[{"id":10557297,"name":"Next Up","trackName":"Next Up","artistName":"UGK","albumName":"UGK (Underground Kingz)","duration":184.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\nBut I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\nI'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\nWith white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\nBrooklyn motherfucker, handle this\nPardon my Spanish and French\n\nOkay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\nTill your face sever, one of the greatest ever\nBeyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\nShit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\nI hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\nThe next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\nYour career last a week, that'll be luckily\nFuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\nI'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\nGave the game true religion before you found it in denim\nFeel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\nThe hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\nAnd keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\nTriple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\nMe or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\nWe trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\nI smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\nHigh pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\nI'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\nYou flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\nBun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\nFrom the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\nGo to any city nigga and bring my name up\nI bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\nCall a nigga up, email him or chirp him\nMake a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\nDon't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\nI'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\nHomie, we big steppin', big reppin'\nWe givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\nLeft with the Midwest, clique Texans\nG. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\nI put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\nWhen you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\nTill you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\nShit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\nHe willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\nGive you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\nMultiple holes, you get those on your top, man\nHigh roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\nFroze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\nWe stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\nAnd I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\nBank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\nI make your girl get down and open it up\nPut my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\nI'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\nOr call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\nBoard Nine or Issey Miyaki\nI got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\nI ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\nFuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\nYour bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\nShe reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\nOn my Lamborghini with the quick scream\nFettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\nWhat you know about gettin' cross country?\nNigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\nYou need to take that shit back\nThat ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\nBitch, what the fuck you done to that?\nNow, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Next Up\n  artist: UGK\n  album: UGK (Underground Kingz)\n  duration_ms: 184000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\n  But I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\n  I'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\n  With white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\n  Brooklyn motherfucker, handle this\n  Pardon my Spanish and French\n\n  Okay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\n  Till your face sever, one of the greatest ever\n  Beyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\n  Shit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\n  I hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\n  The next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\n  Your career last a week, that'll be luckily\n  Fuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\n  I'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\n  Gave the game true religion before you found it in denim\n  Feel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\n  The hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\n  And keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\n  Triple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\n  Me or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\n  We trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\n  I smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\n  High pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\n  I'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\n  You flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\n  Bun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\n  From the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\n  Go to any city nigga and bring my name up\n  I bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\n  Call a nigga up, email him or chirp him\n  Make a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\n  Don't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\n  I'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\n  Homie, we big steppin', big reppin'\n  We givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\n  Left with the Midwest, clique Texans\n  G. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\n  I put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\n  When you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\n  Till you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\n  Shit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\n  He willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\n  Give you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\n  Multiple holes, you get those on your top, man\n  High roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\n  Froze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\n  We stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\n  And I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\n  Bank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\n  I make your girl get down and open it up\n  Put my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\n  I'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\n  Or call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\n  Board Nine or Issey Miyaki\n  I got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\n  I ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\n  Fuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\n  Your bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\n  She reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\n  On my Lamborghini with the quick scream\n  Fettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\n  What you know about gettin' cross country?\n  Nigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\n  You need to take that shit back\n  That ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\n  Bitch, what the fuck you done to that?\n  Now, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that\n"},{"id":2193918,"name":"Next Up (feat. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap)","trackName":"Next Up (feat. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap)","artistName":"UGK","albumName":"UGK (Underground Kingz)","duration":184.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\nBut I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\nI'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\nWith white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\nBrooklyn motherfucker, handle this\nPardon my Spanish and French\n\nOkay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\nTill your face sever, one of the greatest ever\nBeyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\nShit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\nI hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\nThe next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\nYour career last a week, that'll be luckily\nFuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\nI'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\nGave the game true religion before you found it in denim\nFeel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\nThe hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\nAnd keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\nTriple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\nMe or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\nWe trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\nI smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\nHigh pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\nI'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\nYou flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\nBun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\nFrom the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\nGo to any city nigga and bring my name up\nI bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\nCall a nigga up, email him or chirp him\nMake a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\nDon't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\nI'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\nHomie, we big steppin', big reppin'\nWe givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\nLeft with the Midwest, clique Texans\nG. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\nI put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\nWhen you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\nTill you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\nShit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\nHe willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\nGive you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\nMultiple holes, you get those on your top, man\nHigh roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\nFroze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\nWe stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\nAnd I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\nBank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\nI make your girl get down and open it up\nPut my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\nI'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\nOr call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\nBoard Nine or Issey Miyaki\nI got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\nI ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\nFuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\nYour bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\nShe reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\nOn my Lamborghini with the quick scream\nFettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\nWhat you know about gettin' cross country?\nNigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\nYou need to take that shit back\nThat ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\nBitch, what the fuck you done to that?\nNow, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Next Up (feat. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap)\n  artist: UGK\n  album: UGK (Underground Kingz)\n  duration_ms: 184000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\n  But I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\n  I'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\n  With white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\n  Brooklyn motherfucker, handle this\n  Pardon my Spanish and French\n\n  Okay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\n  Till your face sever, one of the greatest ever\n  Beyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\n  Shit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\n  I hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\n  The next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\n  Your career last a week, that'll be luckily\n  Fuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\n  I'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\n  Gave the game true religion before you found it in denim\n  Feel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\n  The hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\n  And keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\n  Triple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\n  Me or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\n  We trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\n  I smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\n  High pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\n  I'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\n  You flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\n  Bun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\n  From the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\n  Go to any city nigga and bring my name up\n  I bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\n  Call a nigga up, email him or chirp him\n  Make a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\n  Don't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\n  I'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\n  Homie, we big steppin', big reppin'\n  We givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\n  Left with the Midwest, clique Texans\n  G. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\n  I put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\n  When you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\n  Till you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\n  Shit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\n  He willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\n  Give you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\n  Multiple holes, you get those on your top, man\n  High roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\n  Froze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\n  We stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\n  And I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\n  Bank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\n  I make your girl get down and open it up\n  Put my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\n  I'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\n  Or call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\n  Board Nine or Issey Miyaki\n  I got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\n  I ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\n  Fuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\n  Your bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\n  She reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\n  On my Lamborghini with the quick scream\n  Fettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\n  What you know about gettin' cross country?\n  Nigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\n  You need to take that shit back\n  That ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\n  Bitch, what the fuck you done to that?\n  Now, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that\n"},{"id":28865052,"name":"Next Up","trackName":"Next Up","artistName":"UGK, Big Daddy Kane, Kool G Rap","albumName":"UGK (Underground Kingz)","duration":184.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\nBut I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\nI'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\nWith white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\nBrooklyn motherfucker, handle this\nPardon my Spanish and French\n\nOkay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\nTill your face sever, one of the greatest ever\nBeyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\nShit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\nI hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\nThe next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\nYour career last a week, that'll be luckily\nFuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\nI'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\nGave the game true religion before you found it in denim\nFeel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\nThe hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\nAnd keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\nTriple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\nMe or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\nWe trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\nI smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\nHigh pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\nI'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\nYou flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\nBun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\nFrom the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\nGo to any city nigga and bring my name up\nI bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\nCall a nigga up, email him or chirp him\nMake a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\nDon't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\nI'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\nHomie, we big steppin', big reppin'\nWe givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\nLeft with the Midwest, clique Texans\nG. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\nI put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\nWhen you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\nTill you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\nShit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\nHe willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\nGive you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\nMultiple holes, you get those on your top, man\nHigh roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\nFroze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\nWe stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\nAnd I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\nBank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\nI make your girl get down and open it up\nPut my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\nI'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\nOr call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\nBoard Nine or Issey Miyaki\nI got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\nI ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\nFuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\nYour bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\nShe reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\nOn my Lamborghini with the quick scream\nFettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\nWhat you know about gettin' cross country?\nNigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\nYou need to take that shit back\nThat ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\nBitch, what the fuck you done to that?\nNow, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Next Up\n  artist: UGK, Big Daddy Kane, Kool G Rap\n  album: UGK (Underground Kingz)\n  duration_ms: 184000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\n  But I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\n  I'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\n  With white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\n  Brooklyn motherfucker, handle this\n  Pardon my Spanish and French\n\n  Okay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\n  Till your face sever, one of the greatest ever\n  Beyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\n  Shit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\n  I hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\n  The next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\n  Your career last a week, that'll be luckily\n  Fuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\n  I'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\n  Gave the game true religion before you found it in denim\n  Feel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\n  The hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\n  And keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\n  Triple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\n  Me or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\n  We trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\n  I smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\n  High pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\n  I'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\n  You flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\n  Bun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\n  From the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\n  Go to any city nigga and bring my name up\n  I bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\n  Call a nigga up, email him or chirp him\n  Make a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\n  Don't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\n  I'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\n  Homie, we big steppin', big reppin'\n  We givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\n  Left with the Midwest, clique Texans\n  G. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\n  I put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\n  When you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\n  Till you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\n  Shit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\n  He willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\n  Give you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\n  Multiple holes, you get those on your top, man\n  High roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\n  Froze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\n  We stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\n  And I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\n  Bank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\n  I make your girl get down and open it up\n  Put my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\n  I'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\n  Or call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\n  Board Nine or Issey Miyaki\n  I got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\n  I ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\n  Fuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\n  Your bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\n  She reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\n  On my Lamborghini with the quick scream\n  Fettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\n  What you know about gettin' cross country?\n  Nigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\n  You need to take that shit back\n  That ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\n  Bitch, what the fuck you done to that?\n  Now, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that\n"},{"id":10238491,"name":"Next Up","trackName":"Next Up","artistName":"UGK feat. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap","albumName":"UGK (Underground Kingz)","duration":184.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\nBut I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\nI'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\nWith white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\nBrooklyn motherfucker, handle this\nPardon my Spanish and French\n\nOkay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\nTill your face sever, one of the greatest ever\nBeyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\nShit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\nI hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\nThe next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\nYour career last a week, that'll be luckily\nFuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\nI'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\nGave the game true religion before you found it in denim\nFeel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\nThe hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\nAnd keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\nTriple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\nMe or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\nWe trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\nI smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\nHigh pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\nI'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\nYou flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\nBun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\nFrom the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\nGo to any city nigga and bring my name up\nI bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\nCall a nigga up, email him or chirp him\nMake a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\nDon't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\nI'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\nHomie, we big steppin', big reppin'\nWe givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\nLeft with the Midwest, clique Texans\nG. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\nI put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\nWhen you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\nTill you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\nShit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\nHe willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\nGive you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\nMultiple holes, you get those on your top, man\nHigh roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\nFroze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\nWe stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\nAnd I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\nBank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\nI make your girl get down and open it up\nPut my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\nI'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\nOr call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\nBoard Nine or Issey Miyaki\nI got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\nI ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\nFuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\nYour bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\nShe reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\nOn my Lamborghini with the quick scream\nFettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\nWhat you know about gettin' cross country?\nNigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\nYou need to take that shit back\nThat ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\nBitch, what the fuck you done to that?\nNow, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Next Up\n  artist: UGK feat. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap\n  album: UGK (Underground Kingz)\n  duration_ms: 184000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\n  But I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\n  I'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\n  With white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\n  Brooklyn motherfucker, handle this\n  Pardon my Spanish and French\n\n  Okay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\n  Till your face sever, one of the greatest ever\n  Beyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\n  Shit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\n  I hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\n  The next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\n  Your career last a week, that'll be luckily\n  Fuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\n  I'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\n  Gave the game true religion before you found it in denim\n  Feel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\n  The hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\n  And keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\n  Triple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\n  Me or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\n  We trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\n  I smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\n  High pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\n  I'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\n  You flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\n  Bun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\n  From the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\n  Go to any city nigga and bring my name up\n  I bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\n  Call a nigga up, email him or chirp him\n  Make a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\n  Don't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\n  I'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\n  Homie, we big steppin', big reppin'\n  We givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\n  Left with the Midwest, clique Texans\n  G. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\n  I put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\n  When you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\n  Till you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\n  Shit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\n  He willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\n  Give you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\n  Multiple holes, you get those on your top, man\n  High roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\n  Froze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\n  We stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\n  And I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\n  Bank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\n  I make your girl get down and open it up\n  Put my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\n  I'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\n  Or call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\n  Board Nine or Issey Miyaki\n  I got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\n  I ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\n  Fuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\n  Your bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\n  She reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\n  On my Lamborghini with the quick scream\n  Fettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\n  What you know about gettin' cross country?\n  Nigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\n  You need to take that shit back\n  That ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\n  Bitch, what the fuck you done to that?\n  Now, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that\n"},{"id":34967728,"name":"Next Up","trackName":"Next Up","artistName":"UGK Feat․ Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap","albumName":"UGK (Underground Kingz)","duration":184.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Now jam!\nI don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\nBut I think this right here is about to shut them damn haters down\n\nI'm from the streets that make niggas walk slow, talk low\nWith white choke, yo\nMi casa, bis siete, uno, ocho\n\nBrooklyn motherfucker, handle this\nPardon Spanish and French\n\nI stay clever like Mayweather will lay leather\nTo your face ever, one of the greatest ever\nBeyond ringing bells, my name so demanded\nShit, I got the swagger that'll leave the cold offended\nHope you niggas overstand it, I stay sucker free\nThe next Kane up in the game, you ain't got enough to be\nYour career last a week, that'll be luckily\n\nFuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\nI'm the same thug to be, surrounded with women\nGave the game true religion before you found it in denim\nFeel the wrath of Kane, and you cannot escape\n\nThe hip-hop version of The Ring and you just watched the tape\n\nAnd keep your eyes on the niggas in war\nTriple black in the candy painted car, that's the color of Ball\nMe and my brother Paul Wall and 'Nam nigga\nWe trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\nI'll smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\nHigh pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\nI'm way past sendin' them a series of warnings\nYou flex with me tonight player, you're dead by the morning\nOne beat of the best ever, breathin' or deceased\nFrom the South to the Midwest, Cali to the East\n\nGo to any city nigga, and bring my name up\nI bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\nCall a nigga up, email him or chirp him\nMake a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\nDon't fuck around, I'm not your little homie\nI'm the king of the underground so act like you know me\n\nWe big steppin', big reppin'\nWe givin' Kid Smith and Wesons lessons\nYou get left for the sketchin', F with the Midwest clique Texans\nMe and Daddy Kane the clique Texans\nPop you to death, hop on private planes and swift Jetsons\nNiggas know what it is\nWhen they see the ball cap and the slick Stetson\nTurn your strip section to a movie clip from the Westerns\nShit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\nG will introduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\nGive you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\nMultiple holes, you get those in your top man\n\nHigh roller dough, some hoes on the cock land\nFroze but never cold, we rose with a hot hand\nWe stackin' cheese 'til the rubber bands pop, scram\nAnd I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stand\nPink pounds like James Brown, give 'em hot hands\n\nMake a girl get down and open it up\n\nPut my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\nI'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\nOr call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\nBar nine or Issey Miyake\nI got your girl mind me strong like socket\nI ain't Rocky, but I keep a rocket\nFuck around and knock your tuna fish out of socket\nYour bitch out of pocket, she under temperate\nShe reckless eyeballin', watchin' my top fallin'\n\nOn my Lamborghini with the three screens\nFettuccine linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\nWhat you know about gettin' cross country?\nNigga your piece big but your diamonds look monkey\nYou need to take that shit back\nThem ain't no Emmy diamonds, what the fuck you done to that?\n\nNow damn, somebody need to beat Jacob's ass over that","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Next Up\n  artist: UGK Feat․ Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap\n  album: UGK (Underground Kingz)\n  duration_ms: 184000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Now jam!\n  I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\n  But I think this right here is about to shut them damn haters down\n\n  I'm from the streets that make niggas walk slow, talk low\n  With white choke, yo\n  Mi casa, bis siete, uno, ocho\n\n  Brooklyn motherfucker, handle this\n  Pardon Spanish and French\n\n  I stay clever like Mayweather will lay leather\n  To your face ever, one of the greatest ever\n  Beyond ringing bells, my name so demanded\n  Shit, I got the swagger that'll leave the cold offended\n  Hope you niggas overstand it, I stay sucker free\n  The next Kane up in the game, you ain't got enough to be\n  Your career last a week, that'll be luckily\n\n  Fuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n  I'm the same thug to be, surrounded with women\n  Gave the game true religion before you found it in denim\n  Feel the wrath of Kane, and you cannot escape\n\n  The hip-hop version of The Ring and you just watched the tape\n\n  And keep your eyes on the niggas in war\n  Triple black in the candy painted car, that's the color of Ball\n  Me and my brother Paul Wall and 'Nam nigga\n  We trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n  I'll smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\n  High pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\n  I'm way past sendin' them a series of warnings\n  You flex with me tonight player, you're dead by the morning\n  One beat of the best ever, breathin' or deceased\n  From the South to the Midwest, Cali to the East\n\n  Go to any city nigga, and bring my name up\n  I bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n  Call a nigga up, email him or chirp him\n  Make a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\n  Don't fuck around, I'm not your little homie\n  I'm the king of the underground so act like you know me\n\n  We big steppin', big reppin'\n  We givin' Kid Smith and Wesons lessons\n  You get left for the sketchin', F with the Midwest clique Texans\n  Me and Daddy Kane the clique Texans\n  Pop you to death, hop on private planes and swift Jetsons\n  Niggas know what it is\n  When they see the ball cap and the slick Stetson\n  Turn your strip section to a movie clip from the Westerns\n  Shit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\n  G will introduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\n  Give you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\n  Multiple holes, you get those in your top man\n\n  High roller dough, some hoes on the cock land\n  Froze but never cold, we rose with a hot hand\n  We stackin' cheese 'til the rubber bands pop, scram\n  And I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stand\n  Pink pounds like James Brown, give 'em hot hands\n\n  Make a girl get down and open it up\n\n  Put my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\n  I'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\n  Or call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n  Bar nine or Issey Miyake\n  I got your girl mind me strong like socket\n  I ain't Rocky, but I keep a rocket\n  Fuck around and knock your tuna fish out of socket\n  Your bitch out of pocket, she under temperate\n  She reckless eyeballin', watchin' my top fallin'\n\n  On my Lamborghini with the three screens\n  Fettuccine linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\n  What you know about gettin' cross country?\n  Nigga your piece big but your diamonds look monkey\n  You need to take that shit back\n  Them ain't no Emmy diamonds, what the fuck you done to that?\n\n  Now damn, somebody need to beat Jacob's ass over that\n"},{"id":18130212,"name":"Next Up","trackName":"Next Up","artistName":"UGK","albumName":"Underground Kingz (CD 2)","duration":183.6512,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\nBut I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\nI'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\nWith white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\nBrooklyn motherfucker, handle this\nPardon my Spanish and French\n\nOkay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\nTill your face sever, one of the greatest ever\nBeyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\nShit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\nI hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\nThe next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\nYour career last a week, that'll be luckily\nFuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\nI'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\nGave the game true religion before you found it in denim\nFeel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\nThe hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\nAnd keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\nTriple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\nMe or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\nWe trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\nI smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\nHigh pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\nI'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\nYou flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\nBun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\nFrom the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\nGo to any city nigga and bring my name up\nI bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\nCall a nigga up, email him or chirp him\nMake a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\nDon't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\nI'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\nHomie, we big steppin', big reppin'\nWe givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\nLeft with the Midwest, clique Texans\nG. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\nI put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\nWhen you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\nTill you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\nShit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\nHe willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\nGive you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\nMultiple holes, you get those on your top, man\nHigh roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\nFroze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\nWe stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\nAnd I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\nBank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\nI make your girl get down and open it up\nPut my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\nI'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\nOr call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\nBoard Nine or Issey Miyaki\nI got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\nI ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\nFuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\nYour bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\nShe reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\nOn my Lamborghini with the quick scream\nFettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\nWhat you know about gettin' cross country?\nNigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\nYou need to take that shit back\nThat ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\nBitch, what the fuck you done to that?\nNow, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Next Up\n  artist: UGK\n  album: Underground Kingz (CD 2)\n  duration_ms: 183651\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\n  But I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\n  I'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\n  With white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\n  Brooklyn motherfucker, handle this\n  Pardon my Spanish and French\n\n  Okay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\n  Till your face sever, one of the greatest ever\n  Beyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\n  Shit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\n  I hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\n  The next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\n  Your career last a week, that'll be luckily\n  Fuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\n  I'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\n  Gave the game true religion before you found it in denim\n  Feel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\n  The hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\n  And keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\n  Triple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\n  Me or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\n  We trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\n  I smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\n  High pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\n  I'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\n  You flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\n  Bun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\n  From the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\n  Go to any city nigga and bring my name up\n  I bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\n  Call a nigga up, email him or chirp him\n  Make a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\n  Don't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\n  I'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\n  Homie, we big steppin', big reppin'\n  We givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\n  Left with the Midwest, clique Texans\n  G. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\n  I put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\n  When you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\n  Till you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\n  Shit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\n  He willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\n  Give you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\n  Multiple holes, you get those on your top, man\n  High roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\n  Froze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\n  We stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\n  And I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\n  Bank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\n  I make your girl get down and open it up\n  Put my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\n  I'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\n  Or call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\n  Board Nine or Issey Miyaki\n  I got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\n  I ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\n  Fuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\n  Your bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\n  She reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\n  On my Lamborghini with the quick scream\n  Fettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\n  What you know about gettin' cross country?\n  Nigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\n  You need to take that shit back\n  That ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\n  Bitch, what the fuck you done to that?\n  Now, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that\n"},{"id":22022053,"name":"Next Up","trackName":"Next Up","artistName":"UGK","albumName":"Underground Kingz","duration":183.640816,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\nBut I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\nI'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\nWith white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\nBrooklyn motherfucker, handle this\nPardon my Spanish and French\n\nOkay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\nTill your face sever, one of the greatest ever\nBeyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\nShit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\nI hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\nThe next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\nYour career last a week, that'll be luckily\nFuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\nI'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\nGave the game true religion before you found it in denim\nFeel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\nThe hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\nAnd keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\nTriple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\nMe or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\nWe trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\nI smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\nHigh pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\nI'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\nYou flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\nBun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\nFrom the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\nGo to any city nigga and bring my name up\nI bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\nCall a nigga up, email him or chirp him\nMake a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\nDon't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\nI'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\nHomie, we big steppin', big reppin'\nWe givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\nLeft with the Midwest, clique Texans\nG. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\nI put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\nWhen you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\nTill you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\nShit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\nHe willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\nGive you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\nMultiple holes, you get those on your top, man\nHigh roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\nFroze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\nWe stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\nAnd I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\nBank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\nI make your girl get down and open it up\nPut my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\nI'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\nOr call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\nBoard Nine or Issey Miyaki\nI got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\nI ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\nFuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\nYour bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\nShe reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\nOn my Lamborghini with the quick scream\nFettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\nWhat you know about gettin' cross country?\nNigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\nYou need to take that shit back\nThat ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\nBitch, what the fuck you done to that?\nNow, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Next Up\n  artist: UGK\n  album: Underground Kingz\n  duration_ms: 183641\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\n  But I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\n  I'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\n  With white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\n  Brooklyn motherfucker, handle this\n  Pardon my Spanish and French\n\n  Okay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\n  Till your face sever, one of the greatest ever\n  Beyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\n  Shit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\n  I hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\n  The next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\n  Your career last a week, that'll be luckily\n  Fuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\n  I'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\n  Gave the game true religion before you found it in denim\n  Feel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\n  The hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\n  And keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\n  Triple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\n  Me or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\n  We trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\n  I smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\n  High pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\n  I'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\n  You flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\n  Bun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\n  From the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\n  Go to any city nigga and bring my name up\n  I bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\n  Call a nigga up, email him or chirp him\n  Make a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\n  Don't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\n  I'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\n  Homie, we big steppin', big reppin'\n  We givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\n  Left with the Midwest, clique Texans\n  G. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\n  I put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\n  When you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\n  Till you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\n  Shit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\n  He willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\n  Give you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\n  Multiple holes, you get those on your top, man\n  High roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\n  Froze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\n  We stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\n  And I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\n  Bank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\n  I make your girl get down and open it up\n  Put my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\n  I'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\n  Or call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\n  Board Nine or Issey Miyaki\n  I got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\n  I ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\n  Fuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\n  Your bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\n  She reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\n  On my Lamborghini with the quick scream\n  Fettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\n  What you know about gettin' cross country?\n  Nigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\n  You need to take that shit back\n  That ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\n  Bitch, what the fuck you done to that?\n  Now, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that\n"},{"id":21712234,"name":"Next Up","trackName":"Next Up","artistName":"UGK","albumName":"Underground Kingz Disc 2","duration":181.771208,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\nBut I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\nI'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\nWith white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\nBrooklyn motherfucker, handle this\nPardon my Spanish and French\n\nOkay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\nTill your face sever, one of the greatest ever\nBeyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\nShit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\nI hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\nThe next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\nYour career last a week, that'll be luckily\nFuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\nI'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\nGave the game true religion before you found it in denim\nFeel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\nThe hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\nAnd keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\nTriple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\nMe or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\nWe trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\nI smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\nHigh pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\nI'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\nYou flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\nBun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\nFrom the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\nGo to any city nigga and bring my name up\nI bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\nCall a nigga up, email him or chirp him\nMake a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\nDon't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\nI'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\nHomie, we big steppin', big reppin'\nWe givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\nLeft with the Midwest, clique Texans\nG. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\nI put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\nWhen you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\nTill you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\nShit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\nHe willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\nGive you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\nMultiple holes, you get those on your top, man\nHigh roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\nFroze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\nWe stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\nAnd I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\nBank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\nI make your girl get down and open it up\nPut my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\nI'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\nOr call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\nBoard Nine or Issey Miyaki\nI got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\nI ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\nFuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\nYour bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\nShe reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\nOn my Lamborghini with the quick scream\nFettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\nWhat you know about gettin' cross country?\nNigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\nYou need to take that shit back\nThat ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\nBitch, what the fuck you done to that?\nNow, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Next Up\n  artist: UGK\n  album: Underground Kingz Disc 2\n  duration_ms: 181771\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\n  But I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\n  I'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\n  With white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\n  Brooklyn motherfucker, handle this\n  Pardon my Spanish and French\n\n  Okay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\n  Till your face sever, one of the greatest ever\n  Beyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\n  Shit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\n  I hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\n  The next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\n  Your career last a week, that'll be luckily\n  Fuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\n  I'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\n  Gave the game true religion before you found it in denim\n  Feel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\n  The hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\n  And keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\n  Triple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\n  Me or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\n  We trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\n  I smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\n  High pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\n  I'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\n  You flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\n  Bun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\n  From the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\n  Go to any city nigga and bring my name up\n  I bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\n  Call a nigga up, email him or chirp him\n  Make a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\n  Don't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\n  I'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\n  Homie, we big steppin', big reppin'\n  We givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\n  Left with the Midwest, clique Texans\n  G. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\n  I put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\n  When you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\n  Till you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\n  Shit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\n  He willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\n  Give you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\n  Multiple holes, you get those on your top, man\n  High roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\n  Froze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\n  We stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\n  And I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\n  Bank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\n  I make your girl get down and open it up\n  Put my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\n  I'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\n  Or call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\n  Board Nine or Issey Miyaki\n  I got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\n  I ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\n  Fuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\n  Your bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\n  She reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\n  On my Lamborghini with the quick scream\n  Fettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\n  What you know about gettin' cross country?\n  Nigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\n  You need to take that shit back\n  That ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\n  Bitch, what the fuck you done to that?\n  Now, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that\n"},{"id":10575854,"name":"Next Up (feat. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap)","trackName":"Next Up (feat. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap)","artistName":"UGK, Big Daddy Kane, Kool G Rap","albumName":"UGK (Underground Kingz)","duration":184.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\nBut I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\nI'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\nWith white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\nBrooklyn motherfucker, handle this\nPardon my Spanish and French\n\nOkay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\nTill your face sever, one of the greatest ever\nBeyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\nShit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\nI hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\nThe next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\nYour career last a week, that'll be luckily\nFuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\nI'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\nGave the game true religion before you found it in denim\nFeel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\nThe hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\nAnd keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\nTriple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\nMe or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\nWe trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\nI smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\nHigh pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\nI'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\nYou flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\nBun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\nFrom the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\nGo to any city nigga and bring my name up\nI bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\nCall a nigga up, email him or chirp him\nMake a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\nDon't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\nI'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\nHomie, we big steppin', big reppin'\nWe givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\nLeft with the Midwest, clique Texans\nG. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\nI put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\nWhen you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\nTill you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\nShit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\nHe willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\nGive you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\nMultiple holes, you get those on your top, man\nHigh roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\nFroze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\nWe stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\nAnd I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\nBank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\nI make your girl get down and open it up\nPut my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\nI'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\nOr call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\nBoard Nine or Issey Miyaki\nI got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\nI ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\nFuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\nYour bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\nShe reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\nOn my Lamborghini with the quick scream\nFettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\nWhat you know about gettin' cross country?\nNigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\nYou need to take that shit back\nThat ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\nBitch, what the fuck you done to that?\nNow, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Next Up (feat. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap)\n  artist: UGK, Big Daddy Kane, Kool G Rap\n  album: UGK (Underground Kingz)\n  duration_ms: 184000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\n  But I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\n  I'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\n  With white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\n  Brooklyn motherfucker, handle this\n  Pardon my Spanish and French\n\n  Okay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\n  Till your face sever, one of the greatest ever\n  Beyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\n  Shit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\n  I hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\n  The next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\n  Your career last a week, that'll be luckily\n  Fuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\n  I'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\n  Gave the game true religion before you found it in denim\n  Feel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\n  The hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\n  And keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\n  Triple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\n  Me or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\n  We trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\n  I smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\n  High pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\n  I'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\n  You flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\n  Bun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\n  From the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\n  Go to any city nigga and bring my name up\n  I bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\n  Call a nigga up, email him or chirp him\n  Make a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\n  Don't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\n  I'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\n  Homie, we big steppin', big reppin'\n  We givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\n  Left with the Midwest, clique Texans\n  G. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\n  I put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\n  When you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\n  Till you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\n  Shit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\n  He willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\n  Give you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\n  Multiple holes, you get those on your top, man\n  High roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\n  Froze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\n  We stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\n  And I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\n  Bank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\n  I make your girl get down and open it up\n  Put my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\n  I'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\n  Or call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\n  Board Nine or Issey Miyaki\n  I got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\n  I ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\n  Fuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\n  Your bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\n  She reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\n  On my Lamborghini with the quick scream\n  Fettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\n  What you know about gettin' cross country?\n  Nigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\n  You need to take that shit back\n  That ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\n  Bitch, what the fuck you done to that?\n  Now, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that\n"},{"id":771336,"name":"Next Up (feat. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap)","trackName":"Next Up (feat. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap)","artistName":"UGK feat. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap","albumName":"UGK (Underground Kingz)","duration":184.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\nBut I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\nI'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\nWith white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\nBrooklyn motherfucker, handle this\nPardon my Spanish and French\n\nOkay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\nTill your face sever, one of the greatest ever\nBeyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\nShit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\nI hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\nThe next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\nYour career last a week, that'll be luckily\nFuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\nI'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\nGave the game true religion before you found it in denim\nFeel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\nThe hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\nAnd keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\nTriple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\nMe or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\nWe trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\nI smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\nHigh pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\nI'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\nYou flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\nBun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\nFrom the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\nGo to any city nigga and bring my name up\nI bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\nCall a nigga up, email him or chirp him\nMake a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\nDon't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\nI'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\nHomie, we big steppin', big reppin'\nWe givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\nLeft with the Midwest, clique Texans\nG. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\nI put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\nWhen you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\nTill you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\nShit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\nHe willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\nGive you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\nMultiple holes, you get those on your top, man\nHigh roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\nFroze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\nWe stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\nAnd I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\nBank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\nI make your girl get down and open it up\nPut my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\nI'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\nOr call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\nBoard Nine or Issey Miyaki\nI got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\nI ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\nFuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\nYour bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\nShe reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\nOn my Lamborghini with the quick scream\nFettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\nWhat you know about gettin' cross country?\nNigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\nYou need to take that shit back\nThat ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\nBitch, what the fuck you done to that?\nNow, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Next Up (feat. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap)\n  artist: UGK feat. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap\n  album: UGK (Underground Kingz)\n  duration_ms: 184000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\n  But I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\n  I'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\n  With white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\n  Brooklyn motherfucker, handle this\n  Pardon my Spanish and French\n\n  Okay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\n  Till your face sever, one of the greatest ever\n  Beyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\n  Shit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\n  I hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\n  The next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\n  Your career last a week, that'll be luckily\n  Fuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\n  I'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\n  Gave the game true religion before you found it in denim\n  Feel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\n  The hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\n  And keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\n  Triple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\n  Me or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\n  We trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\n  I smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\n  High pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\n  I'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\n  You flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\n  Bun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\n  From the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\n  Go to any city nigga and bring my name up\n  I bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\n  Call a nigga up, email him or chirp him\n  Make a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\n  Don't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\n  I'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\n  Homie, we big steppin', big reppin'\n  We givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\n  Left with the Midwest, clique Texans\n  G. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\n  I put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\n  When you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\n  Till you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\n  Shit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\n  He willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\n  Give you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\n  Multiple holes, you get those on your top, man\n  High roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\n  Froze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\n  We stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\n  And I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\n  Bank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\n  I make your girl get down and open it up\n  Put my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\n  I'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\n  Or call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\n  Board Nine or Issey Miyaki\n  I got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\n  I ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\n  Fuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\n  Your bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\n  She reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\n  On my Lamborghini with the quick scream\n  Fettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\n  What you know about gettin' cross country?\n  Nigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\n  You need to take that shit back\n  That ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\n  Bitch, what the fuck you done to that?\n  Now, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that\n"},{"id":29978428,"name":"Next Up Ft. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap","trackName":"Next Up Ft. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap","artistName":"UGK","albumName":"Underground Kings","duration":113.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\nBut I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\nI'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\nWith white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\nBrooklyn motherfucker, handle this\nPardon my Spanish and French\n\nOkay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\nTill your face sever, one of the greatest ever\nBeyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\nShit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\nI hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\nThe next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\nYour career last a week, that'll be luckily\nFuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\nI'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\nGave the game true religion before you found it in denim\nFeel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\nThe hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\nAnd keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\nTriple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\nMe or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\nWe trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\nI smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\nHigh pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\nI'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\nYou flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\nBun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\nFrom the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\nGo to any city nigga and bring my name up\nI bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\nCall a nigga up, email him or chirp him\nMake a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\nDon't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\nI'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\nHomie, we big steppin', big reppin'\nWe givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\nLeft with the Midwest, clique Texans\nG. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\nI put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\nWhen you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\nTill you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\nShit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\nHe willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\nGive you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\nMultiple holes, you get those on your top, man\nHigh roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\nFroze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\nWe stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\nAnd I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\nBank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\nI make your girl get down and open it up\nPut my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\nI'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\nOr call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\nBoard Nine or Issey Miyaki\nI got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\nI ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\nFuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\nYour bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\nShe reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\nOn my Lamborghini with the quick scream\nFettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\nWhat you know about gettin' cross country?\nNigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\nYou need to take that shit back\nThat ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\nBitch, what the fuck you done to that?\nNow, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Next Up Ft. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap\n  artist: UGK\n  album: Underground Kings\n  duration_ms: 113000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\n  But I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\n  I'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\n  With white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\n  Brooklyn motherfucker, handle this\n  Pardon my Spanish and French\n\n  Okay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\n  Till your face sever, one of the greatest ever\n  Beyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\n  Shit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\n  I hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\n  The next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\n  Your career last a week, that'll be luckily\n  Fuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\n  I'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\n  Gave the game true religion before you found it in denim\n  Feel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\n  The hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\n  And keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\n  Triple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\n  Me or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\n  We trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\n  I smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\n  High pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\n  I'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\n  You flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\n  Bun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\n  From the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\n  Go to any city nigga and bring my name up\n  I bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\n  Call a nigga up, email him or chirp him\n  Make a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\n  Don't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\n  I'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\n  Homie, we big steppin', big reppin'\n  We givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\n  Left with the Midwest, clique Texans\n  G. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\n  I put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\n  When you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\n  Till you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\n  Shit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\n  He willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\n  Give you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\n  Multiple holes, you get those on your top, man\n  High roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\n  Froze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\n  We stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\n  And I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\n  Bank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\n  I make your girl get down and open it up\n  Put my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\n  I'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\n  Or call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\n  Board Nine or Issey Miyaki\n  I got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\n  I ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\n  Fuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\n  Your bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\n  She reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\n  On my Lamborghini with the quick scream\n  Fettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\n  What you know about gettin' cross country?\n  Nigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\n  You need to take that shit back\n  That ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\n  Bitch, what the fuck you done to that?\n  Now, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that\n"},{"id":32475867,"name":"Next Up ft Big Daddy Kane Kool G Rap","trackName":"Next Up ft Big Daddy Kane Kool G Rap","artistName":"UGK","albumName":"Southern Royalty (Hosted By Hevehitta)","duration":181.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\nBut I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\nI'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\nWith white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\nBrooklyn motherfucker, handle this\nPardon my Spanish and French\n\nOkay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\nTill your face sever, one of the greatest ever\nBeyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\nShit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\nI hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\nThe next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\nYour career last a week, that'll be luckily\nFuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\nI'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\nGave the game true religion before you found it in denim\nFeel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\nThe hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\nAnd keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\nTriple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\nMe or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\nWe trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\nI smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\nHigh pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\nI'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\nYou flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\nBun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\nFrom the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\nGo to any city nigga and bring my name up\nI bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\nCall a nigga up, email him or chirp him\nMake a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\nDon't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\nI'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\nHomie, we big steppin', big reppin'\nWe givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\nLeft with the Midwest, clique Texans\nG. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\nI put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\nWhen you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\nTill you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\nShit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\nHe willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\nGive you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\nMultiple holes, you get those on your top, man\nHigh roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\nFroze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\nWe stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\nAnd I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\nBank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\nI make your girl get down and open it up\nPut my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\nI'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\nOr call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\nBoard Nine or Issey Miyaki\nI got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\nI ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\nFuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\nYour bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\nShe reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\nOn my Lamborghini with the quick scream\nFettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\nWhat you know about gettin' cross country?\nNigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\nYou need to take that shit back\nThat ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\nBitch, what the fuck you done to that?\nNow, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Next Up ft Big Daddy Kane Kool G Rap\n  artist: UGK\n  album: Southern Royalty (Hosted By Hevehitta)\n  duration_ms: 181000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\n  But I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\n  I'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\n  With white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\n  Brooklyn motherfucker, handle this\n  Pardon my Spanish and French\n\n  Okay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\n  Till your face sever, one of the greatest ever\n  Beyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\n  Shit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\n  I hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\n  The next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\n  Your career last a week, that'll be luckily\n  Fuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\n  I'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\n  Gave the game true religion before you found it in denim\n  Feel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\n  The hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\n  And keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\n  Triple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\n  Me or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\n  We trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\n  I smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\n  High pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\n  I'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\n  You flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\n  Bun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\n  From the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\n  Go to any city nigga and bring my name up\n  I bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\n  Call a nigga up, email him or chirp him\n  Make a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\n  Don't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\n  I'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\n  Homie, we big steppin', big reppin'\n  We givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\n  Left with the Midwest, clique Texans\n  G. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\n  I put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\n  When you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\n  Till you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\n  Shit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\n  He willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\n  Give you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\n  Multiple holes, you get those on your top, man\n  High roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\n  Froze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\n  We stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\n  And I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\n  Bank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\n  I make your girl get down and open it up\n  Put my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\n  I'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\n  Or call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\n  Board Nine or Issey Miyaki\n  I got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\n  I ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\n  Fuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\n  Your bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\n  She reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\n  On my Lamborghini with the quick scream\n  Fettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\n  What you know about gettin' cross country?\n  Nigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\n  You need to take that shit back\n  That ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\n  Bitch, what the fuck you done to that?\n  Now, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that\n"},{"id":20459166,"name":"Next Up [Feat. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap]","trackName":"Next Up [Feat. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap]","artistName":"UGK","albumName":"Underground Kingz CD2","duration":183.640816,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\nBut I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\nI'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\nWith white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\nBrooklyn motherfucker, handle this\nPardon my Spanish and French\n\nOkay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\nTill your face sever, one of the greatest ever\nBeyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\nShit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\nI hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\nThe next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\nYour career last a week, that'll be luckily\nFuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\nI'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\nGave the game true religion before you found it in denim\nFeel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\nThe hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\nAnd keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\nTriple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\nMe or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\nWe trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\nI smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\nHigh pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\nI'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\nYou flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\nBun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\nFrom the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\nGo to any city nigga and bring my name up\nI bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\nCall a nigga up, email him or chirp him\nMake a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\nDon't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\nI'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\nHomie, we big steppin', big reppin'\nWe givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\nLeft with the Midwest, clique Texans\nG. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\nI put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\nWhen you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\nTill you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\nShit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\nHe willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\nGive you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\nMultiple holes, you get those on your top, man\nHigh roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\nFroze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\nWe stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\nAnd I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\nBank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\nI make your girl get down and open it up\nPut my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\nI'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\nOr call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\nBoard Nine or Issey Miyaki\nI got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\nI ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\nFuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\nYour bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\nShe reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\nOn my Lamborghini with the quick scream\nFettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\nWhat you know about gettin' cross country?\nNigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\nYou need to take that shit back\nThat ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\nBitch, what the fuck you done to that?\nNow, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Next Up [Feat. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap]\n  artist: UGK\n  album: Underground Kingz CD2\n  duration_ms: 183641\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\n  But I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\n  I'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\n  With white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\n  Brooklyn motherfucker, handle this\n  Pardon my Spanish and French\n\n  Okay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\n  Till your face sever, one of the greatest ever\n  Beyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\n  Shit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\n  I hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\n  The next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\n  Your career last a week, that'll be luckily\n  Fuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\n  I'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\n  Gave the game true religion before you found it in denim\n  Feel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\n  The hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\n  And keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\n  Triple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\n  Me or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\n  We trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\n  I smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\n  High pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\n  I'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\n  You flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\n  Bun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\n  From the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\n  Go to any city nigga and bring my name up\n  I bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\n  Call a nigga up, email him or chirp him\n  Make a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\n  Don't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\n  I'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\n  Homie, we big steppin', big reppin'\n  We givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\n  Left with the Midwest, clique Texans\n  G. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\n  I put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\n  When you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\n  Till you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\n  Shit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\n  He willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\n  Give you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\n  Multiple holes, you get those on your top, man\n  High roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\n  Froze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\n  We stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\n  And I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\n  Bank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\n  I make your girl get down and open it up\n  Put my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\n  I'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\n  Or call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\n  Board Nine or Issey Miyaki\n  I got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\n  I ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\n  Fuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\n  Your bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\n  She reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\n  On my Lamborghini with the quick scream\n  Fettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\n  What you know about gettin' cross country?\n  Nigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\n  You need to take that shit back\n  That ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\n  Bitch, what the fuck you done to that?\n  Now, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that\n"},{"id":14376322,"name":"Next Up Ft. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap","trackName":"Next Up Ft. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap","artistName":"UGK","albumName":"Underground Kingz","duration":183.698375,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\nBut I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\nI'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\nWith white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\nBrooklyn motherfucker, handle this\nPardon my Spanish and French\n\nOkay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\nTill your face sever, one of the greatest ever\nBeyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\nShit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\nI hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\nThe next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\nYour career last a week, that'll be luckily\nFuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\nI'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\nGave the game true religion before you found it in denim\nFeel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\nThe hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\nAnd keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\nTriple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\nMe or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\nWe trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\nI smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\nHigh pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\nI'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\nYou flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\nBun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\nFrom the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\nGo to any city nigga and bring my name up\nI bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\nCall a nigga up, email him or chirp him\nMake a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\nDon't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\nI'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\nHomie, we big steppin', big reppin'\nWe givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\nLeft with the Midwest, clique Texans\nG. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\nI put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\nWhen you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\nTill you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\nShit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\nHe willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\nGive you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\nMultiple holes, you get those on your top, man\nHigh roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\nFroze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\nWe stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\nAnd I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\nBank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\nI make your girl get down and open it up\nPut my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\nI'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\nOr call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\nBoard Nine or Issey Miyaki\nI got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\nI ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\nFuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\nYour bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\nShe reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\nOn my Lamborghini with the quick scream\nFettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\nWhat you know about gettin' cross country?\nNigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\nYou need to take that shit back\nThat ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\nBitch, what the fuck you done to that?\nNow, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Next Up Ft. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap\n  artist: UGK\n  album: Underground Kingz\n  duration_ms: 183698\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\n  But I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\n  I'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\n  With white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\n  Brooklyn motherfucker, handle this\n  Pardon my Spanish and French\n\n  Okay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\n  Till your face sever, one of the greatest ever\n  Beyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\n  Shit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\n  I hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\n  The next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\n  Your career last a week, that'll be luckily\n  Fuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\n  I'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\n  Gave the game true religion before you found it in denim\n  Feel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\n  The hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\n  And keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\n  Triple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\n  Me or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\n  We trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\n  I smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\n  High pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\n  I'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\n  You flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\n  Bun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\n  From the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\n  Go to any city nigga and bring my name up\n  I bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\n  Call a nigga up, email him or chirp him\n  Make a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\n  Don't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\n  I'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\n  Homie, we big steppin', big reppin'\n  We givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\n  Left with the Midwest, clique Texans\n  G. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\n  I put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\n  When you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\n  Till you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\n  Shit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\n  He willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\n  Give you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\n  Multiple holes, you get those on your top, man\n  High roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\n  Froze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\n  We stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\n  And I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\n  Bank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\n  I make your girl get down and open it up\n  Put my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\n  I'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\n  Or call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\n  Board Nine or Issey Miyaki\n  I got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\n  I ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\n  Fuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\n  Your bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\n  She reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\n  On my Lamborghini with the quick scream\n  Fettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\n  What you know about gettin' cross country?\n  Nigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\n  You need to take that shit back\n  That ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\n  Bitch, what the fuck you done to that?\n  Now, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that\n"},{"id":14411884,"name":"Next Up (feat. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap)","trackName":"Next Up (feat. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap)","artistName":"UGK","albumName":"Underground Kingz","duration":184.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\nBut I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\nI'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\nWith white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\nBrooklyn motherfucker, handle this\nPardon my Spanish and French\n\nOkay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\nTill your face sever, one of the greatest ever\nBeyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\nShit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\nI hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\nThe next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\nYour career last a week, that'll be luckily\nFuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\nI'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\nGave the game true religion before you found it in denim\nFeel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\nThe hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\nAnd keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\nTriple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\nMe or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\nWe trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\nI smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\nHigh pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\nI'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\nYou flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\nBun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\nFrom the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\nGo to any city nigga and bring my name up\nI bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\nCall a nigga up, email him or chirp him\nMake a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\nDon't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\nI'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\nHomie, we big steppin', big reppin'\nWe givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\nLeft with the Midwest, clique Texans\nG. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\nI put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\nWhen you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\nTill you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\nShit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\nHe willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\nGive you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\nMultiple holes, you get those on your top, man\nHigh roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\nFroze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\nWe stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\nAnd I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\nBank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\nI make your girl get down and open it up\nPut my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\nI'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\nOr call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\nBoard Nine or Issey Miyaki\nI got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\nI ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\nFuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\nYour bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\nShe reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\nOn my Lamborghini with the quick scream\nFettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\nWhat you know about gettin' cross country?\nNigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\nYou need to take that shit back\nThat ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\nBitch, what the fuck you done to that?\nNow, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Next Up (feat. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap)\n  artist: UGK\n  album: Underground Kingz\n  duration_ms: 184000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\n  But I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\n  I'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\n  With white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\n  Brooklyn motherfucker, handle this\n  Pardon my Spanish and French\n\n  Okay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\n  Till your face sever, one of the greatest ever\n  Beyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\n  Shit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\n  I hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\n  The next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\n  Your career last a week, that'll be luckily\n  Fuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\n  I'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\n  Gave the game true religion before you found it in denim\n  Feel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\n  The hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\n  And keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\n  Triple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\n  Me or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\n  We trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\n  I smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\n  High pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\n  I'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\n  You flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\n  Bun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\n  From the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\n  Go to any city nigga and bring my name up\n  I bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\n  Call a nigga up, email him or chirp him\n  Make a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\n  Don't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\n  I'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\n  Homie, we big steppin', big reppin'\n  We givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\n  Left with the Midwest, clique Texans\n  G. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\n  I put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\n  When you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\n  Till you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\n  Shit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\n  He willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\n  Give you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\n  Multiple holes, you get those on your top, man\n  High roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\n  Froze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\n  We stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\n  And I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\n  Bank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\n  I make your girl get down and open it up\n  Put my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\n  I'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\n  Or call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\n  Board Nine or Issey Miyaki\n  I got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\n  I ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\n  Fuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\n  Your bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\n  She reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\n  On my Lamborghini with the quick scream\n  Fettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\n  What you know about gettin' cross country?\n  Nigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\n  You need to take that shit back\n  That ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\n  Bitch, what the fuck you done to that?\n  Now, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that\n"},{"id":15506275,"name":"Next Up (feat. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap)","trackName":"Next Up (feat. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap)","artistName":"UGK","albumName":"Underground Kingz [Disc 2]","duration":183.6,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\nBut I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\nI'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\nWith white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\nBrooklyn motherfucker, handle this\nPardon my Spanish and French\n\nOkay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\nTill your face sever, one of the greatest ever\nBeyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\nShit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\nI hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\nThe next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\nYour career last a week, that'll be luckily\nFuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\nI'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\nGave the game true religion before you found it in denim\nFeel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\nThe hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\nAnd keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\nTriple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\nMe or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\nWe trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\nI smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\nHigh pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\nI'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\nYou flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\nBun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\nFrom the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\nGo to any city nigga and bring my name up\nI bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\nCall a nigga up, email him or chirp him\nMake a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\nDon't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\nI'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\nHomie, we big steppin', big reppin'\nWe givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\nLeft with the Midwest, clique Texans\nG. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\nI put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\nWhen you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\nTill you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\nShit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\nHe willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\nGive you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\nMultiple holes, you get those on your top, man\nHigh roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\nFroze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\nWe stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\nAnd I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\nBank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\nI make your girl get down and open it up\nPut my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\nI'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\nOr call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\nBoard Nine or Issey Miyaki\nI got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\nI ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\nFuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\nYour bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\nShe reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\nOn my Lamborghini with the quick scream\nFettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\nWhat you know about gettin' cross country?\nNigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\nYou need to take that shit back\nThat ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\nBitch, what the fuck you done to that?\nNow, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Next Up (feat. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap)\n  artist: UGK\n  album: Underground Kingz [Disc 2]\n  duration_ms: 183600\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\n  But I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\n  I'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\n  With white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\n  Brooklyn motherfucker, handle this\n  Pardon my Spanish and French\n\n  Okay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\n  Till your face sever, one of the greatest ever\n  Beyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\n  Shit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\n  I hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\n  The next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\n  Your career last a week, that'll be luckily\n  Fuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\n  I'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\n  Gave the game true religion before you found it in denim\n  Feel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\n  The hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\n  And keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\n  Triple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\n  Me or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\n  We trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\n  I smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\n  High pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\n  I'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\n  You flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\n  Bun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\n  From the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\n  Go to any city nigga and bring my name up\n  I bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\n  Call a nigga up, email him or chirp him\n  Make a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\n  Don't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\n  I'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\n  Homie, we big steppin', big reppin'\n  We givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\n  Left with the Midwest, clique Texans\n  G. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\n  I put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\n  When you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\n  Till you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\n  Shit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\n  He willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\n  Give you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\n  Multiple holes, you get those on your top, man\n  High roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\n  Froze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\n  We stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\n  And I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\n  Bank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\n  I make your girl get down and open it up\n  Put my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\n  I'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\n  Or call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\n  Board Nine or Issey Miyaki\n  I got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\n  I ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\n  Fuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\n  Your bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\n  She reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\n  On my Lamborghini with the quick scream\n  Fettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\n  What you know about gettin' cross country?\n  Nigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\n  You need to take that shit back\n  That ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\n  Bitch, what the fuck you done to that?\n  Now, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that\n"},{"id":28136023,"name":"Next Up (Feat. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap)","trackName":"Next Up (Feat. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap)","artistName":"UGK","albumName":"Royalty Status","duration":184.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\nBut I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\nI'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\nWith white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\nBrooklyn motherfucker, handle this\nPardon my Spanish and French\n\nOkay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\nTill your face sever, one of the greatest ever\nBeyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\nShit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\nI hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\nThe next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\nYour career last a week, that'll be luckily\nFuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\nI'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\nGave the game true religion before you found it in denim\nFeel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\nThe hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\nAnd keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\nTriple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\nMe or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\nWe trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\nI smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\nHigh pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\nI'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\nYou flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\nBun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\nFrom the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\nGo to any city nigga and bring my name up\nI bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\nCall a nigga up, email him or chirp him\nMake a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\nDon't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\nI'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\nHomie, we big steppin', big reppin'\nWe givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\nLeft with the Midwest, clique Texans\nG. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\nI put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\nWhen you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\nTill you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\nShit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\nHe willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\nGive you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\nMultiple holes, you get those on your top, man\nHigh roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\nFroze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\nWe stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\nAnd I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\nBank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\nI make your girl get down and open it up\nPut my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\nI'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\nOr call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\nBoard Nine or Issey Miyaki\nI got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\nI ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\nFuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\nYour bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\nShe reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\nOn my Lamborghini with the quick scream\nFettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\nWhat you know about gettin' cross country?\nNigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\nYou need to take that shit back\nThat ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\nBitch, what the fuck you done to that?\nNow, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Next Up (Feat. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap)\n  artist: UGK\n  album: Royalty Status\n  duration_ms: 184000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\n  But I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\n  I'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\n  With white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\n  Brooklyn motherfucker, handle this\n  Pardon my Spanish and French\n\n  Okay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\n  Till your face sever, one of the greatest ever\n  Beyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\n  Shit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\n  I hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\n  The next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\n  Your career last a week, that'll be luckily\n  Fuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\n  I'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\n  Gave the game true religion before you found it in denim\n  Feel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\n  The hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\n  And keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\n  Triple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\n  Me or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\n  We trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\n  I smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\n  High pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\n  I'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\n  You flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\n  Bun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\n  From the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\n  Go to any city nigga and bring my name up\n  I bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\n  Call a nigga up, email him or chirp him\n  Make a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\n  Don't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\n  I'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\n  Homie, we big steppin', big reppin'\n  We givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\n  Left with the Midwest, clique Texans\n  G. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\n  I put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\n  When you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\n  Till you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\n  Shit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\n  He willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\n  Give you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\n  Multiple holes, you get those on your top, man\n  High roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\n  Froze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\n  We stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\n  And I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\n  Bank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\n  I make your girl get down and open it up\n  Put my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\n  I'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\n  Or call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\n  Board Nine or Issey Miyaki\n  I got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\n  I ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\n  Fuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\n  Your bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\n  She reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\n  On my Lamborghini with the quick scream\n  Fettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\n  What you know about gettin' cross country?\n  Nigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\n  You need to take that shit back\n  That ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\n  Bitch, what the fuck you done to that?\n  Now, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that\n"},{"id":34093039,"name":"Next Up (feat. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap)","trackName":"Next Up (feat. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap)","artistName":"Underground Kingz","albumName":"Ugk (Underground Kingz)","duration":184.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Now jam!\nI don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\nBut I think this right here is about to shut them damn haters down\n\nI'm from the streets that make niggas walk slow, talk low\nWith white choke, yo\nMi casa, bis siete, uno, ocho\n\nBrooklyn motherfucker, handle this\nPardon Spanish and French\n\nI stay clever like Mayweather will lay leather\nTo your face ever, one of the greatest ever\nBeyond ringing bells, my name so demanded\nShit, I got the swagger that'll leave the cold offended\nHope you niggas overstand it, I stay sucker free\nThe next Kane up in the game, you ain't got enough to be\nYour career last a week, that'll be luckily\n\nFuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\nI'm the same thug to be, surrounded with women\nGave the game true religion before you found it in denim\nFeel the wrath of Kane, and you cannot escape\n\nThe hip-hop version of The Ring and you just watched the tape\n\nAnd keep your eyes on the niggas in war\nTriple black in the candy painted car, that's the color of Ball\nMe and my brother Paul Wall and 'Nam nigga\nWe trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\nI'll smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\nHigh pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\nI'm way past sendin' them a series of warnings\nYou flex with me tonight player, you're dead by the morning\nOne beat of the best ever, breathin' or deceased\nFrom the South to the Midwest, Cali to the East\n\nGo to any city nigga, and bring my name up\nI bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\nCall a nigga up, email him or chirp him\nMake a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\nDon't fuck around, I'm not your little homie\nI'm the king of the underground so act like you know me\n\nWe big steppin', big reppin'\nWe givin' Kid Smith and Wesons lessons\nYou get left for the sketchin', F with the Midwest clique Texans\nMe and Daddy Kane the clique Texans\nPop you to death, hop on private planes and swift Jetsons\nNiggas know what it is\nWhen they see the ball cap and the slick Stetson\nTurn your strip section to a movie clip from the Westerns\nShit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\nG will introduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\nGive you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\nMultiple holes, you get those in your top man\n\nHigh roller dough, some hoes on the cock land\nFroze but never cold, we rose with a hot hand\nWe stackin' cheese 'til the rubber bands pop, scram\nAnd I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stand\nPink pounds like James Brown, give 'em hot hands\n\nMake a girl get down and open it up\n\nPut my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\nI'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\nOr call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\nBar nine or Issey Miyake\nI got your girl mind me strong like socket\nI ain't Rocky, but I keep a rocket\nFuck around and knock your tuna fish out of socket\nYour bitch out of pocket, she under temperate\nShe reckless eyeballin', watchin' my top fallin'\n\nOn my Lamborghini with the three screens\nFettuccine linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\nWhat you know about gettin' cross country?\nNigga your piece big but your diamonds look monkey\nYou need to take that shit back\nThem ain't no Emmy diamonds, what the fuck you done to that?\n\nNow damn, somebody need to beat Jacob's ass over that","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Next Up (feat. Big Daddy Kane & Kool G Rap)\n  artist: Underground Kingz\n  album: Ugk (Underground Kingz)\n  duration_ms: 184000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Now jam!\n  I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\n  But I think this right here is about to shut them damn haters down\n\n  I'm from the streets that make niggas walk slow, talk low\n  With white choke, yo\n  Mi casa, bis siete, uno, ocho\n\n  Brooklyn motherfucker, handle this\n  Pardon Spanish and French\n\n  I stay clever like Mayweather will lay leather\n  To your face ever, one of the greatest ever\n  Beyond ringing bells, my name so demanded\n  Shit, I got the swagger that'll leave the cold offended\n  Hope you niggas overstand it, I stay sucker free\n  The next Kane up in the game, you ain't got enough to be\n  Your career last a week, that'll be luckily\n\n  Fuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n  I'm the same thug to be, surrounded with women\n  Gave the game true religion before you found it in denim\n  Feel the wrath of Kane, and you cannot escape\n\n  The hip-hop version of The Ring and you just watched the tape\n\n  And keep your eyes on the niggas in war\n  Triple black in the candy painted car, that's the color of Ball\n  Me and my brother Paul Wall and 'Nam nigga\n  We trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n  I'll smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\n  High pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\n  I'm way past sendin' them a series of warnings\n  You flex with me tonight player, you're dead by the morning\n  One beat of the best ever, breathin' or deceased\n  From the South to the Midwest, Cali to the East\n\n  Go to any city nigga, and bring my name up\n  I bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n  Call a nigga up, email him or chirp him\n  Make a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\n  Don't fuck around, I'm not your little homie\n  I'm the king of the underground so act like you know me\n\n  We big steppin', big reppin'\n  We givin' Kid Smith and Wesons lessons\n  You get left for the sketchin', F with the Midwest clique Texans\n  Me and Daddy Kane the clique Texans\n  Pop you to death, hop on private planes and swift Jetsons\n  Niggas know what it is\n  When they see the ball cap and the slick Stetson\n  Turn your strip section to a movie clip from the Westerns\n  Shit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\n  G will introduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\n  Give you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\n  Multiple holes, you get those in your top man\n\n  High roller dough, some hoes on the cock land\n  Froze but never cold, we rose with a hot hand\n  We stackin' cheese 'til the rubber bands pop, scram\n  And I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stand\n  Pink pounds like James Brown, give 'em hot hands\n\n  Make a girl get down and open it up\n\n  Put my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\n  I'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\n  Or call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n  Bar nine or Issey Miyake\n  I got your girl mind me strong like socket\n  I ain't Rocky, but I keep a rocket\n  Fuck around and knock your tuna fish out of socket\n  Your bitch out of pocket, she under temperate\n  She reckless eyeballin', watchin' my top fallin'\n\n  On my Lamborghini with the three screens\n  Fettuccine linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\n  What you know about gettin' cross country?\n  Nigga your piece big but your diamonds look monkey\n  You need to take that shit back\n  Them ain't no Emmy diamonds, what the fuck you done to that?\n\n  Now damn, somebody need to beat Jacob's ass over that\n"},{"id":24595374,"name":"up next","trackName":"up next","artistName":"ugk ft. big daddy kane kool g.","albumName":"DJ Bobby Black-Down And Dirty","duration":182.256327,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\nBut I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\nI'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\nWith white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\nBrooklyn motherfucker, handle this\nPardon my Spanish and French\n\nOkay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\nTill your face sever, one of the greatest ever\nBeyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\nShit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\nI hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\nThe next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\nYour career last a week, that'll be luckily\nFuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\nI'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\nGave the game true religion before you found it in denim\nFeel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\nThe hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\nAnd keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\nTriple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\nMe or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\nWe trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\nI smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\nHigh pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\nI'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\nYou flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\nBun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\nFrom the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\nGo to any city nigga and bring my name up\nI bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\nCall a nigga up, email him or chirp him\nMake a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\nDon't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\nI'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\nHomie, we big steppin', big reppin'\nWe givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\nLeft with the Midwest, clique Texans\nG. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\nI put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\nWhen you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\nTill you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\nShit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\nHe willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\nGive you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\nMultiple holes, you get those on your top, man\nHigh roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\nFroze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\nWe stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\nAnd I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\nBank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\nI make your girl get down and open it up\nPut my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\nI'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\nOr call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\nBoard Nine or Issey Miyaki\nI got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\nI ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\nFuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\nYour bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\nShe reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\nOn my Lamborghini with the quick scream\nFettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\nWhat you know about gettin' cross country?\nNigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\nYou need to take that shit back\nThat ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\nBitch, what the fuck you done to that?\nNow, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: up next\n  artist: ugk ft. big daddy kane kool g.\n  album: DJ Bobby Black-Down And Dirty\n  duration_ms: 182256\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\n  But I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\n  I'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\n  With white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\n  Brooklyn motherfucker, handle this\n  Pardon my Spanish and French\n\n  Okay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\n  Till your face sever, one of the greatest ever\n  Beyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\n  Shit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\n  I hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\n  The next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\n  Your career last a week, that'll be luckily\n  Fuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\n  I'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\n  Gave the game true religion before you found it in denim\n  Feel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\n  The hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\n  And keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\n  Triple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\n  Me or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\n  We trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\n  I smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\n  High pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\n  I'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\n  You flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\n  Bun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\n  From the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\n  Go to any city nigga and bring my name up\n  I bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\n  Call a nigga up, email him or chirp him\n  Make a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\n  Don't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\n  I'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\n  Homie, we big steppin', big reppin'\n  We givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\n  Left with the Midwest, clique Texans\n  G. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\n  I put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\n  When you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\n  Till you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\n  Shit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\n  He willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\n  Give you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\n  Multiple holes, you get those on your top, man\n  High roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\n  Froze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\n  We stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\n  And I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\n  Bank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\n  I make your girl get down and open it up\n  Put my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\n  I'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\n  Or call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\n  Board Nine or Issey Miyaki\n  I got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\n  I ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\n  Fuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\n  Your bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\n  She reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\n  On my Lamborghini with the quick scream\n  Fettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\n  What you know about gettin' cross country?\n  Nigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\n  You need to take that shit back\n  That ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\n  Bitch, what the fuck you done to that?\n  Now, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that\n"},{"id":771337,"name":"Next Up (Feat. Big Daddy kane and Kool G Rap)","trackName":"Next Up (Feat. Big Daddy kane and Kool G Rap)","artistName":"UGK","albumName":"Underground Kingz CD2","duration":184.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\nBut I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\nI'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\nWith white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\nBrooklyn motherfucker, handle this\nPardon my Spanish and French\n\nOkay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\nTill your face sever, one of the greatest ever\nBeyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\nShit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\nI hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\nThe next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\nYour career last a week, that'll be luckily\nFuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\nI'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\nGave the game true religion before you found it in denim\nFeel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\nThe hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\nAnd keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\nTriple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\nMe or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\nWe trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\nI smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\nHigh pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\nI'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\nYou flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\nBun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\nFrom the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\nGo to any city nigga and bring my name up\nI bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\nCall a nigga up, email him or chirp him\nMake a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\nDon't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\nI'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\nHomie, we big steppin', big reppin'\nWe givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\nLeft with the Midwest, clique Texans\nG. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\nI put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\nWhen you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\nTill you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\nShit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\nHe willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\nGive you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\nMultiple holes, you get those on your top, man\nHigh roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\nFroze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\nWe stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\nAnd I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\nBank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\nI make your girl get down and open it up\nPut my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\nI'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\nOr call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\nBoard Nine or Issey Miyaki\nI got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\nI ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\nFuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\nYour bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\nShe reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\nOn my Lamborghini with the quick scream\nFettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\nWhat you know about gettin' cross country?\nNigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\nYou need to take that shit back\nThat ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\nBitch, what the fuck you done to that?\nNow, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Next Up (Feat. Big Daddy kane and Kool G Rap)\n  artist: UGK\n  album: Underground Kingz CD2\n  duration_ms: 184000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Gawddayum, I don't know what y'all been thinkin' 'bout\n  But I think this right here is about to shut dem damn haters down\n\n  I'm from the streets that make niggaz walk slow, talk low\n  With white chalk-o, mi casa be siete uno ocho\n  Brooklyn motherfucker, handle this\n  Pardon my Spanish and French\n\n  Okay, I stay clever like Mayweather with lay leather\n  Till your face sever, one of the greatest ever\n  Beyond ringin' bells, my name's so demandin'\n  Shit, I got the swagger that'll leave Dakota Fanning\n\n  I hope you niggaz over standin', I stay sucker-free\n  The next king of in the game, you ain't got enough to be\n  Your career last a week, that'll be luckily\n  Fuck with me, the rap game'll need protective custody\n\n  I'm the same thug that be surrounded with women\n  Gave the game true religion before you found it in denim\n  Feel the Wrath of Kane and you could not escape\n  The hip hop version of †The Ring' and you just watched the tape\n\n  And keep your eyes on the niggas in Ward\n  Triple black in the candy painted car is the color of board\n  Me or my brother on pall with n'am nigga\n  We trill, workin' the wheel, understand nigga?\n\n  I smother and split a bitch down to the tendon\n  High pressure, if you don't break your ass bendin'\n  I'm way past endin' in my series of warnin'\n  You flex with me tonight, playa, you dead by the mornin'\n\n  Bun Beater, the best ever breathin' or deceased\n  From the South to Midwest, Cali to the East\n  Go to any city nigga and bring my name up\n  I bet I eat the best rapper they got in the game up\n\n  Call a nigga up, email him or chirp him\n  Make a meal out his motherfuckin' ass and then burp him\n  Don't fuck around, I'm not your lil' homey\n  I'm the King of the Underground, so act like you know me\n\n  Homie, we big steppin', big reppin'\n  We givin' kids Smith & Wesson's lessons, you get left with a sketchin'\n  Left with the Midwest, clique Texans\n  G. and Daddy Kane, the click Texas, pop you to death\n\n  I put private planes on swift Jetsons, niggaz know what it is\n  When you see the ball cap and a slick Thessons\n  Till you strip vexin' to a movie clip from the Westerns\n  Shit from the Uzi clip lift up your midsection\n\n  He willduce you to the nose on the Glock fam\n  Give you metal jackets like clothes from a rock band\n  Multiple holes, you get those on your top, man\n  High roller dose some hoes on the cock plan\n\n  Froze but never coldly rolls with a hot hand\n  We stackin' cheese till the rubber bands pop scrams\n  And I ain't breakdancin' when I'm in the pop stance\n  Bank pounds like James Brown give 'em †Hot Pants'\n\n  I make your girl get down and open it up\n  Put my dick up in they jaws and go in they butt\n  I'm a young hot street flame, they call me Sweet James\n  Or call me Sir Jones, two hundred dollar cologne\n\n  Board Nine or Issey Miyaki\n  I got your girl mine, meat strong like saki\n  I ain't Rocky but I keep her rockin'\n  Fuck around, I'll knock your tuna fish out of socket\n\n  Your bitch out of pocket, she under pimpery\n  She reckless eyeballin' watchin' my top fall in\n  On my Lamborghini with the quick scream\n  Fettucini, linguine, shrimp and a bowl of lean\n\n  What you know about gettin' cross country?\n  Nigga, your piece big but your diamond look monkey\n  You need to take that shit back\n  That ain't no Emmy diamonds what the fuck you done to that\n\n  Bitch, what the fuck you done to that?\n  Now, damn, somebody need to beat Jacob ass over that\n"}]