[{"id":31633428,"name":"ILL Smith","trackName":"ILL Smith","artistName":"Twisted Insane","albumName":"The Last Demon","duration":212.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Born and raised in California the city of the stoner\nPushin' a whip up on a bitch and when I hop in I be on her\nAnd they blow my phone up, never really did when I was a bum\nNow I become hot as Arizona\nPost up in a bucket all night saying \"Fuck it!\n\" 'cause I really got nowhere to go, and I was broke and homeless\nThat's way too many then, see, I was penny-pinching\nI could not afford to pull up in a Honda Accord with the chrome ones\nMixin' the women with the wicked and the alcohol\nFuck it, you could spend it homie, we about to ball\nSick of all these rappers that be actin' like they rapping tight\nBut really half them people wasn't saying shit at all\nGo ahead mothafucka, talk about your ice\nYou in Lamborghinis, we don't even got a ride\nSick of the ones that always talk a lot about the shit they got\nWhen other niggas come around they often run and hide\nYou can probably find me somewhere in the alley gettin' high\nDrinkin' all my life away as time passes by\nI could've been in medicine\nI could've been a president\nI wanna ask the Lord but shit why, ask why?\nFour racks in my pocket from the Mayweather fight\nI made a grip, and finna bet nobody smacking a homie\nBought a Honda, weed and gang of swisha sweets\nSome new Chuck Tees, a couple T's, and a slice of Bologna\nGod Damn! Never really couldn't manage myself\nThey say I'm schizophrenic, man, I really need help\nI told you it's the voices that be\ntalking to me, giving me subliminals\nThat's how you make your faces all melt\nLittle nigga wanna trip, I will unbuckle my belt\nAnd get to whooping on 'im in front of his girl, I'm a devil\nRippin' mothafuckers into pieces, now the nigga pray to Jesus\nReally ain't no other rapper on my level\n\nILL Smith, fuck a Fresh Prince\nMurder every rapper in the game and left prints\nHomie, let's dance\nBeing fresh put me on,\nI felt like it's my last chance of making\na haters wanna hide the dues and be friends\nLet's hide all my cynical\nA product unidentical; rappers talking a lot\nThey biting but they bite is just miniature\nTo me you don't resemble a G but you keep on talking lot\nI'll stomp you out and put a Nike emblem print on you\nAnyone messing with my crew might get pushed to finish you\nAnd end your career\nI've been loose but I'm winnin' this year\nA lot of suckas' actin' like a bunch of women they scared\nThey swear they hard but start to tremble when the pistol appear\nI'm drinking Seagram 7,\nwriting and eating Xanax, Atlantis, a lot of strippers\nI bet you wish you was here\n85 pound drunks out here pissing their pants\nTurn on the radio and it's this the right station, it's weird\nI hear rappers singing RnB [?]\nWhile I'm in my Cut Supreme with some green\nSucker free, on the weed\nI got in anything you need\nGive a scream down the street\nSpeakers beat like I put you under meat mallet\nWhile the beat riding I got the blow and got the bars\nClose to overdose and I just hope I see tomorrow\nNobody really cared when I was broke and 'bout to starve\nSo why should I give a fuck whats up with Khloé and Lamar!?\n'Cause they got a grand problem\nNerds on the internet be talking mad blogging, I'm bout to snap on em\nI'm fixing to bust his head and there'll be a black coffin\nThis rapping shit don't work, I'm in a black mask robbing\nMock it, think the spittin' shit's lame\nJohny, stop! No crossing over, can't get in this lane\nTwo of the best that ever did it Rittz and Twisted Insane\nTaking over this game, so remember his name: ILL Smith\nBitch, yuh-uh-yeah","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: ILL Smith\n  artist: Twisted Insane\n  album: The Last Demon\n  duration_ms: 212000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Born and raised in California the city of the stoner\n  Pushin' a whip up on a bitch and when I hop in I be on her\n  And they blow my phone up, never really did when I was a bum\n  Now I become hot as Arizona\n  Post up in a bucket all night saying \"Fuck it!\n  \" 'cause I really got nowhere to go, and I was broke and homeless\n  That's way too many then, see, I was penny-pinching\n  I could not afford to pull up in a Honda Accord with the chrome ones\n  Mixin' the women with the wicked and the alcohol\n  Fuck it, you could spend it homie, we about to ball\n  Sick of all these rappers that be actin' like they rapping tight\n  But really half them people wasn't saying shit at all\n  Go ahead mothafucka, talk about your ice\n  You in Lamborghinis, we don't even got a ride\n  Sick of the ones that always talk a lot about the shit they got\n  When other niggas come around they often run and hide\n  You can probably find me somewhere in the alley gettin' high\n  Drinkin' all my life away as time passes by\n  I could've been in medicine\n  I could've been a president\n  I wanna ask the Lord but shit why, ask why?\n  Four racks in my pocket from the Mayweather fight\n  I made a grip, and finna bet nobody smacking a homie\n  Bought a Honda, weed and gang of swisha sweets\n  Some new Chuck Tees, a couple T's, and a slice of Bologna\n  God Damn! Never really couldn't manage myself\n  They say I'm schizophrenic, man, I really need help\n  I told you it's the voices that be\n  talking to me, giving me subliminals\n  That's how you make your faces all melt\n  Little nigga wanna trip, I will unbuckle my belt\n  And get to whooping on 'im in front of his girl, I'm a devil\n  Rippin' mothafuckers into pieces, now the nigga pray to Jesus\n  Really ain't no other rapper on my level\n\n  ILL Smith, fuck a Fresh Prince\n  Murder every rapper in the game and left prints\n  Homie, let's dance\n  Being fresh put me on,\n  I felt like it's my last chance of making\n  a haters wanna hide the dues and be friends\n  Let's hide all my cynical\n  A product unidentical; rappers talking a lot\n  They biting but they bite is just miniature\n  To me you don't resemble a G but you keep on talking lot\n  I'll stomp you out and put a Nike emblem print on you\n  Anyone messing with my crew might get pushed to finish you\n  And end your career\n  I've been loose but I'm winnin' this year\n  A lot of suckas' actin' like a bunch of women they scared\n  They swear they hard but start to tremble when the pistol appear\n  I'm drinking Seagram 7,\n  writing and eating Xanax, Atlantis, a lot of strippers\n  I bet you wish you was here\n  85 pound drunks out here pissing their pants\n  Turn on the radio and it's this the right station, it's weird\n  I hear rappers singing RnB [?]\n  While I'm in my Cut Supreme with some green\n  Sucker free, on the weed\n  I got in anything you need\n  Give a scream down the street\n  Speakers beat like I put you under meat mallet\n  While the beat riding I got the blow and got the bars\n  Close to overdose and I just hope I see tomorrow\n  Nobody really cared when I was broke and 'bout to starve\n  So why should I give a fuck whats up with Khloé and Lamar!?\n  'Cause they got a grand problem\n  Nerds on the internet be talking mad blogging, I'm bout to snap on em\n  I'm fixing to bust his head and there'll be a black coffin\n  This rapping shit don't work, I'm in a black mask robbing\n  Mock it, think the spittin' shit's lame\n  Johny, stop! No crossing over, can't get in this lane\n  Two of the best that ever did it Rittz and Twisted Insane\n  Taking over this game, so remember his name: ILL Smith\n  Bitch, yuh-uh-yeah\n"},{"id":23336535,"name":"ILL Smith (feat. Rittz)","trackName":"ILL Smith (feat. Rittz)","artistName":"Twisted Insane","albumName":"The Last Demon","duration":211.565714,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Born and raised in California the city of the stoner\nPushin' a whip up on a bitch and when I hop in I be on her\nAnd they blow my phone up, never really did when I was a bum\nNow I become hot as Arizona\nPost up in a bucket all night saying \"Fuck it!\n\" 'cause I really got nowhere to go, and I was broke and homeless\nThat's way too many then, see, I was penny-pinching\nI could not afford to pull up in a Honda Accord with the chrome ones\nMixin' the women with the wicked and the alcohol\nFuck it, you could spend it homie, we about to ball\nSick of all these rappers that be actin' like they rapping tight\nBut really half them people wasn't saying shit at all\nGo ahead mothafucka, talk about your ice\nYou in Lamborghinis, we don't even got a ride\nSick of the ones that always talk a lot about the shit they got\nWhen other niggas come around they often run and hide\nYou can probably find me somewhere in the alley gettin' high\nDrinkin' all my life away as time passes by\nI could've been in medicine\nI could've been a president\nI wanna ask the Lord but shit why, ask why?\nFour racks in my pocket from the Mayweather fight\nI made a grip, and finna bet nobody smacking a homie\nBought a Honda, weed and gang of swisha sweets\nSome new Chuck Tees, a couple T's, and a slice of Bologna\nGod Damn! Never really couldn't manage myself\nThey say I'm schizophrenic, man, I really need help\nI told you it's the voices that be\ntalking to me, giving me subliminals\nThat's how you make your faces all melt\nLittle nigga wanna trip, I will unbuckle my belt\nAnd get to whooping on 'im in front of his girl, I'm a devil\nRippin' mothafuckers into pieces, now the nigga pray to Jesus\nReally ain't no other rapper on my level\n\nILL Smith, fuck a Fresh Prince\nMurder every rapper in the game and left prints\nHomie, let's dance\nBeing fresh put me on,\nI felt like it's my last chance of making\na haters wanna hide the dues and be friends\nLet's hide all my cynical\nA product unidentical; rappers talking a lot\nThey biting but they bite is just miniature\nTo me you don't resemble a G but you keep on talking lot\nI'll stomp you out and put a Nike emblem print on you\nAnyone messing with my crew might get pushed to finish you\nAnd end your career\nI've been loose but I'm winnin' this year\nA lot of suckas' actin' like a bunch of women they scared\nThey swear they hard but start to tremble when the pistol appear\nI'm drinking Seagram 7,\nwriting and eating Xanax, Atlantis, a lot of strippers\nI bet you wish you was here\n85 pound drunks out here pissing their pants\nTurn on the radio and it's this the right station, it's weird\nI hear rappers singing RnB [?]\nWhile I'm in my Cut Supreme with some green\nSucker free, on the weed\nI got in anything you need\nGive a scream down the street\nSpeakers beat like I put you under meat mallet\nWhile the beat riding I got the blow and got the bars\nClose to overdose and I just hope I see tomorrow\nNobody really cared when I was broke and 'bout to starve\nSo why should I give a fuck whats up with Khloé and Lamar!?\n'Cause they got a grand problem\nNerds on the internet be talking mad blogging, I'm bout to snap on em\nI'm fixing to bust his head and there'll be a black coffin\nThis rapping shit don't work, I'm in a black mask robbing\nMock it, think the spittin' shit's lame\nJohny, stop! No crossing over, can't get in this lane\nTwo of the best that ever did it Rittz and Twisted Insane\nTaking over this game, so remember his name: ILL Smith\nBitch, yuh-uh-yeah","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: ILL Smith (feat. Rittz)\n  artist: Twisted Insane\n  album: The Last Demon\n  duration_ms: 211566\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Born and raised in California the city of the stoner\n  Pushin' a whip up on a bitch and when I hop in I be on her\n  And they blow my phone up, never really did when I was a bum\n  Now I become hot as Arizona\n  Post up in a bucket all night saying \"Fuck it!\n  \" 'cause I really got nowhere to go, and I was broke and homeless\n  That's way too many then, see, I was penny-pinching\n  I could not afford to pull up in a Honda Accord with the chrome ones\n  Mixin' the women with the wicked and the alcohol\n  Fuck it, you could spend it homie, we about to ball\n  Sick of all these rappers that be actin' like they rapping tight\n  But really half them people wasn't saying shit at all\n  Go ahead mothafucka, talk about your ice\n  You in Lamborghinis, we don't even got a ride\n  Sick of the ones that always talk a lot about the shit they got\n  When other niggas come around they often run and hide\n  You can probably find me somewhere in the alley gettin' high\n  Drinkin' all my life away as time passes by\n  I could've been in medicine\n  I could've been a president\n  I wanna ask the Lord but shit why, ask why?\n  Four racks in my pocket from the Mayweather fight\n  I made a grip, and finna bet nobody smacking a homie\n  Bought a Honda, weed and gang of swisha sweets\n  Some new Chuck Tees, a couple T's, and a slice of Bologna\n  God Damn! Never really couldn't manage myself\n  They say I'm schizophrenic, man, I really need help\n  I told you it's the voices that be\n  talking to me, giving me subliminals\n  That's how you make your faces all melt\n  Little nigga wanna trip, I will unbuckle my belt\n  And get to whooping on 'im in front of his girl, I'm a devil\n  Rippin' mothafuckers into pieces, now the nigga pray to Jesus\n  Really ain't no other rapper on my level\n\n  ILL Smith, fuck a Fresh Prince\n  Murder every rapper in the game and left prints\n  Homie, let's dance\n  Being fresh put me on,\n  I felt like it's my last chance of making\n  a haters wanna hide the dues and be friends\n  Let's hide all my cynical\n  A product unidentical; rappers talking a lot\n  They biting but they bite is just miniature\n  To me you don't resemble a G but you keep on talking lot\n  I'll stomp you out and put a Nike emblem print on you\n  Anyone messing with my crew might get pushed to finish you\n  And end your career\n  I've been loose but I'm winnin' this year\n  A lot of suckas' actin' like a bunch of women they scared\n  They swear they hard but start to tremble when the pistol appear\n  I'm drinking Seagram 7,\n  writing and eating Xanax, Atlantis, a lot of strippers\n  I bet you wish you was here\n  85 pound drunks out here pissing their pants\n  Turn on the radio and it's this the right station, it's weird\n  I hear rappers singing RnB [?]\n  While I'm in my Cut Supreme with some green\n  Sucker free, on the weed\n  I got in anything you need\n  Give a scream down the street\n  Speakers beat like I put you under meat mallet\n  While the beat riding I got the blow and got the bars\n  Close to overdose and I just hope I see tomorrow\n  Nobody really cared when I was broke and 'bout to starve\n  So why should I give a fuck whats up with Khloé and Lamar!?\n  'Cause they got a grand problem\n  Nerds on the internet be talking mad blogging, I'm bout to snap on em\n  I'm fixing to bust his head and there'll be a black coffin\n  This rapping shit don't work, I'm in a black mask robbing\n  Mock it, think the spittin' shit's lame\n  Johny, stop! No crossing over, can't get in this lane\n  Two of the best that ever did it Rittz and Twisted Insane\n  Taking over this game, so remember his name: ILL Smith\n  Bitch, yuh-uh-yeah\n"}]