: Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n  start_ms: 72730\n  end_ms: 75670\n- text: I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n  start_ms: 75670\n  end_ms: 78660\n- text: It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n  start_ms: 78660\n  end_ms: 81150\n- text: By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n  start_ms: 81150\n  end_ms: 84230\n- text: I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n  start_ms: 84230\n  end_ms: 86550\n- text: I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n  start_ms: 86550\n  end_ms: 89840\n- text: The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n  start_ms: 89840\n  end_ms: 92200\n- text: I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n  start_ms: 92200\n  end_ms: 95160\n- text: Yo Biggie (what? what?) She havin my bay-bayy\n  start_ms: 95160\n  end_ms: 98070\n- text: If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n  start_ms: 98070\n  end_ms: 100510\n- text: '\"This rule is so underrated.\" -]'\n  start_ms: 100510\n  end_ms: 103980\n- text: '\"Actin as if it can''t happen, you''re frontin\" -'\n  start_ms: 103980\n  end_ms: 106450\n- text: '\"Ain''t no other kings in this rap thing.\" -'\n  start_ms: 106450\n  end_ms: 108910\n- text: '\"Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\" -'\n  start_ms: 108910\n  end_ms: 119630\n- text: Uhh, uhh\n  start_ms: 119630\n  end_ms: 123010\n- text: I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n  start_ms: 123010\n  end_ms: 125870\n- text: Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n  start_ms: 125870\n  end_ms: 128490\n- text: Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n  start_ms: 128490\n  end_ms: 131390\n- text: Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, andyou don't stops\n  start_ms: 131390\n  end_ms: 134390\n- text: Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n  start_ms: 134390\n  end_ms: 136620\n- text: Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n  start_ms: 136620\n  end_ms: 139430\n- text: From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n  start_ms: 139430\n  end_ms: 142490\n- text: Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n  start_ms: 142490\n  end_ms: 145050\n- text: Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n  start_ms: 145050\n  end_ms: 148140\n- text: Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n  start_ms: 148140\n  end_ms: 150600\n- text: In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n  start_ms: 150600\n  end_ms: 153490\n- text: Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n  start_ms: 153490\n  end_ms: 156520\n- text: Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n  start_ms: 156520\n  end_ms: 159480\n- text: Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n  start_ms: 159480\n  end_ms: 161850\n- text: Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n  start_ms: 161850\n  end_ms: 164920\n- text: Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n  start_ms: 164920\n  end_ms: 167110\n- text: Now now\n  start_ms: 167110\n  end_ms: 167820\n- text: Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n  start_ms: 167820\n  end_ms: 170390\n- text: I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n  start_ms: 170390\n  end_ms: 172470\n- text: Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n  start_ms: 172470\n  end_ms: 175850\n- text: That's infinity -- too many sick niggas, nickel nines;\n  start_ms: 175850\n  end_ms: 178540\n- text: Bring the remedy -- when you play the field, what's the penalty\n  start_ms: 178540\n  end_ms: 181210\n- text: Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n  start_ms: 181210\n  end_ms: 184950\n- text: Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n  start_ms: 184950\n  end_ms: 187400\n- text: Until they got love for my music\n  start_ms: 187400\n  end_ms: 189780\n- text: Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n  start_ms: 189780\n  end_ms: 192560\n- text: And three charges, I got to \"See-three-P.O.'s\"\n  start_ms: 192560\n  end_ms: 195180\n- text: This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n  start_ms: 195180\n  end_ms: 197440\n- text: Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the WAR\n  start_ms: 197440\n  end_ms: 201580\n- text: That's my people, sho' nuff, befo' I roll up\n  start_ms: 201580\n  end_ms: 203820\n- text: This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n  start_ms: 203820\n  end_ms: 206950\n- text: I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to Left Eye\n  start_ms: 206950\n  end_ms: 209560\n- text: New York Shitty, put they weight on it\n  start_ms: 209560\n  end_ms: 211610\n- text: And who better for the job than Biggie? The Notorious\n  start_ms: 211610\n  end_ms: 214550\n- text: Jeee-zus, \"Unbelievable\" rhyme that reaches\n  start_ms: 214550\n  end_ms: 216850\n- text: And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n  start_ms: 216850\n  end_ms: 220530\n- text: MC, What's-Your-Name, tuck your chain\n  start_ms: 220530\n  end_ms: 222680\n- text: All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n  start_ms: 222680\n  end_ms: 225740\n- text: Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n  start_ms: 225740\n  end_ms: 228090\n- text: Hot -- forcin my way up in the door\n  start_ms: 228090\n  end_ms: 231220\n- text: To kill the bullshit like a matador\n  start_ms: 231220\n  end_ms: 233640\n- text: Keep your hands high (what?)\n  start_ms: 233640\n  end_ms: 240080\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 240080\nplain: |-\n  \"Meth-Tical.\"\n  \"Biggie. Biggie.\" (mmmhmmmmmm)\n\n  Uhh. uhh. uhh. (yo c'mon Big) uhh.\n  Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n  The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n  Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n  Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n  So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n  Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n  Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n  Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n  The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n  It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n  It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n  But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n  I could chill, the heat doesn't\n  Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n  You never see bank like Frank White\n  Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n  You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n\n  Yo. yo yo\n  I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n  I'm up around fo' with the crowbar to the five point oh\n  I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n  You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n  Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n  I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n  Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n  I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n  It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n  By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n  I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n  I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n  The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n  I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n  Yo Biggie (what? what?) She havin my bay-bayy\n  If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n\n  \"This rule is so underrated.\" -]\n  \"Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\" -\n  \"Ain't no other kings in this rap thing.\" -\n  \"Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\" -\n\n  Uhh, uhh\n  I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n  Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n  Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n  Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, andyou don't stops\n  Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n  Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n  From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n  Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n  Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n  Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n  In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n  Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n  Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n  Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n  Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n  Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n\n  Now now\n  Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n  I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n  Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n  That's infinity -- too many sick niggas, nickel nines;\n  Bring the remedy -- when you play the field, what's the penalty\n  Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n  Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n  Until they got love for my music\n  Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n  And three charges, I got to \"See-three-P.O.'s\"\n  This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n  Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the WAR\n  That's my people, sho' nuff, befo' I roll up\n  This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n  I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to Left Eye\n  New York Shitty, put they weight on it\n  And who better for the job than Biggie? The Notorious\n  Jeee-zus, \"Unbelievable\" rhyme that reaches\n  And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n  MC, What's-Your-Name, tuck your chain\n  All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n  Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n  Hot -- forcin my way up in the door\n  To kill the bullshit like a matador\n  Keep your hands high (what?)\n"},{"id":39497814,"name":"Rap Phenomenon","trackName":"Rap Phenomenon","artistName":"Notorious B.I.G, The","albumName":"Born Again","duration":242.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Meth-Tical\nBiggie. Biggie, (mmmhmmmmmm)\n\nUhh. uhh. uhh (yo c'mon Big) uhh\nFuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\nThe prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\nFlooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\nSmack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\nSo I grab it, never run, the outcome\nIs usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\nOr where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n\nLeave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\nThe rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\nIt's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\nIt's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\nBut they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n\nI could chill, the heat doesn't\nRan up in your shell about a dozen\nYou never see bank like Frank White\nYour hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\nYou 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n\nI don't brownnose out of town hoes\nI'm up around four with the crowbar to the five point oh\nI get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\nYou ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\nExplode the pyros when Doc guest appear\nI'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n\nYour time is near, so get your body dropped off\nI stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\nIt's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\nBy the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\nI.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n\nI break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\nThe Doc was born with a grenade palm\nI'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\nYo Biggie, what what, she havin my bay-bayy\nIf I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n\nThis rule is so underrated\nActin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\nAin't no other kings in this rap thing\nBiggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\nThis rule is so underrated\nActin as if it can't happen, you're fronting\nAin't no other kings in this rap thing\nBiggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\nUhh, uhh\nI got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\nY'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\nMotherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\nFuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\nMe and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n\nBought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\nFrom Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\nBitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\nDon't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\nNiggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n\nIn and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\nMake his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\nBlastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\nFrank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\nPlay hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\nSlash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n\nDon't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\nI take these adolescents back to Spofford\nMentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\nThat's infinity, too many sick niggas, nickel nines\nBring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n\nUnnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\nStuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\nUntil they got love for my music\nStar Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\nAnd three charges, I got to see-three-P.O.'s\n\nThis is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\nEyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the war\nThat's my people, sho' nuff, before I roll up\nThis is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\nI rep S.I., the unpretty, word to left eye\n\nNew york shitty, put they weight on it\nAnd who better for the job than biggie the notorious\nJeee-zus, unbelievable rhyme that reaches\nAnd touch individual, small frame buck and change\nMC, what's your name, tuck your chain\n\nAll about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\nKick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\nHot, forcin my way up in the door\nTo kill the bullshit like a matador\nKeep your hands high (what?)","syncedLyrics":"[00:01.96] Meth-Tical\n[00:03.45] Biggie. Biggie, (mmmhmmmmmm)\n[00:05.94] Uhh. uhh. uhh (yo c'mon Big) uhh\n[00:11.20] Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n[00:14.36] The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n[00:16.71] Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n[00:19.17] Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n[00:22.03] So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n[00:25.38] Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n[00:28.21] Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n[00:31.04] Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n[00:33.82] The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n[00:36.42] It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n[00:38.86] It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n[00:42.26] But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n[00:44.55] I could chill, the heat doesn't\n[00:46.81] Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n[00:48.27] You never see bank like Frank White\n[00:50.02] Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n[00:52.99] You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n[00:55.93] I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n[00:57.62] I'm up around four with the crowbar to the five point oh\n[01:01.27] I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n[01:04.09] You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n[01:07.10] Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n[01:09.61] I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n[01:12.72] Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n[01:15.23] I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n[01:18.00] It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n[01:21.09] By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n[01:23.46] I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n[01:26.46] I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n[01:29.44] The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n[01:31.71] I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n[01:34.57] Yo Biggie, what what, she havin my bay-bayy\n[01:37.41] If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n[01:40.12] This rule is so underrated\n[01:43.34] Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\n[01:45.64] Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n[01:48.31] Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n[01:52.45] This rule is so underrated\n[01:54.58] Actin as if it can't happen, you're fronting\n[01:57.13] Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n[01:59.56] Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n[02:02.05] Uhh, uhh\n[02:03.09] I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n[02:04.92] Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n[02:07.76] Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n[02:10.77] Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\n[02:13.85] Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n[02:16.46] Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n[02:19.10] From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n[02:22.07] Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n[02:24.64] Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n[02:27.40] Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n[02:30.27] In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n[02:33.05] Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n[02:35.92] Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n[02:38.80] Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n[02:41.45] Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n[02:44.11] Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n[02:47.27] Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n[02:49.91] I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n[02:52.36] Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n[02:55.28] That's infinity, too many sick niggas, nickel nines\n[02:58.19] Bring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n[03:01.37] Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n[03:04.00] Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n[03:06.93] Until they got love for my music\n[03:09.81] Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n[03:12.11] And three charges, I got to see-three-P.O.'s\n[03:14.58] This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n[03:17.20] Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the war\n[03:20.35] That's my people, sho' nuff, before I roll up\n[03:23.25] This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n[03:25.95] I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to left eye\n[03:29.15] New york shitty, put they weight on it\n[03:31.28] And who better for the job than biggie the notorious\n[03:33.92] Jeee-zus, unbelievable rhyme that reaches\n[03:37.12] And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n[03:40.53] MC, what's your name, tuck your chain\n[03:42.28] All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n[03:44.63] Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n[03:48.00] Hot, forcin my way up in the door\n[03:50.62] To kill the bullshit like a matador\n[03:53.33] Keep your hands high (what?)\n[03:55.28] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Rap Phenomenon\n  artist: Notorious B.I.G, The\n  album: Born Again\n  duration_ms: 241931\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Meth-Tical\n  start_ms: 1960\n  end_ms: 3450\n- text: Biggie. Biggie, (mmmhmmmmmm)\n  start_ms: 3450\n  end_ms: 5940\n- text: Uhh. uhh. uhh (yo c'mon Big) uhh\n  start_ms: 5940\n  end_ms: 11200\n- text: Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n  start_ms: 11200\n  end_ms: 14360\n- text: The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n  start_ms: 14360\n  end_ms: 16710\n- text: Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n  start_ms: 16710\n  end_ms: 19170\n- text: Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n  start_ms: 19170\n  end_ms: 22030\n- text: So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n  start_ms: 22030\n  end_ms: 25380\n- text: Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n  start_ms: 25380\n  end_ms: 28210\n- text: Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n  start_ms: 28210\n  end_ms: 31040\n- text: Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n  start_ms: 31040\n  end_ms: 33820\n- text: The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n  start_ms: 33820\n  end_ms: 36420\n- text: It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n  start_ms: 36420\n  end_ms: 38860\n- text: It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n  start_ms: 38860\n  end_ms: 42260\n- text: But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n  start_ms: 42260\n  end_ms: 44550\n- text: I could chill, the heat doesn't\n  start_ms: 44550\n  end_ms: 46810\n- text: Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n  start_ms: 46810\n  end_ms: 48270\n- text: You never see bank like Frank White\n  start_ms: 48270\n  end_ms: 50020\n- text: Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n  start_ms: 50020\n  end_ms: 52990\n- text: You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n  start_ms: 52990\n  end_ms: 55930\n- text: I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n  start_ms: 55930\n  end_ms: 57620\n- text: I'm up around four with the crowbar to the five point oh\n  start_ms: 57620\n  end_ms: 61270\n- text: I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n  start_ms: 61270\n  end_ms: 64090\n- text: You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n  start_ms: 64090\n  end_ms: 67100\n- text: Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n  start_ms: 67100\n  end_ms: 69610\n- text: I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n  start_ms: 69610\n  end_ms: 72720\n- text: Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n  start_ms: 72720\n  end_ms: 75230\n- text: I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n  start_ms: 75230\n  end_ms: 78000\n- text: It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n  start_ms: 78000\n  end_ms: 81090\n- text: By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n  start_ms: 81090\n  end_ms: 83460\n- text: I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n  start_ms: 83460\n  end_ms: 86460\n- text: I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n  start_ms: 86460\n  end_ms: 89440\n- text: The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n  start_ms: 89440\n  end_ms: 91710\n- text: I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n  start_ms: 91710\n  end_ms: 94570\n- text: Yo Biggie, what what, she havin my bay-bayy\n  start_ms: 94570\n  end_ms: 97410\n- text: If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n  start_ms: 97410\n  end_ms: 100120\n- text: This rule is so underrated\n  start_ms: 100120\n  end_ms: 103340\n- text: Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\n  start_ms: 103340\n  end_ms: 105640\n- text: Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  start_ms: 105640\n  end_ms: 108310\n- text: Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n  start_ms: 108310\n  end_ms: 112450\n- text: This rule is so underrated\n  start_ms: 112450\n  end_ms: 114580\n- text: Actin as if it can't happen, you're fronting\n  start_ms: 114580\n  end_ms: 117130\n- text: Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  start_ms: 117130\n  end_ms: 119560\n- text: Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n  start_ms: 119560\n  end_ms: 122050\n- text: Uhh, uhh\n  start_ms: 122050\n  end_ms: 123090\n- text: I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n  start_ms: 123090\n  end_ms: 124920\n- text: Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n  start_ms: 124920\n  end_ms: 127760\n- text: Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n  start_ms: 127760\n  end_ms: 130770\n- text: Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\n  start_ms: 130770\n  end_ms: 133850\n- text: Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n  start_ms: 133850\n  end_ms: 136460\n- text: Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n  start_ms: 136460\n  end_ms: 139100\n- text: From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n  start_ms: 139100\n  end_ms: 142070\n- text: Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n  start_ms: 142070\n  end_ms: 144640\n- text: Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n  start_ms: 144640\n  end_ms: 147400\n- text: Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n  start_ms: 147400\n  end_ms: 150270\n- text: In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n  start_ms: 150270\n  end_ms: 153050\n- text: Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n  start_ms: 153050\n  end_ms: 155920\n- text: Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n  start_ms: 155920\n  end_ms: 158800\n- text: Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n  start_ms: 158800\n  end_ms: 161450\n- text: Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n  start_ms: 161450\n  end_ms: 164110\n- text: Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n  start_ms: 164110\n  end_ms: 167270\n- text: Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n  start_ms: 167270\n  end_ms: 169910\n- text: I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n  start_ms: 169910\n  end_ms: 172360\n- text: Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n  start_ms: 172360\n  end_ms: 175280\n- text: That's infinity, too many sick niggas, nickel nines\n  start_ms: 175280\n  end_ms: 178190\n- text: Bring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n  start_ms: 178190\n  end_ms: 181370\n- text: Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n  start_ms: 181370\n  end_ms: 184000\n- text: Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n  start_ms: 184000\n  end_ms: 186930\n- text: Until they got love for my music\n  start_ms: 186930\n  end_ms: 189810\n- text: Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n  start_ms: 189810\n  end_ms: 192110\n- text: And three charges, I got to see-three-P.O.'s\n  start_ms: 192110\n  end_ms: 194580\n- text: This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n  start_ms: 194580\n  end_ms: 197200\n- text: Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the war\n  start_ms: 197200\n  end_ms: 200350\n- text: That's my people, sho' nuff, before I roll up\n  start_ms: 200350\n  end_ms: 203250\n- text: This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n  start_ms: 203250\n  end_ms: 205950\n- text: I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to left eye\n  start_ms: 205950\n  end_ms: 209150\n- text: New york shitty, put they weight on it\n  start_ms: 209150\n  end_ms: 211280\n- text: And who better for the job than biggie the notorious\n  start_ms: 211280\n  end_ms: 213920\n- text: Jeee-zus, unbelievable rhyme that reaches\n  start_ms: 213920\n  end_ms: 217120\n- text: And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n  start_ms: 217120\n  end_ms: 220530\n- text: MC, what's your name, tuck your chain\n  start_ms: 220530\n  end_ms: 222280\n- text: All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n  start_ms: 222280\n  end_ms: 224630\n- text: Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n  start_ms: 224630\n  end_ms: 228000\n- text: Hot, forcin my way up in the door\n  start_ms: 228000\n  end_ms: 230620\n- text: To kill the bullshit like a matador\n  start_ms: 230620\n  end_ms: 233330\n- text: Keep your hands high (what?)\n  start_ms: 233330\n  end_ms: 235280\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 235280\nplain: |-\n  Meth-Tical\n  Biggie. Biggie, (mmmhmmmmmm)\n\n  Uhh. uhh. uhh (yo c'mon Big) uhh\n  Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n  The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n  Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n  Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n  So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n  Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n  Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n\n  Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n  The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n  It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n  It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n  But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n\n  I could chill, the heat doesn't\n  Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n  You never see bank like Frank White\n  Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n  You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n\n  I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n  I'm up around four with the crowbar to the five point oh\n  I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n  You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n  Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n  I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n\n  Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n  I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n  It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n  By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n  I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n\n  I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n  The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n  I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n  Yo Biggie, what what, she havin my bay-bayy\n  If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n\n  This rule is so underrated\n  Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\n  Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\n  This rule is so underrated\n  Actin as if it can't happen, you're fronting\n  Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\n  Uhh, uhh\n  I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n  Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n  Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n  Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\n  Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n\n  Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n  From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n  Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n  Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n  Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n\n  In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n  Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n  Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n  Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n  Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n  Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n\n  Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n  I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n  Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n  That's infinity, too many sick niggas, nickel nines\n  Bring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n\n  Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n  Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n  Until they got love for my music\n  Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n  And three charges, I got to see-three-P.O.'s\n\n  This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n  Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the war\n  That's my people, sho' nuff, before I roll up\n  This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n  I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to left eye\n\n  New york shitty, put they weight on it\n  And who better for the job than biggie the notorious\n  Jeee-zus, unbelievable rhyme that reaches\n  And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n  MC, what's your name, tuck your chain\n\n  All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n  Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n  Hot, forcin my way up in the door\n  To kill the bullshit like a matador\n  Keep your hands high (what?)\n"},{"id":19997161,"name":"Who Shot Ya?","trackName":"Who Shot Ya?","artistName":"The Notorious B.I.G.","albumName":"Rap Phenomenon","duration":103.5493879,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"As we proceed to give you what you need\n9-5, motherfuckers\nGet live, motherfuckers\nAs we proceed to give you what you need\n9-5, motherfuckers\nGet live, motherfuckers\nNow turn the mics up\nTurn that mic up\nYeah, that beat is knocking to that microphone\nTurn that shit the fuck up\nUh, what? Turn it up louder, yeah, uh\nAs we proceed to give you what you need\nJ.M. motherfuckers\nJ.M. motherfuckers\n9-5, motherfuckers\n\nWho shot ya? Separate the weak from the obsolete\nHard to creep them Brooklyn streets\nIt's on nigga, fuck all that bickering beef\nI can hear sweat trickling down your cheek\nYour heartbeat sound like Sasquatch feet\nThundering, shaking the concrete\nThen the shit stop when I foil the plot\n\nNeighbors call the cops, said they heard mad shots\nSaw me in the drop, three and a quarter\nSlaughter, electrical tape around your daughter\nOld school, new school need to learn though\nI burn, baby, burn like Disco Inferno\n\nBurn slow like blunts with yayo\nPeel more skins than Idaho Potato\nNiggas know, the lyrical molesting is taking place\nFucking with B.I.G. it ain't safe\nI make your skin chafe, rashes on them asses\n\nBumps and bruises, blunts and Land Cruisers\nBig Poppa smash fools, bash fools\nNiggas mad because I know that cash rules\nEverything around me two Glock 9s\nAny motherfucker whispering about mines\nAnd I'm Crooklyn's finest\nYou rewind this, Bad Boy's behind this\n\nAs we proceed to give you what you need\n9-5, motherfuckers\nGet live, motherfuckers\nAs we proceed to give you what you need\n\nEast Coast, motherfuckers\nBad Boy, motherfuckers\nGet high, motherfuckers\nGet high, motherfuckers\nSmoke blunts, motherfuckers\nGet high, motherfuckers\nReady to die, motherfuckers\n9-5, motherfuckers\n\nI seen the light excite all the freaks\nStack mad chips, spread love with my peeps\nNiggas wanna creep, gotta watch my back\nThink the Cognac and indo sack make me slack?\nI switches all that, cocksucker G's up\nOne false move, get Swiss cheesed up\nClip to TEC, respect I demand it\nSlip and break the 11th Commandment\nThou shalt not fuck with nor see Poppa\n\nFeel a thousand deaths when I drop ya\nI feel for you, like Chaka Khan I'm the don\nPussy when I want, Rolex on the arm\nYou'll die slow but calm\nRecognize my face, so there won't be no mistake\n\nSo you know where to tell Jake, lame nigga\nBrave nigga, turned front page nigga\nPuff Daddy flips daily\nI smoke the blunts he sips on the Baileys\nOn the rocks, tote Glocks at christenings\nHammer cock, in the fire position and...\n\nCome here, come here (It ain't gotta be like that, Big)\nOpen your fucking mouth, open your didn't I tell you?\nDon't fuck with me? (Come on, man)\nHuh? Didn't I tell you not to fuck with me? (Come on, man)\nLook at you now, huh? (Come on, man)\nCan't talk with a gun in your mouth, huh?\nBitch-ass nigga, what? Who shot ya?\n\nAs we proceed to give you what you need\n9-5, motherfuckers\nGet live, motherfuckers\nGet high, motherfuckers (Who shot ya?)\nReady to die, motherfuckers, hah!\nAs we proceed (Who shot ya?)\nTo give you what you need\n9-5, motherfuckers\nEast Coast, motherfucker (Who shot ya?)\n\nWest Coast, motherfuckers (Uh)\nWest Coast, motherfuckers, hah!\nAs we proceed to give you what you need\nAs we proceed to give you what you need\nGet live, motherfuckers\nGet live, motherfuckers (Get live, motherfuckers)\n9-5, motherfuckers (9-5, motherfuckers)\nGet money, motherfuckers\n\nAs we proceed to give you what you need\nGet live, motherfuckers (Get live, motherfuckers)\n9-5, motherfuckers\nJ.M., motherfuckers\nJ.M., motherfuckers\nAs we proceed\nTo give you what you need\n9-5","syncedLyrics":"[00:00.33] As we proceed to give you what you need\n[00:04.88] 9-5, motherfuckers\n[00:07.85] Get live, motherfuckers\n[00:10.16] As we proceed to give you what you need\n[00:15.37] 9-5, motherfuckers\n[00:18.33] Get live, motherfuckers\n[00:20.71] Now turn the mics up\n[00:21.61] Turn that mic up\n[00:22.94] Yeah, that beat is knocking to that microphone\n[00:24.76] Turn that shit the fuck up\n[00:26.72] Uh, what? Turn it up louder, yeah, uh\n[00:31.62] As we proceed to give you what you need\n[00:36.93] J.M. motherfuckers\n[00:40.41] J.M. motherfuckers\n[00:43.07] 9-5, motherfuckers\n[00:44.62] Who shot ya? Separate the weak from the obsolete\n[00:48.53] Hard to creep them Brooklyn streets\n[00:51.03] It's on nigga, fuck all that bickering beef\n[00:53.68] I can hear sweat trickling down your cheek\n[00:56.45] Your heartbeat sound like Sasquatch feet\n[00:59.09] Thundering, shaking the concrete\n[01:01.54] Then the shit stop when I foil the plot\n[01:04.09] Neighbors call the cops, said they heard mad shots\n[01:06.77] Saw me in the drop, three and a quarter\n[01:09.48] Slaughter, electrical tape around your daughter\n[01:12.18] Old school, new school need to learn though\n[01:14.60] I burn, baby, burn like Disco Inferno\n[01:17.33] Burn slow like blunts with yayo\n[01:19.97] Peel more skins than Idaho Potato\n[01:22.56] Niggas know, the lyrical molesting is taking place\n[01:25.56] Fucking with B.I.G. it ain't safe\n[01:27.81] I make your skin chafe, rashes on them asses\n[01:30.54] Bumps and bruises, blunts and Land Cruisers\n[01:33.22] Big Poppa smash fools, bash fools\n[01:35.97] Niggas mad because I know that cash rules\n[01:38.31] Everything around me two Glock 9s\n[01:40.95] Any motherfucker whispering about mines\n[01:43.78] And I'm Crooklyn's finest\n[01:46.23] You rewind this, Bad Boy's behind this\n[01:48.99] As we proceed to give you what you need\n[01:53.75] 9-5, motherfuckers\n[01:56.46] Get live, motherfuckers\n[01:59.21] As we proceed to give you what you need\n[02:04.28] East Coast, motherfuckers\n[02:06.97] Bad Boy, motherfuckers\n[02:09.59] Get high, motherfuckers\n[02:14.62] Get high, motherfuckers\n[02:17.30] Smoke blunts, motherfuckers\n[02:22.52] Get high, motherfuckers\n[02:25.29] Ready to die, motherfuckers\n[02:27.86] 9-5, motherfuckers\n[02:30.32] I seen the light excite all the freaks\n[02:33.33] Stack mad chips, spread love with my peeps\n[02:35.95] Niggas wanna creep, gotta watch my back\n[02:38.40] Think the Cognac and indo sack make me slack?\n[02:41.01] I switches all that, cocksucker G's up\n[02:43.64] One false move, get Swiss cheesed up\n[02:46.40] Clip to TEC, respect I demand it\n[02:49.24] Slip and break the 11th Commandment\n[02:51.82] Thou shalt not fuck with nor see Poppa\n[02:54.17] Feel a thousand deaths when I drop ya\n[02:56.41] I feel for you, like Chaka Khan I'm the don\n[02:59.23] Pussy when I want, Rolex on the arm\n[03:02.02] You'll die slow but calm\n[03:04.13] Recognize my face, so there won't be no mistake\n[03:07.21] So you know where to tell Jake, lame nigga\n[03:09.94] Brave nigga, turned front page nigga\n[03:12.88] Puff Daddy flips daily\n[03:14.80] I smoke the blunts he sips on the Baileys\n[03:17.28] On the rocks, tote Glocks at christenings\n[03:19.98] Hammer cock, in the fire position and...\n[03:22.85] Come here, come here (It ain't gotta be like that, Big)\n[03:26.34] Open your fucking mouth, open your didn't I tell you?\n[03:28.59] Don't fuck with me? (Come on, man)\n[03:29.74] Huh? Didn't I tell you not to fuck with me? (Come on, man)\n[03:31.41] Look at you now, huh? (Come on, man)\n[03:34.69] Can't talk with a gun in your mouth, huh?\n[03:36.85] Bitch-ass nigga, what? Who shot ya?\n[03:37.52] As we proceed to give you what you need\n[03:38.32] 9-5, motherfuckers\n[03:38.84] Get live, motherfuckers\n[03:39.08] Get high, motherfuckers (Who shot ya?)\n[03:39.24] Ready to die, motherfuckers, hah!\n[03:39.38] As we proceed (Who shot ya?)\n[03:39.54] To give you what you need\n[03:40.34] 9-5, motherfuckers\n[03:41.39] East Coast, motherfucker (Who shot ya?)\n[03:42.29] West Coast, motherfuckers (Uh)\n[03:42.55] West Coast, motherfuckers, hah!\n[03:42.84] As we proceed to give you what you need\n[03:43.21] As we proceed to give you what you need\n[03:43.43] Get live, motherfuckers\n[03:43.66] Get live, motherfuckers (Get live, motherfuckers)\n[03:43.85] 9-5, motherfuckers (9-5, motherfuckers)\n[03:44.05] Get money, motherfuckers\n[03:44.10] As we proceed to give you what you need\n[03:44.36] Get live, motherfuckers (Get live, motherfuckers)\n[03:44.50] 9-5, motherfuckers\n[03:44.79] J.M., motherfuckers\n[03:44.86] J.M., motherfuckers\n[03:45.18] As we proceed\n[03:45.37] To give you what you need\n[03:45.42] 9-5\n[03:45.72] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Who Shot Ya?\n  artist: The Notorious B.I.G.\n  album: Rap Phenomenon\n  duration_ms: 103549\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: As we proceed to give you what you need\n  start_ms: 330\n  end_ms: 4880\n- text: 9-5, motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 4880\n  end_ms: 7850\n- text: Get live, motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 7850\n  end_ms: 10160\n- text: As we proceed to give you what you need\n  start_ms: 10160\n  end_ms: 15370\n- text: 9-5, motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 15370\n  end_ms: 18330\n- text: Get live, motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 18330\n  end_ms: 20710\n- text: Now turn the mics up\n  start_ms: 20710\n  end_ms: 21610\n- text: Turn that mic up\n  start_ms: 21610\n  end_ms: 22940\n- text: Yeah, that beat is knocking to that microphone\n  start_ms: 22940\n  end_ms: 24760\n- text: Turn that shit the fuck up\n  start_ms: 24760\n  end_ms: 26720\n- text: Uh, what? Turn it up louder, yeah, uh\n  start_ms: 26720\n  end_ms: 31620\n- text: As we proceed to give you what you need\n  start_ms: 31620\n  end_ms: 36930\n- text: J.M. motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 36930\n  end_ms: 40410\n- text: J.M. motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 40410\n  end_ms: 43070\n- text: 9-5, motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 43070\n  end_ms: 44620\n- text: Who shot ya? Separate the weak from the obsolete\n  start_ms: 44620\n  end_ms: 48530\n- text: Hard to creep them Brooklyn streets\n  start_ms: 48530\n  end_ms: 51030\n- text: It's on nigga, fuck all that bickering beef\n  start_ms: 51030\n  end_ms: 53680\n- text: I can hear sweat trickling down your cheek\n  start_ms: 53680\n  end_ms: 56450\n- text: Your heartbeat sound like Sasquatch feet\n  start_ms: 56450\n  end_ms: 59090\n- text: Thundering, shaking the concrete\n  start_ms: 59090\n  end_ms: 61540\n- text: Then the shit stop when I foil the plot\n  start_ms: 61540\n  end_ms: 64090\n- text: Neighbors call the cops, said they heard mad shots\n  start_ms: 64090\n  end_ms: 66770\n- text: Saw me in the drop, three and a quarter\n  start_ms: 66770\n  end_ms: 69480\n- text: Slaughter, electrical tape around your daughter\n  start_ms: 69480\n  end_ms: 72180\n- text: Old school, new school need to learn though\n  start_ms: 72180\n  end_ms: 74600\n- text: I burn, baby, burn like Disco Inferno\n  start_ms: 74600\n  end_ms: 77330\n- text: Burn slow like blunts with yayo\n  start_ms: 77330\n  end_ms: 79970\n- text: Peel more skins than Idaho Potato\n  start_ms: 79970\n  end_ms: 82560\n- text: Niggas know, the lyrical molesting is taking place\n  start_ms: 82560\n  end_ms: 85560\n- text: Fucking with B.I.G. it ain't safe\n  start_ms: 85560\n  end_ms: 87810\n- text: I make your skin chafe, rashes on them asses\n  start_ms: 87810\n  end_ms: 90540\n- text: Bumps and bruises, blunts and Land Cruisers\n  start_ms: 90540\n  end_ms: 93220\n- text: Big Poppa smash fools, bash fools\n  start_ms: 93220\n  end_ms: 95970\n- text: Niggas mad because I know that cash rules\n  start_ms: 95970\n  end_ms: 98310\n- text: Everything around me two Glock 9s\n  start_ms: 98310\n  end_ms: 100950\n- text: Any motherfucker whispering about mines\n  start_ms: 100950\n  end_ms: 103780\n- text: And I'm Crooklyn's finest\n  start_ms: 103780\n  end_ms: 106230\n- text: You rewind this, Bad Boy's behind this\n  start_ms: 106230\n  end_ms: 108990\n- text: As we proceed to give you what you need\n  start_ms: 108990\n  end_ms: 113750\n- text: 9-5, motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 113750\n  end_ms: 116460\n- text: Get live, motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 116460\n  end_ms: 119210\n- text: As we proceed to give you what you need\n  start_ms: 119210\n  end_ms: 124280\n- text: East Coast, motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 124280\n  end_ms: 126970\n- text: Bad Boy, motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 126970\n  end_ms: 129590\n- text: Get high, motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 129590\n  end_ms: 134620\n- text: Get high, motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 134620\n  end_ms: 137300\n- text: Smoke blunts, motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 137300\n  end_ms: 142520\n- text: Get high, motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 142520\n  end_ms: 145290\n- text: Ready to die, motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 145290\n  end_ms: 147860\n- text: 9-5, motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 147860\n  end_ms: 150320\n- text: I seen the light excite all the freaks\n  start_ms: 150320\n  end_ms: 153330\n- text: Stack mad chips, spread love with my peeps\n  start_ms: 153330\n  end_ms: 155950\n- text: Niggas wanna creep, gotta watch my back\n  start_ms: 155950\n  end_ms: 158400\n- text: Think the Cognac and indo sack make me slack?\n  start_ms: 158400\n  end_ms: 161010\n- text: I switches all that, cocksucker G's up\n  start_ms: 161010\n  end_ms: 163640\n- text: One false move, get Swiss cheesed up\n  start_ms: 163640\n  end_ms: 166400\n- text: Clip to TEC, respect I demand it\n  start_ms: 166400\n  end_ms: 169240\n- text: Slip and break the 11th Commandment\n  start_ms: 169240\n  end_ms: 171820\n- text: Thou shalt not fuck with nor see Poppa\n  start_ms: 171820\n  end_ms: 174170\n- text: Feel a thousand deaths when I drop ya\n  start_ms: 174170\n  end_ms: 176410\n- text: I feel for you, like Chaka Khan I'm the don\n  start_ms: 176410\n  end_ms: 179230\n- text: Pussy when I want, Rolex on the arm\n  start_ms: 179230\n  end_ms: 182020\n- text: You'll die slow but calm\n  start_ms: 182020\n  end_ms: 184130\n- text: Recognize my face, so there won't be no mistake\n  start_ms: 184130\n  end_ms: 187210\n- text: So you know where to tell Jake, lame nigga\n  start_ms: 187210\n  end_ms: 189940\n- text: Brave nigga, turned front page nigga\n  start_ms: 189940\n  end_ms: 192880\n- text: Puff Daddy flips daily\n  start_ms: 192880\n  end_ms: 194800\n- text: I smoke the blunts he sips on the Baileys\n  start_ms: 194800\n  end_ms: 197280\n- text: On the rocks, tote Glocks at christenings\n  start_ms: 197280\n  end_ms: 199980\n- text: Hammer cock, in the fire position and...\n  start_ms: 199980\n  end_ms: 202850\n- text: Come here, come here (It ain't gotta be like that, Big)\n  start_ms: 202850\n  end_ms: 206340\n- text: Open your fucking mouth, open your didn't I tell you?\n  start_ms: 206340\n  end_ms: 208590\n- text: Don't fuck with me? (Come on, man)\n  start_ms: 208590\n  end_ms: 209740\n- text: Huh? Didn't I tell you not to fuck with me? (Come on, man)\n  start_ms: 209740\n  end_ms: 211410\n- text: Look at you now, huh? (Come on, man)\n  start_ms: 211410\n  end_ms: 214690\n- text: Can't talk with a gun in your mouth, huh?\n  start_ms: 214690\n  end_ms: 216850\n- text: Bitch-ass nigga, what? Who shot ya?\n  start_ms: 216850\n  end_ms: 217520\n- text: As we proceed to give you what you need\n  start_ms: 217520\n  end_ms: 218320\n- text: 9-5, motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 218320\n  end_ms: 218840\n- text: Get live, motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 218840\n  end_ms: 219080\n- text: Get high, motherfuckers (Who shot ya?)\n  start_ms: 219080\n  end_ms: 219240\n- text: Ready to die, motherfuckers, hah!\n  start_ms: 219240\n  end_ms: 219380\n- text: As we proceed (Who shot ya?)\n  start_ms: 219380\n  end_ms: 219540\n- text: To give you what you need\n  start_ms: 219540\n  end_ms: 220340\n- text: 9-5, motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 220340\n  end_ms: 221390\n- text: East Coast, motherfucker (Who shot ya?)\n  start_ms: 221390\n  end_ms: 222290\n- text: West Coast, motherfuckers (Uh)\n  start_ms: 222290\n  end_ms: 222550\n- text: West Coast, motherfuckers, hah!\n  start_ms: 222550\n  end_ms: 222840\n- text: As we proceed to give you what you need\n  start_ms: 222840\n  end_ms: 223210\n- text: As we proceed to give you what you need\n  start_ms: 223210\n  end_ms: 223430\n- text: Get live, motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 223430\n  end_ms: 223660\n- text: Get live, motherfuckers (Get live, motherfuckers)\n  start_ms: 223660\n  end_ms: 223850\n- text: 9-5, motherfuckers (9-5, motherfuckers)\n  start_ms: 223850\n  end_ms: 224050\n- text: Get money, motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 224050\n  end_ms: 224100\n- text: As we proceed to give you what you need\n  start_ms: 224100\n  end_ms: 224360\n- text: Get live, motherfuckers (Get live, motherfuckers)\n  start_ms: 224360\n  end_ms: 224500\n- text: 9-5, motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 224500\n  end_ms: 224790\n- text: J.M., motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 224790\n  end_ms: 224860\n- text: J.M., motherfuckers\n  start_ms: 224860\n  end_ms: 225180\n- text: As we proceed\n  start_ms: 225180\n  end_ms: 225370\n- text: To give you what you need\n  start_ms: 225370\n  end_ms: 225420\n- text: 9-5\n  start_ms: 225420\n  end_ms: 225720\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 225720\nplain: |-\n  As we proceed to give you what you need\n  9-5, motherfuckers\n  Get live, motherfuckers\n  As we proceed to give you what you need\n  9-5, motherfuckers\n  Get live, motherfuckers\n  Now turn the mics up\n  Turn that mic up\n  Yeah, that beat is knocking to that microphone\n  Turn that shit the fuck up\n  Uh, what? Turn it up louder, yeah, uh\n  As we proceed to give you what you need\n  J.M. motherfuckers\n  J.M. motherfuckers\n  9-5, motherfuckers\n\n  Who shot ya? Separate the weak from the obsolete\n  Hard to creep them Brooklyn streets\n  It's on nigga, fuck all that bickering beef\n  I can hear sweat trickling down your cheek\n  Your heartbeat sound like Sasquatch feet\n  Thundering, shaking the concrete\n  Then the shit stop when I foil the plot\n\n  Neighbors call the cops, said they heard mad shots\n  Saw me in the drop, three and a quarter\n  Slaughter, electrical tape around your daughter\n  Old school, new school need to learn though\n  I burn, baby, burn like Disco Inferno\n\n  Burn slow like blunts with yayo\n  Peel more skins than Idaho Potato\n  Niggas know, the lyrical molesting is taking place\n  Fucking with B.I.G. it ain't safe\n  I make your skin chafe, rashes on them asses\n\n  Bumps and bruises, blunts and Land Cruisers\n  Big Poppa smash fools, bash fools\n  Niggas mad because I know that cash rules\n  Everything around me two Glock 9s\n  Any motherfucker whispering about mines\n  And I'm Crooklyn's finest\n  You rewind this, Bad Boy's behind this\n\n  As we proceed to give you what you need\n  9-5, motherfuckers\n  Get live, motherfuckers\n  As we proceed to give you what you need\n\n  East Coast, motherfuckers\n  Bad Boy, motherfuckers\n  Get high, motherfuckers\n  Get high, motherfuckers\n  Smoke blunts, motherfuckers\n  Get high, motherfuckers\n  Ready to die, motherfuckers\n  9-5, motherfuckers\n\n  I seen the light excite all the freaks\n  Stack mad chips, spread love with my peeps\n  Niggas wanna creep, gotta watch my back\n  Think the Cognac and indo sack make me slack?\n  I switches all that, cocksucker G's up\n  One false move, get Swiss cheesed up\n  Clip to TEC, respect I demand it\n  Slip and break the 11th Commandment\n  Thou shalt not fuck with nor see Poppa\n\n  Feel a thousand deaths when I drop ya\n  I feel for you, like Chaka Khan I'm the don\n  Pussy when I want, Rolex on the arm\n  You'll die slow but calm\n  Recognize my face, so there won't be no mistake\n\n  So you know where to tell Jake, lame nigga\n  Brave nigga, turned front page nigga\n  Puff Daddy flips daily\n  I smoke the blunts he sips on the Baileys\n  On the rocks, tote Glocks at christenings\n  Hammer cock, in the fire position and...\n\n  Come here, come here (It ain't gotta be like that, Big)\n  Open your fucking mouth, open your didn't I tell you?\n  Don't fuck with me? (Come on, man)\n  Huh? Didn't I tell you not to fuck with me? (Come on, man)\n  Look at you now, huh? (Come on, man)\n  Can't talk with a gun in your mouth, huh?\n  Bitch-ass nigga, what? Who shot ya?\n\n  As we proceed to give you what you need\n  9-5, motherfuckers\n  Get live, motherfuckers\n  Get high, motherfuckers (Who shot ya?)\n  Ready to die, motherfuckers, hah!\n  As we proceed (Who shot ya?)\n  To give you what you need\n  9-5, motherfuckers\n  East Coast, motherfucker (Who shot ya?)\n\n  West Coast, motherfuckers (Uh)\n  West Coast, motherfuckers, hah!\n  As we proceed to give you what you need\n  As we proceed to give you what you need\n  Get live, motherfuckers\n  Get live, motherfuckers (Get live, motherfuckers)\n  9-5, motherfuckers (9-5, motherfuckers)\n  Get money, motherfuckers\n\n  As we proceed to give you what you need\n  Get live, motherfuckers (Get live, motherfuckers)\n  9-5, motherfuckers\n  J.M., motherfuckers\n  J.M., motherfuckers\n  As we proceed\n  To give you what you need\n  9-5\n"},{"id":20483539,"name":"Buddy x","trackName":"Buddy x","artistName":"The Notorious B.I.G.","albumName":"Rap Phenomenon","duration":85.4465309,"instrumental":true,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":null,"syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Buddy x\n  artist: The Notorious B.I.G.\n  album: Rap Phenomenon\n  duration_ms: 85447\n  instrumental: true\nlines: []\n"},{"id":15071302,"name":"Dreams","trackName":"Dreams","artistName":"The Notorious B.I.G.","albumName":"Rap Phenomenon","duration":125.753469,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"As I sit back relax\nSteam a blunt, sip a Becks\nThink about the sexy singers that I wanna sex\n\nI'd probably go to jail\nFor fuckin' Patti Labelle\nOoh Regina Belle, she'd probably do me swell\nJasmine Guy was fly\nMariah Carey's kinda scary\nWait a minute, what about my honey Mary?\nThe jeans they fittin' like a glove\nI had a crush on you since Real Love\nHold your horses\nI'mma show ya who the boss of intercourse is\nSex, I'm takin' no losses\nEven groups like SWV and TLC\nCan't see B.I.G. wit telepathy\nThe recipe of picture hardcore wit a gun\nPimpin' aint easy but it Sure is fun\nWhen I bust my nuts\nI bust 'em one by one\nSo what's the 4-1-1 hun?\n\nDreams of fuckin' an R&B bitch\nbut I'm sayin'\nDreams of fuckin' an R&B bitch\nI'm sayin'\nDreams of fuckin an R&B bitch\nI'm just playin'\nbut I'm sayin'\nDreams of fuckin' an R&B bitch\nI'm just playin'\nI'm sayin'\n\nI'll put Chante Moore pussy in stitches\nI'll fuck Rupaul.\nBefore I fuck them ugly ass X-scape bitches\nYou can 76 the 69... try 68\nDid Raven Simone call date rape?\nOnly 'cause Im paid\nI'm fuckin' all of Jade\nAnd my DJ Zhane she likes it when they say\nEverybody... move your body\nGot Whitney Houson boostin' from Bobby\nAs I bust your cherry yo face lookin' scarry\nBackshots to Chaka... I know that pussy hairy\nSade... ooh I know that pussy tight\nSmacked Tina Turner give her flashbacks of Ike\nSmoke a stone\nfuckin em bone\nI'm doin all of them\nJimmy hats for Patra\nI'm usin' all of them\n(What about Toni Braxton?)\nIf that bitch give me action...\nGuaranteed satisfaction\n\nDreams of fuckin' an R&B bitch\nI'm just playin'\nbut I'm sayin'\nDreams of fuckin' an R&B bitch\nI'm just playin'\nI'm sayin'\nDreams of fuckin an R&B bitch\nI'm just playin'\nbut I'm sayin'\nDreams of fuckin' an R&B bitch\nI'm just playin'\nbut I'm sayin'","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Dreams\n  artist: The Notorious B.I.G.\n  album: Rap Phenomenon\n  duration_ms: 125753\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  As I sit back relax\n  Steam a blunt, sip a Becks\n  Think about the sexy singers that I wanna sex\n\n  I'd probably go to jail\n  For fuckin' Patti Labelle\n  Ooh Regina Belle, she'd probably do me swell\n  Jasmine Guy was fly\n  Mariah Carey's kinda scary\n  Wait a minute, what about my honey Mary?\n  The jeans they fittin' like a glove\n  I had a crush on you since Real Love\n  Hold your horses\n  I'mma show ya who the boss of intercourse is\n  Sex, I'm takin' no losses\n  Even groups like SWV and TLC\n  Can't see B.I.G. wit telepathy\n  The recipe of picture hardcore wit a gun\n  Pimpin' aint easy but it Sure is fun\n  When I bust my nuts\n  I bust 'em one by one\n  So what's the 4-1-1 hun?\n\n  Dreams of fuckin' an R&B bitch\n  but I'm sayin'\n  Dreams of fuckin' an R&B bitch\n  I'm sayin'\n  Dreams of fuckin an R&B bitch\n  I'm just playin'\n  but I'm sayin'\n  Dreams of fuckin' an R&B bitch\n  I'm just playin'\n  I'm sayin'\n\n  I'll put Chante Moore pussy in stitches\n  I'll fuck Rupaul.\n  Before I fuck them ugly ass X-scape bitches\n  You can 76 the 69... try 68\n  Did Raven Simone call date rape?\n  Only 'cause Im paid\n  I'm fuckin' all of Jade\n  And my DJ Zhane she likes it when they say\n  Everybody... move your body\n  Got Whitney Houson boostin' from Bobby\n  As I bust your cherry yo face lookin' scarry\n  Backshots to Chaka... I know that pussy hairy\n  Sade... ooh I know that pussy tight\n  Smacked Tina Turner give her flashbacks of Ike\n  Smoke a stone\n  fuckin em bone\n  I'm doin all of them\n  Jimmy hats for Patra\n  I'm usin' all of them\n  (What about Toni Braxton?)\n  If that bitch give me action...\n  Guaranteed satisfaction\n\n  Dreams of fuckin' an R&B bitch\n  I'm just playin'\n  but I'm sayin'\n  Dreams of fuckin' an R&B bitch\n  I'm just playin'\n  I'm sayin'\n  Dreams of fuckin an R&B bitch\n  I'm just playin'\n  but I'm sayin'\n  Dreams of fuckin' an R&B bitch\n  I'm just playin'\n  but I'm sayin'\n"},{"id":33009452,"name":"Rap Phenomenon (Instrumental)","trackName":"Rap Phenomenon (Instrumental)","artistName":"The Notorious B.I.G.","albumName":"Instrumental Invasion v.12","duration":117.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Meth-Tical\nBiggie. Biggie, (mmmhmmmmmm)\n\nUhh. uhh. uhh (yo c'mon Big) uhh\nFuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\nThe prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\nFlooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\nSmack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\nSo I grab it, never run, the outcome\nIs usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\nOr where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n\nLeave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\nThe rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\nIt's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\nIt's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\nBut they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n\nI could chill, the heat doesn't\nRan up in your shell about a dozen\nYou never see bank like Frank White\nYour hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\nYou 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n\nI don't brownnose out of town hoes\nI'm up around four with the crowbar to the five point oh\nI get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\nYou ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\nExplode the pyros when Doc guest appear\nI'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n\nYour time is near, so get your body dropped off\nI stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\nIt's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\nBy the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\nI.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n\nI break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\nThe Doc was born with a grenade palm\nI'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\nYo Biggie, what what, she havin my bay-bayy\nIf I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n\nThis rule is so underrated\nActin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\nAin't no other kings in this rap thing\nBiggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\nThis rule is so underrated\nActin as if it can't happen, you're fronting\nAin't no other kings in this rap thing\nBiggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\nUhh, uhh\nI got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\nY'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\nMotherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\nFuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\nMe and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n\nBought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\nFrom Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\nBitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\nDon't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\nNiggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n\nIn and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\nMake his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\nBlastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\nFrank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\nPlay hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\nSlash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n\nDon't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\nI take these adolescents back to Spofford\nMentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\nThat's infinity, too many sick niggas, nickel nines\nBring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n\nUnnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\nStuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\nUntil they got love for my music\nStar Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\nAnd three charges, I got to see-three-P.O.'s\n\nThis is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\nEyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the war\nThat's my people, sho' nuff, before I roll up\nThis is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\nI rep S.I., the unpretty, word to left eye\n\nNew york shitty, put they weight on it\nAnd who better for the job than biggie the notorious\nJeee-zus, unbelievable rhyme that reaches\nAnd touch individual, small frame buck and change\nMC, what's your name, tuck your chain\n\nAll about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\nKick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\nHot, forcin my way up in the door\nTo kill the bullshit like a matador\nKeep your hands high (what?)","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Rap Phenomenon (Instrumental)\n  artist: The Notorious B.I.G.\n  album: Instrumental Invasion v.12\n  duration_ms: 117000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Meth-Tical\n  Biggie. Biggie, (mmmhmmmmmm)\n\n  Uhh. uhh. uhh (yo c'mon Big) uhh\n  Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n  The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n  Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n  Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n  So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n  Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n  Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n\n  Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n  The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n  It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n  It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n  But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n\n  I could chill, the heat doesn't\n  Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n  You never see bank like Frank White\n  Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n  You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n\n  I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n  I'm up around four with the crowbar to the five point oh\n  I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n  You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n  Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n  I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n\n  Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n  I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n  It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n  By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n  I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n\n  I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n  The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n  I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n  Yo Biggie, what what, she havin my bay-bayy\n  If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n\n  This rule is so underrated\n  Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\n  Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\n  This rule is so underrated\n  Actin as if it can't happen, you're fronting\n  Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\n  Uhh, uhh\n  I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n  Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n  Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n  Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\n  Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n\n  Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n  From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n  Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n  Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n  Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n\n  In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n  Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n  Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n  Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n  Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n  Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n\n  Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n  I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n  Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n  That's infinity, too many sick niggas, nickel nines\n  Bring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n\n  Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n  Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n  Until they got love for my music\n  Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n  And three charges, I got to see-three-P.O.'s\n\n  This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n  Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the war\n  That's my people, sho' nuff, before I roll up\n  This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n  I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to left eye\n\n  New york shitty, put they weight on it\n  And who better for the job than biggie the notorious\n  Jeee-zus, unbelievable rhyme that reaches\n  And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n  MC, what's your name, tuck your chain\n\n  All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n  Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n  Hot, forcin my way up in the door\n  To kill the bullshit like a matador\n  Keep your hands high (what?)\n"},{"id":21197660,"name":"Rap Phenomenon","trackName":"Rap Phenomenon","artistName":"the Notorious B.I.G. Ft. Re","albumName":"DJ Premier Signature Sounds Vo","duration":242.181224,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Meth-Tical\nBiggie. Biggie, (mmmhmmmmmm)\n\nUhh. uhh. uhh (yo c'mon Big) uhh\nFuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\nThe prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\nFlooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\nSmack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\nSo I grab it, never run, the outcome\nIs usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\nOr where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n\nLeave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\nThe rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\nIt's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\nIt's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\nBut they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n\nI could chill, the heat doesn't\nRan up in your shell about a dozen\nYou never see bank like Frank White\nYour hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\nYou 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n\nI don't brownnose out of town hoes\nI'm up around four with the crowbar to the five point oh\nI get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\nYou ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\nExplode the pyros when Doc guest appear\nI'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n\nYour time is near, so get your body dropped off\nI stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\nIt's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\nBy the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\nI.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n\nI break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\nThe Doc was born with a grenade palm\nI'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\nYo Biggie, what what, she havin my bay-bayy\nIf I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n\nThis rule is so underrated\nActin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\nAin't no other kings in this rap thing\nBiggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\nThis rule is so underrated\nActin as if it can't happen, you're fronting\nAin't no other kings in this rap thing\nBiggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\nUhh, uhh\nI got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\nY'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\nMotherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\nFuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\nMe and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n\nBought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\nFrom Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\nBitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\nDon't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\nNiggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n\nIn and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\nMake his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\nBlastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\nFrank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\nPlay hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\nSlash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n\nDon't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\nI take these adolescents back to Spofford\nMentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\nThat's infinity, too many sick niggas, nickel nines\nBring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n\nUnnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\nStuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\nUntil they got love for my music\nStar Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\nAnd three charges, I got to see-three-P.O.'s\n\nThis is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\nEyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the war\nThat's my people, sho' nuff, before I roll up\nThis is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\nI rep S.I., the unpretty, word to left eye\n\nNew york shitty, put they weight on it\nAnd who better for the job than biggie the notorious\nJeee-zus, unbelievable rhyme that reaches\nAnd touch individual, small frame buck and change\nMC, what's your name, tuck your chain\n\nAll about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\nKick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\nHot, forcin my way up in the door\nTo kill the bullshit like a matador\nKeep your hands high (what?)","syncedLyrics":"[00:01.96] Meth-Tical\n[00:03.45] Biggie. Biggie, (mmmhmmmmmm)\n[00:05.94] Uhh. uhh. uhh (yo c'mon Big) uhh\n[00:11.20] Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n[00:14.36] The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n[00:16.71] Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n[00:19.17] Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n[00:22.03] So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n[00:25.38] Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n[00:28.21] Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n[00:31.04] Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n[00:33.82] The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n[00:36.42] It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n[00:38.86] It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n[00:42.26] But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n[00:44.55] I could chill, the heat doesn't\n[00:46.81] Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n[00:48.27] You never see bank like Frank White\n[00:50.02] Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n[00:52.99] You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n[00:55.93] I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n[00:57.62] I'm up around four with the crowbar to the five point oh\n[01:01.27] I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n[01:04.09] You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n[01:07.10] Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n[01:09.61] I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n[01:12.72] Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n[01:15.23] I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n[01:18.00] It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n[01:21.09] By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n[01:23.46] I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n[01:26.46] I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n[01:29.44] The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n[01:31.71] I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n[01:34.57] Yo Biggie, what what, she havin my bay-bayy\n[01:37.41] If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n[01:40.12] This rule is so underrated\n[01:43.34] Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\n[01:45.64] Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n[01:48.31] Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n[01:52.45] This rule is so underrated\n[01:54.58] Actin as if it can't happen, you're fronting\n[01:57.13] Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n[01:59.56] Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n[02:02.05] Uhh, uhh\n[02:03.09] I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n[02:04.92] Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n[02:07.76] Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n[02:10.77] Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\n[02:13.85] Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n[02:16.46] Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n[02:19.10] From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n[02:22.07] Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n[02:24.64] Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n[02:27.40] Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n[02:30.27] In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n[02:33.05] Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n[02:35.92] Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n[02:38.80] Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n[02:41.45] Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n[02:44.11] Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n[02:47.27] Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n[02:49.91] I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n[02:52.36] Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n[02:55.28] That's infinity, too many sick niggas, nickel nines\n[02:58.19] Bring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n[03:01.37] Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n[03:04.00] Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n[03:06.93] Until they got love for my music\n[03:09.81] Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n[03:12.11] And three charges, I got to see-three-P.O.'s\n[03:14.58] This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n[03:17.20] Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the war\n[03:20.35] That's my people, sho' nuff, before I roll up\n[03:23.25] This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n[03:25.95] I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to left eye\n[03:29.15] New york shitty, put they weight on it\n[03:31.28] And who better for the job than biggie the notorious\n[03:33.92] Jeee-zus, unbelievable rhyme that reaches\n[03:37.12] And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n[03:40.53] MC, what's your name, tuck your chain\n[03:42.28] All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n[03:44.63] Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n[03:48.00] Hot, forcin my way up in the door\n[03:50.62] To kill the bullshit like a matador\n[03:53.33] Keep your hands high (what?)\n[03:55.28] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Rap Phenomenon\n  artist: the Notorious B.I.G. Ft. Re\n  album: DJ Premier Signature Sounds Vo\n  duration_ms: 242181\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Meth-Tical\n  start_ms: 1960\n  end_ms: 3450\n- text: Biggie. Biggie, (mmmhmmmmmm)\n  start_ms: 3450\n  end_ms: 5940\n- text: Uhh. uhh. uhh (yo c'mon Big) uhh\n  start_ms: 5940\n  end_ms: 11200\n- text: Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n  start_ms: 11200\n  end_ms: 14360\n- text: The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n  start_ms: 14360\n  end_ms: 16710\n- text: Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n  start_ms: 16710\n  end_ms: 19170\n- text: Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n  start_ms: 19170\n  end_ms: 22030\n- text: So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n  start_ms: 22030\n  end_ms: 25380\n- text: Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n  start_ms: 25380\n  end_ms: 28210\n- text: Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n  start_ms: 28210\n  end_ms: 31040\n- text: Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n  start_ms: 31040\n  end_ms: 33820\n- text: The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n  start_ms: 33820\n  end_ms: 36420\n- text: It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n  start_ms: 36420\n  end_ms: 38860\n- text: It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n  start_ms: 38860\n  end_ms: 42260\n- text: But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n  start_ms: 42260\n  end_ms: 44550\n- text: I could chill, the heat doesn't\n  start_ms: 44550\n  end_ms: 46810\n- text: Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n  start_ms: 46810\n  end_ms: 48270\n- text: You never see bank like Frank White\n  start_ms: 48270\n  end_ms: 50020\n- text: Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n  start_ms: 50020\n  end_ms: 52990\n- text: You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n  start_ms: 52990\n  end_ms: 55930\n- text: I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n  start_ms: 55930\n  end_ms: 57620\n- text: I'm up around four with the crowbar to the five point oh\n  start_ms: 57620\n  end_ms: 61270\n- text: I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n  start_ms: 61270\n  end_ms: 64090\n- text: You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n  start_ms: 64090\n  end_ms: 67100\n- text: Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n  start_ms: 67100\n  end_ms: 69610\n- text: I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n  start_ms: 69610\n  end_ms: 72720\n- text: Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n  start_ms: 72720\n  end_ms: 75230\n- text: I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n  start_ms: 75230\n  end_ms: 78000\n- text: It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n  start_ms: 78000\n  end_ms: 81090\n- text: By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n  start_ms: 81090\n  end_ms: 83460\n- text: I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n  start_ms: 83460\n  end_ms: 86460\n- text: I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n  start_ms: 86460\n  end_ms: 89440\n- text: The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n  start_ms: 89440\n  end_ms: 91710\n- text: I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n  start_ms: 91710\n  end_ms: 94570\n- text: Yo Biggie, what what, she havin my bay-bayy\n  start_ms: 94570\n  end_ms: 97410\n- text: If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n  start_ms: 97410\n  end_ms: 100120\n- text: This rule is so underrated\n  start_ms: 100120\n  end_ms: 103340\n- text: Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\n  start_ms: 103340\n  end_ms: 105640\n- text: Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  start_ms: 105640\n  end_ms: 108310\n- text: Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n  start_ms: 108310\n  end_ms: 112450\n- text: This rule is so underrated\n  start_ms: 112450\n  end_ms: 114580\n- text: Actin as if it can't happen, you're fronting\n  start_ms: 114580\n  end_ms: 117130\n- text: Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  start_ms: 117130\n  end_ms: 119560\n- text: Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n  start_ms: 119560\n  end_ms: 122050\n- text: Uhh, uhh\n  start_ms: 122050\n  end_ms: 123090\n- text: I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n  start_ms: 123090\n  end_ms: 124920\n- text: Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n  start_ms: 124920\n  end_ms: 127760\n- text: Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n  start_ms: 127760\n  end_ms: 130770\n- text: Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\n  start_ms: 130770\n  end_ms: 133850\n- text: Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n  start_ms: 133850\n  end_ms: 136460\n- text: Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n  start_ms: 136460\n  end_ms: 139100\n- text: From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n  start_ms: 139100\n  end_ms: 142070\n- text: Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n  start_ms: 142070\n  end_ms: 144640\n- text: Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n  start_ms: 144640\n  end_ms: 147400\n- text: Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n  start_ms: 147400\n  end_ms: 150270\n- text: In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n  start_ms: 150270\n  end_ms: 153050\n- text: Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n  start_ms: 153050\n  end_ms: 155920\n- text: Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n  start_ms: 155920\n  end_ms: 158800\n- text: Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n  start_ms: 158800\n  end_ms: 161450\n- text: Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n  start_ms: 161450\n  end_ms: 164110\n- text: Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n  start_ms: 164110\n  end_ms: 167270\n- text: Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n  start_ms: 167270\n  end_ms: 169910\n- text: I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n  start_ms: 169910\n  end_ms: 172360\n- text: Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n  start_ms: 172360\n  end_ms: 175280\n- text: That's infinity, too many sick niggas, nickel nines\n  start_ms: 175280\n  end_ms: 178190\n- text: Bring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n  start_ms: 178190\n  end_ms: 181370\n- text: Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n  start_ms: 181370\n  end_ms: 184000\n- text: Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n  start_ms: 184000\n  end_ms: 186930\n- text: Until they got love for my music\n  start_ms: 186930\n  end_ms: 189810\n- text: Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n  start_ms: 189810\n  end_ms: 192110\n- text: And three charges, I got to see-three-P.O.'s\n  start_ms: 192110\n  end_ms: 194580\n- text: This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n  start_ms: 194580\n  end_ms: 197200\n- text: Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the war\n  start_ms: 197200\n  end_ms: 200350\n- text: That's my people, sho' nuff, before I roll up\n  start_ms: 200350\n  end_ms: 203250\n- text: This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n  start_ms: 203250\n  end_ms: 205950\n- text: I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to left eye\n  start_ms: 205950\n  end_ms: 209150\n- text: New york shitty, put they weight on it\n  start_ms: 209150\n  end_ms: 211280\n- text: And who better for the job than biggie the notorious\n  start_ms: 211280\n  end_ms: 213920\n- text: Jeee-zus, unbelievable rhyme that reaches\n  start_ms: 213920\n  end_ms: 217120\n- text: And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n  start_ms: 217120\n  end_ms: 220530\n- text: MC, what's your name, tuck your chain\n  start_ms: 220530\n  end_ms: 222280\n- text: All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n  start_ms: 222280\n  end_ms: 224630\n- text: Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n  start_ms: 224630\n  end_ms: 228000\n- text: Hot, forcin my way up in the door\n  start_ms: 228000\n  end_ms: 230620\n- text: To kill the bullshit like a matador\n  start_ms: 230620\n  end_ms: 233330\n- text: Keep your hands high (what?)\n  start_ms: 233330\n  end_ms: 235280\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 235280\nplain: |-\n  Meth-Tical\n  Biggie. Biggie, (mmmhmmmmmm)\n\n  Uhh. uhh. uhh (yo c'mon Big) uhh\n  Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches\n  The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n  Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n  Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n  So I grab it, never run, the outcome\n  Is usually, a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n  Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n\n  Leave most in the blood they layin in, what, what?\n  The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n  It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n  It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented\n  But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n\n  I could chill, the heat doesn't\n  Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n  You never see bank like Frank White\n  Your hand clutchin, your chest-plate contemplate\n  You 'bout to die, nigga wait, keep yo' hands high\n\n  I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n  I'm up around four with the crowbar to the five point oh\n  I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n  You ass like prime roastin, Calvin Klein clothes\n  Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n  I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n\n  Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n  I stopped trustin niggas since Gotti got caught\n  It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n  By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n  I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n\n  I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n  The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n  I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n  Yo Biggie, what what, she havin my bay-bayy\n  If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n\n  This rule is so underrated\n  Actin as if it can't happen, you're frontin\n  Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\n  This rule is so underrated\n  Actin as if it can't happen, you're fronting\n  Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  Biggie, a motherfuckin rap phenomenon\n\n  Uhh, uhh\n  I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n  Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n  Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n  Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\n  Me and my nigga Lance, took Kim and Cee's advance\n\n  Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n  From Branson, now we lampin, twelve room mansion\n  Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n  Don't forget, \"One More Chance\" and, my other hits, other shit\n  Niggas spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n\n  In and out like fuckin rapidly, pass the gat to me\n  Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin blasphemy\n  Blastin me, your family, rest in coffins often\n  Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n  Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n  Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer\n\n  Don't approach me with that rah rah shit, you out of pocket\n  I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n  Mentally my energy, is like a figure eight, on it's side\n  That's infinity, too many sick niggas, nickel nines\n  Bring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n\n  Unnecessary roughness, career endin injuries for suckers\n  Stuck on stupid, shoot em with a dart like Cupid\n  Until they got love for my music\n  Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n  And three charges, I got to see-three-P.O.'s\n\n  This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n  Eyeball blower with no equal, niggas swingin swords in the war\n  That's my people, sho' nuff, before I roll up\n  This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n  I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to left eye\n\n  New york shitty, put they weight on it\n  And who better for the job than biggie the notorious\n  Jeee-zus, unbelievable rhyme that reaches\n  And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n  MC, what's your name, tuck your chain\n\n  All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin\n  Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin\n  Hot, forcin my way up in the door\n  To kill the bullshit like a matador\n  Keep your hands high (what?)\n"},{"id":38525364,"name":"Rap Phenomenon (Radio) (Feat. Redman & Method Man) -  Rap Phenomenon","trackName":"Rap Phenomenon (Radio) (Feat. Redman & Method Man) -  Rap Phenomenon","artistName":"The Notorious B.I.G.","albumName":"(Large EP Collections)","duration":241.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Well, it's the Funk Docta Spock\nMeth-Tical\nBiggie, Biggie\nUh, uh, uh, (yo, c'mon Big), uh\n\nFuck that, I preach it, my .9 reaches (wooh!)\nThe prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\nFlooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\nSmack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\nSo, I grab it, never run, the outcome\nIs usually a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\nOr where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\nLeave most in the blood they layin' in, what, what?\n\nThe rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\nIt's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\nIt's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented (yeah)\nBut they wasn't, so run it, cousin\nI could chill, the heat doesn't (yeah)\nRan up in your shell about a dozen\nYou never see bank like Frank White\nYour hand clutchin', your chest-plate contemplate\nYou 'bout to die (yo), nigga wait, keep yo' hands high (yo, yo)\n\nI don't brownnose out of town hoes\nI'm up around fo' with the crowbar to the five point, oh\nI get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\nYou ass like prime roastin', Calvin Klein clothes\nExplode the pyros when Doc guest appear\nI'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\nYour time is near, so get your body dropped off\nI stopped trustin' niggaz since Gotti got caught\n\nIt's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\nBy the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\nI.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\nI break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\nThe Doc was born with a grenade palm\nI'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\nYo, Biggie (what? What?) She havin' my bay-bay\nIf I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n\nThis rule is so underrated\nActin' as if it can't happen, you're frontin'\nAin't no other kings in this rap thing\nBiggie, a motherfuckin' rap phenomenon\nThis rule is so underrated\nActin' as if it can't happen, you're frontin'\nAin't no other kings in this rap thing\nBiggie, a motherfuckin' rap phenomenon (uh, uh)\n\nI got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\nY'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\nMotherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\nFuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\nMe and my nigga Lance took Kim and Cee's advance\nBought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\nFrom Branson, now we lampin' 12 room mansion\nBitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n\nDon't forget \"One More Chance\" and my other hits, other shit\nNiggaz spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\nIn and out like fuckin' rapidly, pass the gat to me\nMake his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin' blasphemy\nBlastin' me, your family, rest in coffins often\nFrank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\nPlay hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\nSlash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer (now, now)\n\nDon't approach me with that rah-rah shit, you out of pocket\nI take these adolescents back to Spofford\nMentally my energy is like a figure eight, on it's side\nThat's infinity, too many sick niggaz, nickel nines\nBring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\nUnnecessary roughness, career endin' injuries for suckers\nStuck on stupid, shoot 'em with a dart like Cupid\nUntil they got love for my music\n\nStar Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\nAnd three charges, I got to \"See-three-P.O.'s\"\nThis is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\nEyeball blower with no equal, niggaz swingin' swords in the war\nThat's my people, sho' nuff, befo' I roll up\nThis is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\nI rep S.I., the unpretty, word to Left Eye\nNew York Shitty, put they weight on it\n\nAnd who better for the job than Biggie? The Notorious\nJeee-zus, \"Unbelievable\" rhyme that reaches\nAnd touch individual, small frame buck and change\nMC, What's-Your-Name, tuck your chain\nAll about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin'\nKick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin'\nHot, forcin' my way up in the door to kill the bullshit like a matador\nKeep your hands high (what?)","syncedLyrics":"[00:00.18] Well, it's the Funk Docta Spock\n[00:02.36] Meth-Tical\n[00:03.46] Biggie, Biggie\n[00:06.83] Uh, uh, uh, (yo, c'mon Big), uh\n[00:11.64] Fuck that, I preach it, my .9 reaches (wooh!)\n[00:14.40] The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n[00:17.18] Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n[00:20.04] Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n[00:23.09] So, I grab it, never run, the outcome\n[00:25.73] Is usually a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n[00:28.58] Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n[00:30.91] Leave most in the blood they layin' in, what, what?\n[00:34.06] The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n[00:36.76] It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n[00:39.56] It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented (yeah)\n[00:42.32] But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n[00:44.65] I could chill, the heat doesn't (yeah)\n[00:46.63] Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n[00:48.52] You never see bank like Frank White\n[00:50.84] Your hand clutchin', your chest-plate contemplate\n[00:53.10] You 'bout to die (yo), nigga wait, keep yo' hands high (yo, yo)\n[00:55.90] I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n[00:58.31] I'm up around fo' with the crowbar to the five point, oh\n[01:01.72] I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n[01:04.33] You ass like prime roastin', Calvin Klein clothes\n[01:07.59] Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n[01:10.28] I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n[01:12.87] Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n[01:15.65] I stopped trustin' niggaz since Gotti got caught\n[01:18.40] It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n[01:21.23] By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n[01:24.24] I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n[01:27.16] I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n[01:30.09] The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n[01:32.08] I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n[01:35.00] Yo, Biggie (what? What?) She havin' my bay-bay\n[01:38.09] If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n[01:41.56] This rule is so underrated\n[01:43.64] Actin' as if it can't happen, you're frontin'\n[01:46.49] Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n[01:49.19] Biggie, a motherfuckin' rap phenomenon\n[01:52.54] This rule is so underrated\n[01:54.60] Actin' as if it can't happen, you're frontin'\n[01:57.46] Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n[02:00.30] Biggie, a motherfuckin' rap phenomenon (uh, uh)\n[02:02.77] I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n[02:05.49] Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n[02:08.54] Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n[02:11.50] Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\n[02:14.01] Me and my nigga Lance took Kim and Cee's advance\n[02:16.99] Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n[02:19.42] From Branson, now we lampin' 12 room mansion\n[02:22.42] Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n[02:25.00] Don't forget \"One More Chance\" and my other hits, other shit\n[02:28.03] Niggaz spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n[02:30.76] In and out like fuckin' rapidly, pass the gat to me\n[02:33.50] Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin' blasphemy\n[02:36.63] Blastin' me, your family, rest in coffins often\n[02:39.52] Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n[02:41.36] Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n[02:45.82] Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer (now, now)\n[02:47.36] Don't approach me with that rah-rah shit, you out of pocket\n[02:50.00] I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n[02:52.49] Mentally my energy is like a figure eight, on it's side\n[02:55.45] That's infinity, too many sick niggaz, nickel nines\n[02:58.38] Bring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n[03:01.19] Unnecessary roughness, career endin' injuries for suckers\n[03:04.75] Stuck on stupid, shoot 'em with a dart like Cupid\n[03:07.64] Until they got love for my music\n[03:09.94] Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n[03:12.54] And three charges, I got to \"See-three-P.O.'s\"\n[03:15.24] This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n[03:17.38] Eyeball blower with no equal, niggaz swingin' swords in the war\n[03:21.34] That's my people, sho' nuff, befo' I roll up\n[03:23.61] This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n[03:26.67] I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to Left Eye\n[03:29.62] New York Shitty, put they weight on it\n[03:31.02] And who better for the job than Biggie? The Notorious\n[03:34.44] Jeee-zus, \"Unbelievable\" rhyme that reaches\n[03:37.46] And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n[03:40.27] MC, What's-Your-Name, tuck your chain\n[03:42.59] All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin'\n[03:46.18] Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin'\n[03:48.82] Hot, forcin' my way up in the door to kill the bullshit like a matador\n[03:53.52] Keep your hands high (what?)\n[03:55.09] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Rap Phenomenon (Radio) (Feat. Redman & Method Man) -  Rap Phenomenon\n  artist: The Notorious B.I.G.\n  album: (Large EP Collections)\n  duration_ms: 241000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Well, it's the Funk Docta Spock\n  start_ms: 180\n  end_ms: 2360\n- text: Meth-Tical\n  start_ms: 2360\n  end_ms: 3460\n- text: Biggie, Biggie\n  start_ms: 3460\n  end_ms: 6830\n- text: Uh, uh, uh, (yo, c'mon Big), uh\n  start_ms: 6830\n  end_ms: 11640\n- text: Fuck that, I preach it, my .9 reaches (wooh!)\n  start_ms: 11640\n  end_ms: 14400\n- text: The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n  start_ms: 14400\n  end_ms: 17180\n- text: Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n  start_ms: 17180\n  end_ms: 20040\n- text: Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n  start_ms: 20040\n  end_ms: 23090\n- text: So, I grab it, never run, the outcome\n  start_ms: 23090\n  end_ms: 25730\n- text: Is usually a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n  start_ms: 25730\n  end_ms: 28580\n- text: Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n  start_ms: 28580\n  end_ms: 30910\n- text: Leave most in the blood they layin' in, what, what?\n  start_ms: 30910\n  end_ms: 34060\n- text: The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n  start_ms: 34060\n  end_ms: 36760\n- text: It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n  start_ms: 36760\n  end_ms: 39560\n- text: It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented (yeah)\n  start_ms: 39560\n  end_ms: 42320\n- text: But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n  start_ms: 42320\n  end_ms: 44650\n- text: I could chill, the heat doesn't (yeah)\n  start_ms: 44650\n  end_ms: 46630\n- text: Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n  start_ms: 46630\n  end_ms: 48520\n- text: You never see bank like Frank White\n  start_ms: 48520\n  end_ms: 50840\n- text: Your hand clutchin', your chest-plate contemplate\n  start_ms: 50840\n  end_ms: 53100\n- text: You 'bout to die (yo), nigga wait, keep yo' hands high (yo, yo)\n  start_ms: 53100\n  end_ms: 55900\n- text: I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n  start_ms: 55900\n  end_ms: 58310\n- text: I'm up around fo' with the crowbar to the five point, oh\n  start_ms: 58310\n  end_ms: 61720\n- text: I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n  start_ms: 61720\n  end_ms: 64330\n- text: You ass like prime roastin', Calvin Klein clothes\n  start_ms: 64330\n  end_ms: 67590\n- text: Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n  start_ms: 67590\n  end_ms: 70280\n- text: I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n  start_ms: 70280\n  end_ms: 72870\n- text: Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n  start_ms: 72870\n  end_ms: 75650\n- text: I stopped trustin' niggaz since Gotti got caught\n  start_ms: 75650\n  end_ms: 78400\n- text: It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n  start_ms: 78400\n  end_ms: 81230\n- text: By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n  start_ms: 81230\n  end_ms: 84240\n- text: I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n  start_ms: 84240\n  end_ms: 87160\n- text: I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n  start_ms: 87160\n  end_ms: 90090\n- text: The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n  start_ms: 90090\n  end_ms: 92080\n- text: I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n  start_ms: 92080\n  end_ms: 95000\n- text: Yo, Biggie (what? What?) She havin' my bay-bay\n  start_ms: 95000\n  end_ms: 98090\n- text: If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n  start_ms: 98090\n  end_ms: 101560\n- text: This rule is so underrated\n  start_ms: 101560\n  end_ms: 103640\n- text: Actin' as if it can't happen, you're frontin'\n  start_ms: 103640\n  end_ms: 106490\n- text: Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  start_ms: 106490\n  end_ms: 109190\n- text: Biggie, a motherfuckin' rap phenomenon\n  start_ms: 109190\n  end_ms: 112540\n- text: This rule is so underrated\n  start_ms: 112540\n  end_ms: 114600\n- text: Actin' as if it can't happen, you're frontin'\n  start_ms: 114600\n  end_ms: 117460\n- text: Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  start_ms: 117460\n  end_ms: 120300\n- text: Biggie, a motherfuckin' rap phenomenon (uh, uh)\n  start_ms: 120300\n  end_ms: 122770\n- text: I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n  start_ms: 122770\n  end_ms: 125490\n- text: Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n  start_ms: 125490\n  end_ms: 128540\n- text: Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n  start_ms: 128540\n  end_ms: 131500\n- text: Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\n  start_ms: 131500\n  end_ms: 134010\n- text: Me and my nigga Lance took Kim and Cee's advance\n  start_ms: 134010\n  end_ms: 136990\n- text: Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n  start_ms: 136990\n  end_ms: 139420\n- text: From Branson, now we lampin' 12 room mansion\n  start_ms: 139420\n  end_ms: 142420\n- text: Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n  start_ms: 142420\n  end_ms: 145000\n- text: Don't forget \"One More Chance\" and my other hits, other shit\n  start_ms: 145000\n  end_ms: 148030\n- text: Niggaz spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n  start_ms: 148030\n  end_ms: 150760\n- text: In and out like fuckin' rapidly, pass the gat to me\n  start_ms: 150760\n  end_ms: 153500\n- text: Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin' blasphemy\n  start_ms: 153500\n  end_ms: 156630\n- text: Blastin' me, your family, rest in coffins often\n  start_ms: 156630\n  end_ms: 159520\n- text: Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n  start_ms: 159520\n  end_ms: 161360\n- text: Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n  start_ms: 161360\n  end_ms: 165820\n- text: Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer (now, now)\n  start_ms: 165820\n  end_ms: 167360\n- text: Don't approach me with that rah-rah shit, you out of pocket\n  start_ms: 167360\n  end_ms: 170000\n- text: I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n  start_ms: 170000\n  end_ms: 172490\n- text: Mentally my energy is like a figure eight, on it's side\n  start_ms: 172490\n  end_ms: 175450\n- text: That's infinity, too many sick niggaz, nickel nines\n  start_ms: 175450\n  end_ms: 178380\n- text: Bring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n  start_ms: 178380\n  end_ms: 181190\n- text: Unnecessary roughness, career endin' injuries for suckers\n  start_ms: 181190\n  end_ms: 184750\n- text: Stuck on stupid, shoot 'em with a dart like Cupid\n  start_ms: 184750\n  end_ms: 187640\n- text: Until they got love for my music\n  start_ms: 187640\n  end_ms: 189940\n- text: Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n  start_ms: 189940\n  end_ms: 192540\n- text: And three charges, I got to \"See-three-P.O.'s\"\n  start_ms: 192540\n  end_ms: 195240\n- text: This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n  start_ms: 195240\n  end_ms: 197380\n- text: Eyeball blower with no equal, niggaz swingin' swords in the war\n  start_ms: 197380\n  end_ms: 201340\n- text: That's my people, sho' nuff, befo' I roll up\n  start_ms: 201340\n  end_ms: 203610\n- text: This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n  start_ms: 203610\n  end_ms: 206670\n- text: I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to Left Eye\n  start_ms: 206670\n  end_ms: 209620\n- text: New York Shitty, put they weight on it\n  start_ms: 209620\n  end_ms: 211020\n- text: And who better for the job than Biggie? The Notorious\n  start_ms: 211020\n  end_ms: 214440\n- text: Jeee-zus, \"Unbelievable\" rhyme that reaches\n  start_ms: 214440\n  end_ms: 217460\n- text: And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n  start_ms: 217460\n  end_ms: 220270\n- text: MC, What's-Your-Name, tuck your chain\n  start_ms: 220270\n  end_ms: 222590\n- text: All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin'\n  start_ms: 222590\n  end_ms: 226180\n- text: Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin'\n  start_ms: 226180\n  end_ms: 228820\n- text: Hot, forcin' my way up in the door to kill the bullshit like a matador\n  start_ms: 228820\n  end_ms: 233520\n- text: Keep your hands high (what?)\n  start_ms: 233520\n  end_ms: 235090\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 235090\nplain: |-\n  Well, it's the Funk Docta Spock\n  Meth-Tical\n  Biggie, Biggie\n  Uh, uh, uh, (yo, c'mon Big), uh\n\n  Fuck that, I preach it, my .9 reaches (wooh!)\n  The prestigious, cats that speak this, Willie shit\n  Flooded pieces, my hand releases, snatches\n  Smack ya cabbage, half-ass rappers, shouldn't have it\n  So, I grab it, never run, the outcome\n  Is usually a beatdown brutally, fuck who you be\n  Or where you're from, West or East coast, squeeze toast\n  Leave most in the blood they layin' in, what, what?\n\n  The rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out\n  It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth\n  It's more than I expected, I thought your jewels was rented (yeah)\n  But they wasn't, so run it, cousin\n  I could chill, the heat doesn't (yeah)\n  Ran up in your shell about a dozen\n  You never see bank like Frank White\n  Your hand clutchin', your chest-plate contemplate\n  You 'bout to die (yo), nigga wait, keep yo' hands high (yo, yo)\n\n  I don't brownnose out of town hoes\n  I'm up around fo' with the crowbar to the five point, oh\n  I get bagged, I'm John Doe, suspect\n  You ass like prime roastin', Calvin Klein clothes\n  Explode the pyros when Doc guest appear\n  I'm out there, I bought it with George Jetson here\n  Your time is near, so get your body dropped off\n  I stopped trustin' niggaz since Gotti got caught\n\n  It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored\n  By the waist got a gun as dark as Kris brother\n  I.C.U., my sheisty crew, like ice me too\n  I break your legs, leave your eyes slightly blue\n  The Doc was born with a grenade palm\n  I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom\n  Yo, Biggie (what? What?) She havin' my bay-bay\n  If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high\n\n  This rule is so underrated\n  Actin' as if it can't happen, you're frontin'\n  Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  Biggie, a motherfuckin' rap phenomenon\n  This rule is so underrated\n  Actin' as if it can't happen, you're frontin'\n  Ain't no other kings in this rap thing\n  Biggie, a motherfuckin' rap phenomenon (uh, uh)\n\n  I got a new mouth to feed, I'm due South with keys\n  Y'all pick seeds out y'all weed, I watch cowards bleed\n  Motherfucker please, it's my block with my rocks\n  Fuck that hip-hop, them one-two's, and you don't stops\n  Me and my nigga Lance took Kim and Cee's advance\n  Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants\n  From Branson, now we lampin' 12 room mansion\n  Bitches get naked off \"Get Money\", \"Player's Anthem\"\n\n  Don't forget \"One More Chance\" and my other hits, other shit\n  Niggaz spit be counterfeit, robbery come actually\n  In and out like fuckin' rapidly, pass the gat to me\n  Make his chest rest, where his back should be, talkin' blasphemy\n  Blastin' me, your family, rest in coffins often\n  Frank Wizzard, fuck you soft or fragilla\n  Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper, slash dope dealer\n  Slash Gorilla, slash illest turned killer (now, now)\n\n  Don't approach me with that rah-rah shit, you out of pocket\n  I take these adolescents back to Spofford\n  Mentally my energy is like a figure eight, on it's side\n  That's infinity, too many sick niggaz, nickel nines\n  Bring the remedy, when you play the field, what's the penalty\n  Unnecessary roughness, career endin' injuries for suckers\n  Stuck on stupid, shoot 'em with a dart like Cupid\n  Until they got love for my music\n\n  Star Wars I'm Han Solo, with three egoes\n  And three charges, I got to \"See-three-P.O.'s\"\n  This is whoop-yo'-ass-day, the sequel\n  Eyeball blower with no equal, niggaz swingin' swords in the war\n  That's my people, sho' nuff, befo' I roll up\n  This is a hold up, hands high, reach for the sky\n  I rep S.I., the unpretty, word to Left Eye\n  New York Shitty, put they weight on it\n\n  And who better for the job than Biggie? The Notorious\n  Jeee-zus, \"Unbelievable\" rhyme that reaches\n  And touch individual, small frame buck and change\n  MC, What's-Your-Name, tuck your chain\n  All about the fortune, fuck the fame, labels still extortin'\n  Kick me when I'm down, but I'm up again, scorchin'\n  Hot, forcin' my way up in the door to kill the bullshit like a matador\n  Keep your hands high (what?)\n"}]