[{"id":7527327,"name":"Killa Beez","trackName":"Killa Beez","artistName":"Bobby Digital, U-God, Inspectah Deck & Suga Bang Bang","albumName":"Wu-Tang Productions Present Killa Beez: The Sting","duration":240.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"It's the Killa Beez...\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious\nI was born with this magnet, warned by the dragnet\nAbout my dirty habits,\nI got to have it, the super-glow\nDeuce Bigelow - Male Gigolo\nGold hands crush Coke cans and Michelobs\nStyle is Nino, black Benzito, Valentino\nNine needles - voice; evil steelo\nHit, like the bull, more pull than Magneto\nCrush kilos with my bare hand, reload the Eagle\nNine dirty strikes, leaped up off all you people\nBurn therapy, chemo, seap hoes\nSee you through the peephole - in the crime lab\nCountin Ginos, cut-tin dime slabs\nThen he bagged up Chino, rushed through the crowd with a hee-ho\nSlapshots, jackpots, and pe-nnals\nThrow graffiti on the wall, throwin up Reemo\nGambino three dice, headcrack Cee-Lo\nIn ya earhole, let the snare roll go low\nLower than low, lower than zero\nWho's your rhymin heroes? *heavy breathing*\n(\"Killa beeeeeeeeeeees?\")\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious\nBzzzz. you hear the hornet, you ducks don't want it\nI dogs blast turbo, supersonic\nHats off, welcome back, whipe the sweat off\nBobby Digital, half-man and half-cyborg\nNY City, home of the fly bitties\nWith high-heel shoes and tattoos on side titties\nShorties swallow up the apple cider\nRa' doin a buck forty in the yellow Spyder\nWith the black interior, my mack superior\nTo your theory of gats, up in the cafeteria\nI used to cut class and bang lunch tables\nWith four finger weaves and long chunky gold cables\nNow I'm known to smack drum machines, carry +Guillotines+\nWatch my bullets scream (\"Pheeewwwwww!\") and hit the target\nYou can't trace the path of air for Richard Starlett\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious\nIt's the return of the bad boy, the mic Sean Penn\nFloss gems across the globe with my nine Sourceman\nAt a speed that excedes your convertible Benz\nFrom a distance you glimpse, supernocular lens\nStay hotter than a ex-con dodgin the pens\nKilla Squadron, known to start a popular trend\nAnd the emblem, symbolize the wisdom\nCertifies the platinum, magnifies the stardom\nShots bust at random, wake you out your boredom\nKings of our kindom, reppin from our hoodlums\nGotta whip them problems, cuz yo we step on toes\nBangin heads knockin teeth loose, welcome to the pros\nFlash quiz, do that nigga handle his biz?\nI spin a song like Michael and Diana in the Wiz\nThe rough shit, I bust it for the republic\nGovernment, you ain't lovin it, whatchu fuckin wit?\nManifesto, light it like a techno club\nOutside I don't expect no love\nMan this grip, make the fans flip, don't chance it\nCop the goods, while my hundred hoods run rampid\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Killa Beez\n artist: Bobby Digital, U-God, Inspectah Deck & Suga Bang Bang\n album: 'Wu-Tang Productions Present Killa Beez: The Sting'\n duration_ms: 240000\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n It's the Killa Beez...\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n I was born with this magnet, warned by the dragnet\n About my dirty habits,\n I got to have it, the super-glow\n Deuce Bigelow - Male Gigolo\n Gold hands crush Coke cans and Michelobs\n Style is Nino, black Benzito, Valentino\n Nine needles - voice; evil steelo\n Hit, like the bull, more pull than Magneto\n Crush kilos with my bare hand, reload the Eagle\n Nine dirty strikes, leaped up off all you people\n Burn therapy, chemo, seap hoes\n See you through the peephole - in the crime lab\n Countin Ginos, cut-tin dime slabs\n Then he bagged up Chino, rushed through the crowd with a hee-ho\n Slapshots, jackpots, and pe-nnals\n Throw graffiti on the wall, throwin up Reemo\n Gambino three dice, headcrack Cee-Lo\n In ya earhole, let the snare roll go low\n Lower than low, lower than zero\n Who's your rhymin heroes? *heavy breathing*\n (\"Killa beeeeeeeeeeees?\")\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n Bzzzz. you hear the hornet, you ducks don't want it\n I dogs blast turbo, supersonic\n Hats off, welcome back, whipe the sweat off\n Bobby Digital, half-man and half-cyborg\n NY City, home of the fly bitties\n With high-heel shoes and tattoos on side titties\n Shorties swallow up the apple cider\n Ra' doin a buck forty in the yellow Spyder\n With the black interior, my mack superior\n To your theory of gats, up in the cafeteria\n I used to cut class and bang lunch tables\n With four finger weaves and long chunky gold cables\n Now I'm known to smack drum machines, carry +Guillotines+\n Watch my bullets scream (\"Pheeewwwwww!\") and hit the target\n You can't trace the path of air for Richard Starlett\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n It's the return of the bad boy, the mic Sean Penn\n Floss gems across the globe with my nine Sourceman\n At a speed that excedes your convertible Benz\n From a distance you glimpse, supernocular lens\n Stay hotter than a ex-con dodgin the pens\n Killa Squadron, known to start a popular trend\n And the emblem, symbolize the wisdom\n Certifies the platinum, magnifies the stardom\n Shots bust at random, wake you out your boredom\n Kings of our kindom, reppin from our hoodlums\n Gotta whip them problems, cuz yo we step on toes\n Bangin heads knockin teeth loose, welcome to the pros\n Flash quiz, do that nigga handle his biz?\n I spin a song like Michael and Diana in the Wiz\n The rough shit, I bust it for the republic\n Government, you ain't lovin it, whatchu fuckin wit?\n Manifesto, light it like a techno club\n Outside I don't expect no love\n Man this grip, make the fans flip, don't chance it\n Cop the goods, while my hundred hoods run rampid\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n"},{"id":11091094,"name":"Killa Beez","trackName":"Killa Beez","artistName":"RZA, U‐God, Inspectah Deck & Suga Bang Bang","albumName":"Wu-Tang Productions Present Killa Beez: The Sting","duration":238.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"It's the Killa Beez...\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious\nI was born with this magnet, warned by the dragnet\nAbout my dirty habits,\nI got to have it, the super-glow\nDeuce Bigelow - Male Gigolo\nGold hands crush Coke cans and Michelobs\nStyle is Nino, black Benzito, Valentino\nNine needles - voice; evil steelo\nHit, like the bull, more pull than Magneto\nCrush kilos with my bare hand, reload the Eagle\nNine dirty strikes, leaped up off all you people\nBurn therapy, chemo, seap hoes\nSee you through the peephole - in the crime lab\nCountin Ginos, cut-tin dime slabs\nThen he bagged up Chino, rushed through the crowd with a hee-ho\nSlapshots, jackpots, and pe-nnals\nThrow graffiti on the wall, throwin up Reemo\nGambino three dice, headcrack Cee-Lo\nIn ya earhole, let the snare roll go low\nLower than low, lower than zero\nWho's your rhymin heroes? *heavy breathing*\n(\"Killa beeeeeeeeeeees?\")\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious\nBzzzz. you hear the hornet, you ducks don't want it\nI dogs blast turbo, supersonic\nHats off, welcome back, whipe the sweat off\nBobby Digital, half-man and half-cyborg\nNY City, home of the fly bitties\nWith high-heel shoes and tattoos on side titties\nShorties swallow up the apple cider\nRa' doin a buck forty in the yellow Spyder\nWith the black interior, my mack superior\nTo your theory of gats, up in the cafeteria\nI used to cut class and bang lunch tables\nWith four finger weaves and long chunky gold cables\nNow I'm known to smack drum machines, carry +Guillotines+\nWatch my bullets scream (\"Pheeewwwwww!\") and hit the target\nYou can't trace the path of air for Richard Starlett\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious\nIt's the return of the bad boy, the mic Sean Penn\nFloss gems across the globe with my nine Sourceman\nAt a speed that excedes your convertible Benz\nFrom a distance you glimpse, supernocular lens\nStay hotter than a ex-con dodgin the pens\nKilla Squadron, known to start a popular trend\nAnd the emblem, symbolize the wisdom\nCertifies the platinum, magnifies the stardom\nShots bust at random, wake you out your boredom\nKings of our kindom, reppin from our hoodlums\nGotta whip them problems, cuz yo we step on toes\nBangin heads knockin teeth loose, welcome to the pros\nFlash quiz, do that nigga handle his biz?\nI spin a song like Michael and Diana in the Wiz\nThe rough shit, I bust it for the republic\nGovernment, you ain't lovin it, whatchu fuckin wit?\nManifesto, light it like a techno club\nOutside I don't expect no love\nMan this grip, make the fans flip, don't chance it\nCop the goods, while my hundred hoods run rampid\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Killa Beez\n artist: RZA, U‐God, Inspectah Deck & Suga Bang Bang\n album: 'Wu-Tang Productions Present Killa Beez: The Sting'\n duration_ms: 238000\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n It's the Killa Beez...\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n I was born with this magnet, warned by the dragnet\n About my dirty habits,\n I got to have it, the super-glow\n Deuce Bigelow - Male Gigolo\n Gold hands crush Coke cans and Michelobs\n Style is Nino, black Benzito, Valentino\n Nine needles - voice; evil steelo\n Hit, like the bull, more pull than Magneto\n Crush kilos with my bare hand, reload the Eagle\n Nine dirty strikes, leaped up off all you people\n Burn therapy, chemo, seap hoes\n See you through the peephole - in the crime lab\n Countin Ginos, cut-tin dime slabs\n Then he bagged up Chino, rushed through the crowd with a hee-ho\n Slapshots, jackpots, and pe-nnals\n Throw graffiti on the wall, throwin up Reemo\n Gambino three dice, headcrack Cee-Lo\n In ya earhole, let the snare roll go low\n Lower than low, lower than zero\n Who's your rhymin heroes? *heavy breathing*\n (\"Killa beeeeeeeeeeees?\")\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n Bzzzz. you hear the hornet, you ducks don't want it\n I dogs blast turbo, supersonic\n Hats off, welcome back, whipe the sweat off\n Bobby Digital, half-man and half-cyborg\n NY City, home of the fly bitties\n With high-heel shoes and tattoos on side titties\n Shorties swallow up the apple cider\n Ra' doin a buck forty in the yellow Spyder\n With the black interior, my mack superior\n To your theory of gats, up in the cafeteria\n I used to cut class and bang lunch tables\n With four finger weaves and long chunky gold cables\n Now I'm known to smack drum machines, carry +Guillotines+\n Watch my bullets scream (\"Pheeewwwwww!\") and hit the target\n You can't trace the path of air for Richard Starlett\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n It's the return of the bad boy, the mic Sean Penn\n Floss gems across the globe with my nine Sourceman\n At a speed that excedes your convertible Benz\n From a distance you glimpse, supernocular lens\n Stay hotter than a ex-con dodgin the pens\n Killa Squadron, known to start a popular trend\n And the emblem, symbolize the wisdom\n Certifies the platinum, magnifies the stardom\n Shots bust at random, wake you out your boredom\n Kings of our kindom, reppin from our hoodlums\n Gotta whip them problems, cuz yo we step on toes\n Bangin heads knockin teeth loose, welcome to the pros\n Flash quiz, do that nigga handle his biz?\n I spin a song like Michael and Diana in the Wiz\n The rough shit, I bust it for the republic\n Government, you ain't lovin it, whatchu fuckin wit?\n Manifesto, light it like a techno club\n Outside I don't expect no love\n Man this grip, make the fans flip, don't chance it\n Cop the goods, while my hundred hoods run rampid\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n"},{"id":27329904,"name":"Killa Beez","trackName":"Killa Beez","artistName":"Bobby Digital, U‐God, Inspectah Deck & Suga Bang Bang","albumName":"Wu-Tang Productions Present Killa Beez: The Sting","duration":238.576327,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"It's the Killa Beez...\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious\nI was born with this magnet, warned by the dragnet\nAbout my dirty habits,\nI got to have it, the super-glow\nDeuce Bigelow - Male Gigolo\nGold hands crush Coke cans and Michelobs\nStyle is Nino, black Benzito, Valentino\nNine needles - voice; evil steelo\nHit, like the bull, more pull than Magneto\nCrush kilos with my bare hand, reload the Eagle\nNine dirty strikes, leaped up off all you people\nBurn therapy, chemo, seap hoes\nSee you through the peephole - in the crime lab\nCountin Ginos, cut-tin dime slabs\nThen he bagged up Chino, rushed through the crowd with a hee-ho\nSlapshots, jackpots, and pe-nnals\nThrow graffiti on the wall, throwin up Reemo\nGambino three dice, headcrack Cee-Lo\nIn ya earhole, let the snare roll go low\nLower than low, lower than zero\nWho's your rhymin heroes? *heavy breathing*\n(\"Killa beeeeeeeeeeees?\")\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious\nBzzzz. you hear the hornet, you ducks don't want it\nI dogs blast turbo, supersonic\nHats off, welcome back, whipe the sweat off\nBobby Digital, half-man and half-cyborg\nNY City, home of the fly bitties\nWith high-heel shoes and tattoos on side titties\nShorties swallow up the apple cider\nRa' doin a buck forty in the yellow Spyder\nWith the black interior, my mack superior\nTo your theory of gats, up in the cafeteria\nI used to cut class and bang lunch tables\nWith four finger weaves and long chunky gold cables\nNow I'm known to smack drum machines, carry +Guillotines+\nWatch my bullets scream (\"Pheeewwwwww!\") and hit the target\nYou can't trace the path of air for Richard Starlett\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious\nIt's the return of the bad boy, the mic Sean Penn\nFloss gems across the globe with my nine Sourceman\nAt a speed that excedes your convertible Benz\nFrom a distance you glimpse, supernocular lens\nStay hotter than a ex-con dodgin the pens\nKilla Squadron, known to start a popular trend\nAnd the emblem, symbolize the wisdom\nCertifies the platinum, magnifies the stardom\nShots bust at random, wake you out your boredom\nKings of our kindom, reppin from our hoodlums\nGotta whip them problems, cuz yo we step on toes\nBangin heads knockin teeth loose, welcome to the pros\nFlash quiz, do that nigga handle his biz?\nI spin a song like Michael and Diana in the Wiz\nThe rough shit, I bust it for the republic\nGovernment, you ain't lovin it, whatchu fuckin wit?\nManifesto, light it like a techno club\nOutside I don't expect no love\nMan this grip, make the fans flip, don't chance it\nCop the goods, while my hundred hoods run rampid\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Killa Beez\n artist: Bobby Digital, U‐God, Inspectah Deck & Suga Bang Bang\n album: 'Wu-Tang Productions Present Killa Beez: The Sting'\n duration_ms: 238576\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n It's the Killa Beez...\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n I was born with this magnet, warned by the dragnet\n About my dirty habits,\n I got to have it, the super-glow\n Deuce Bigelow - Male Gigolo\n Gold hands crush Coke cans and Michelobs\n Style is Nino, black Benzito, Valentino\n Nine needles - voice; evil steelo\n Hit, like the bull, more pull than Magneto\n Crush kilos with my bare hand, reload the Eagle\n Nine dirty strikes, leaped up off all you people\n Burn therapy, chemo, seap hoes\n See you through the peephole - in the crime lab\n Countin Ginos, cut-tin dime slabs\n Then he bagged up Chino, rushed through the crowd with a hee-ho\n Slapshots, jackpots, and pe-nnals\n Throw graffiti on the wall, throwin up Reemo\n Gambino three dice, headcrack Cee-Lo\n In ya earhole, let the snare roll go low\n Lower than low, lower than zero\n Who's your rhymin heroes? *heavy breathing*\n (\"Killa beeeeeeeeeeees?\")\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n Bzzzz. you hear the hornet, you ducks don't want it\n I dogs blast turbo, supersonic\n Hats off, welcome back, whipe the sweat off\n Bobby Digital, half-man and half-cyborg\n NY City, home of the fly bitties\n With high-heel shoes and tattoos on side titties\n Shorties swallow up the apple cider\n Ra' doin a buck forty in the yellow Spyder\n With the black interior, my mack superior\n To your theory of gats, up in the cafeteria\n I used to cut class and bang lunch tables\n With four finger weaves and long chunky gold cables\n Now I'm known to smack drum machines, carry +Guillotines+\n Watch my bullets scream (\"Pheeewwwwww!\") and hit the target\n You can't trace the path of air for Richard Starlett\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n It's the return of the bad boy, the mic Sean Penn\n Floss gems across the globe with my nine Sourceman\n At a speed that excedes your convertible Benz\n From a distance you glimpse, supernocular lens\n Stay hotter than a ex-con dodgin the pens\n Killa Squadron, known to start a popular trend\n And the emblem, symbolize the wisdom\n Certifies the platinum, magnifies the stardom\n Shots bust at random, wake you out your boredom\n Kings of our kindom, reppin from our hoodlums\n Gotta whip them problems, cuz yo we step on toes\n Bangin heads knockin teeth loose, welcome to the pros\n Flash quiz, do that nigga handle his biz?\n I spin a song like Michael and Diana in the Wiz\n The rough shit, I bust it for the republic\n Government, you ain't lovin it, whatchu fuckin wit?\n Manifesto, light it like a techno club\n Outside I don't expect no love\n Man this grip, make the fans flip, don't chance it\n Cop the goods, while my hundred hoods run rampid\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n"},{"id":18839832,"name":"Killa Beez (Feat. Bobby Digital, U-God, Inspectah Deck, Suga Bang Bang)","trackName":"Killa Beez (Feat. Bobby Digital, U-God, Inspectah Deck, Suga Bang Bang)","artistName":"Wu-Tang Killa Beez","albumName":"The Sting (Disc 1)","duration":238.367347,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"It's the Killa Beez...\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious\nI was born with this magnet, warned by the dragnet\nAbout my dirty habits,\nI got to have it, the super-glow\nDeuce Bigelow - Male Gigolo\nGold hands crush Coke cans and Michelobs\nStyle is Nino, black Benzito, Valentino\nNine needles - voice; evil steelo\nHit, like the bull, more pull than Magneto\nCrush kilos with my bare hand, reload the Eagle\nNine dirty strikes, leaped up off all you people\nBurn therapy, chemo, seap hoes\nSee you through the peephole - in the crime lab\nCountin Ginos, cut-tin dime slabs\nThen he bagged up Chino, rushed through the crowd with a hee-ho\nSlapshots, jackpots, and pe-nnals\nThrow graffiti on the wall, throwin up Reemo\nGambino three dice, headcrack Cee-Lo\nIn ya earhole, let the snare roll go low\nLower than low, lower than zero\nWho's your rhymin heroes? *heavy breathing*\n(\"Killa beeeeeeeeeeees?\")\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious\nBzzzz. you hear the hornet, you ducks don't want it\nI dogs blast turbo, supersonic\nHats off, welcome back, whipe the sweat off\nBobby Digital, half-man and half-cyborg\nNY City, home of the fly bitties\nWith high-heel shoes and tattoos on side titties\nShorties swallow up the apple cider\nRa' doin a buck forty in the yellow Spyder\nWith the black interior, my mack superior\nTo your theory of gats, up in the cafeteria\nI used to cut class and bang lunch tables\nWith four finger weaves and long chunky gold cables\nNow I'm known to smack drum machines, carry +Guillotines+\nWatch my bullets scream (\"Pheeewwwwww!\") and hit the target\nYou can't trace the path of air for Richard Starlett\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious\nIt's the return of the bad boy, the mic Sean Penn\nFloss gems across the globe with my nine Sourceman\nAt a speed that excedes your convertible Benz\nFrom a distance you glimpse, supernocular lens\nStay hotter than a ex-con dodgin the pens\nKilla Squadron, known to start a popular trend\nAnd the emblem, symbolize the wisdom\nCertifies the platinum, magnifies the stardom\nShots bust at random, wake you out your boredom\nKings of our kindom, reppin from our hoodlums\nGotta whip them problems, cuz yo we step on toes\nBangin heads knockin teeth loose, welcome to the pros\nFlash quiz, do that nigga handle his biz?\nI spin a song like Michael and Diana in the Wiz\nThe rough shit, I bust it for the republic\nGovernment, you ain't lovin it, whatchu fuckin wit?\nManifesto, light it like a techno club\nOutside I don't expect no love\nMan this grip, make the fans flip, don't chance it\nCop the goods, while my hundred hoods run rampid\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Killa Beez (Feat. Bobby Digital, U-God, Inspectah Deck, Suga Bang Bang)\n artist: Wu-Tang Killa Beez\n album: The Sting (Disc 1)\n duration_ms: 238367\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n It's the Killa Beez...\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n I was born with this magnet, warned by the dragnet\n About my dirty habits,\n I got to have it, the super-glow\n Deuce Bigelow - Male Gigolo\n Gold hands crush Coke cans and Michelobs\n Style is Nino, black Benzito, Valentino\n Nine needles - voice; evil steelo\n Hit, like the bull, more pull than Magneto\n Crush kilos with my bare hand, reload the Eagle\n Nine dirty strikes, leaped up off all you people\n Burn therapy, chemo, seap hoes\n See you through the peephole - in the crime lab\n Countin Ginos, cut-tin dime slabs\n Then he bagged up Chino, rushed through the crowd with a hee-ho\n Slapshots, jackpots, and pe-nnals\n Throw graffiti on the wall, throwin up Reemo\n Gambino three dice, headcrack Cee-Lo\n In ya earhole, let the snare roll go low\n Lower than low, lower than zero\n Who's your rhymin heroes? *heavy breathing*\n (\"Killa beeeeeeeeeeees?\")\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n Bzzzz. you hear the hornet, you ducks don't want it\n I dogs blast turbo, supersonic\n Hats off, welcome back, whipe the sweat off\n Bobby Digital, half-man and half-cyborg\n NY City, home of the fly bitties\n With high-heel shoes and tattoos on side titties\n Shorties swallow up the apple cider\n Ra' doin a buck forty in the yellow Spyder\n With the black interior, my mack superior\n To your theory of gats, up in the cafeteria\n I used to cut class and bang lunch tables\n With four finger weaves and long chunky gold cables\n Now I'm known to smack drum machines, carry +Guillotines+\n Watch my bullets scream (\"Pheeewwwwww!\") and hit the target\n You can't trace the path of air for Richard Starlett\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n It's the return of the bad boy, the mic Sean Penn\n Floss gems across the globe with my nine Sourceman\n At a speed that excedes your convertible Benz\n From a distance you glimpse, supernocular lens\n Stay hotter than a ex-con dodgin the pens\n Killa Squadron, known to start a popular trend\n And the emblem, symbolize the wisdom\n Certifies the platinum, magnifies the stardom\n Shots bust at random, wake you out your boredom\n Kings of our kindom, reppin from our hoodlums\n Gotta whip them problems, cuz yo we step on toes\n Bangin heads knockin teeth loose, welcome to the pros\n Flash quiz, do that nigga handle his biz?\n I spin a song like Michael and Diana in the Wiz\n The rough shit, I bust it for the republic\n Government, you ain't lovin it, whatchu fuckin wit?\n Manifesto, light it like a techno club\n Outside I don't expect no love\n Man this grip, make the fans flip, don't chance it\n Cop the goods, while my hundred hoods run rampid\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n"},{"id":21856838,"name":"Killa Beez (feat. Bobby Digital, U-God, Inspectah Deck, Suga Bang Bang)","trackName":"Killa Beez (feat. Bobby Digital, U-God, Inspectah Deck, Suga Bang Bang)","artistName":"Wu-Tang Killa Beez","albumName":"The Sting","duration":238.576327,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"It's the Killa Beez...\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious\nI was born with this magnet, warned by the dragnet\nAbout my dirty habits,\nI got to have it, the super-glow\nDeuce Bigelow - Male Gigolo\nGold hands crush Coke cans and Michelobs\nStyle is Nino, black Benzito, Valentino\nNine needles - voice; evil steelo\nHit, like the bull, more pull than Magneto\nCrush kilos with my bare hand, reload the Eagle\nNine dirty strikes, leaped up off all you people\nBurn therapy, chemo, seap hoes\nSee you through the peephole - in the crime lab\nCountin Ginos, cut-tin dime slabs\nThen he bagged up Chino, rushed through the crowd with a hee-ho\nSlapshots, jackpots, and pe-nnals\nThrow graffiti on the wall, throwin up Reemo\nGambino three dice, headcrack Cee-Lo\nIn ya earhole, let the snare roll go low\nLower than low, lower than zero\nWho's your rhymin heroes? *heavy breathing*\n(\"Killa beeeeeeeeeeees?\")\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious\nBzzzz. you hear the hornet, you ducks don't want it\nI dogs blast turbo, supersonic\nHats off, welcome back, whipe the sweat off\nBobby Digital, half-man and half-cyborg\nNY City, home of the fly bitties\nWith high-heel shoes and tattoos on side titties\nShorties swallow up the apple cider\nRa' doin a buck forty in the yellow Spyder\nWith the black interior, my mack superior\nTo your theory of gats, up in the cafeteria\nI used to cut class and bang lunch tables\nWith four finger weaves and long chunky gold cables\nNow I'm known to smack drum machines, carry +Guillotines+\nWatch my bullets scream (\"Pheeewwwwww!\") and hit the target\nYou can't trace the path of air for Richard Starlett\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious\nIt's the return of the bad boy, the mic Sean Penn\nFloss gems across the globe with my nine Sourceman\nAt a speed that excedes your convertible Benz\nFrom a distance you glimpse, supernocular lens\nStay hotter than a ex-con dodgin the pens\nKilla Squadron, known to start a popular trend\nAnd the emblem, symbolize the wisdom\nCertifies the platinum, magnifies the stardom\nShots bust at random, wake you out your boredom\nKings of our kindom, reppin from our hoodlums\nGotta whip them problems, cuz yo we step on toes\nBangin heads knockin teeth loose, welcome to the pros\nFlash quiz, do that nigga handle his biz?\nI spin a song like Michael and Diana in the Wiz\nThe rough shit, I bust it for the republic\nGovernment, you ain't lovin it, whatchu fuckin wit?\nManifesto, light it like a techno club\nOutside I don't expect no love\nMan this grip, make the fans flip, don't chance it\nCop the goods, while my hundred hoods run rampid\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Killa Beez (feat. Bobby Digital, U-God, Inspectah Deck, Suga Bang Bang)\n artist: Wu-Tang Killa Beez\n album: The Sting\n duration_ms: 238576\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n It's the Killa Beez...\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n I was born with this magnet, warned by the dragnet\n About my dirty habits,\n I got to have it, the super-glow\n Deuce Bigelow - Male Gigolo\n Gold hands crush Coke cans and Michelobs\n Style is Nino, black Benzito, Valentino\n Nine needles - voice; evil steelo\n Hit, like the bull, more pull than Magneto\n Crush kilos with my bare hand, reload the Eagle\n Nine dirty strikes, leaped up off all you people\n Burn therapy, chemo, seap hoes\n See you through the peephole - in the crime lab\n Countin Ginos, cut-tin dime slabs\n Then he bagged up Chino, rushed through the crowd with a hee-ho\n Slapshots, jackpots, and pe-nnals\n Throw graffiti on the wall, throwin up Reemo\n Gambino three dice, headcrack Cee-Lo\n In ya earhole, let the snare roll go low\n Lower than low, lower than zero\n Who's your rhymin heroes? *heavy breathing*\n (\"Killa beeeeeeeeeeees?\")\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n Bzzzz. you hear the hornet, you ducks don't want it\n I dogs blast turbo, supersonic\n Hats off, welcome back, whipe the sweat off\n Bobby Digital, half-man and half-cyborg\n NY City, home of the fly bitties\n With high-heel shoes and tattoos on side titties\n Shorties swallow up the apple cider\n Ra' doin a buck forty in the yellow Spyder\n With the black interior, my mack superior\n To your theory of gats, up in the cafeteria\n I used to cut class and bang lunch tables\n With four finger weaves and long chunky gold cables\n Now I'm known to smack drum machines, carry +Guillotines+\n Watch my bullets scream (\"Pheeewwwwww!\") and hit the target\n You can't trace the path of air for Richard Starlett\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n It's the return of the bad boy, the mic Sean Penn\n Floss gems across the globe with my nine Sourceman\n At a speed that excedes your convertible Benz\n From a distance you glimpse, supernocular lens\n Stay hotter than a ex-con dodgin the pens\n Killa Squadron, known to start a popular trend\n And the emblem, symbolize the wisdom\n Certifies the platinum, magnifies the stardom\n Shots bust at random, wake you out your boredom\n Kings of our kindom, reppin from our hoodlums\n Gotta whip them problems, cuz yo we step on toes\n Bangin heads knockin teeth loose, welcome to the pros\n Flash quiz, do that nigga handle his biz?\n I spin a song like Michael and Diana in the Wiz\n The rough shit, I bust it for the republic\n Government, you ain't lovin it, whatchu fuckin wit?\n Manifesto, light it like a techno club\n Outside I don't expect no love\n Man this grip, make the fans flip, don't chance it\n Cop the goods, while my hundred hoods run rampid\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n"},{"id":11645946,"name":"Killa Beez (feat. Bobby Digital, U-God, Inspectah Deck & Suga Bang Bang)","trackName":"Killa Beez (feat. Bobby Digital, U-God, Inspectah Deck & Suga Bang Bang)","artistName":"Wu-Tang Killa Beez","albumName":"The Sting [CD 1]","duration":238.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"It's the Killa Beez...\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious\nI was born with this magnet, warned by the dragnet\nAbout my dirty habits,\nI got to have it, the super-glow\nDeuce Bigelow - Male Gigolo\nGold hands crush Coke cans and Michelobs\nStyle is Nino, black Benzito, Valentino\nNine needles - voice; evil steelo\nHit, like the bull, more pull than Magneto\nCrush kilos with my bare hand, reload the Eagle\nNine dirty strikes, leaped up off all you people\nBurn therapy, chemo, seap hoes\nSee you through the peephole - in the crime lab\nCountin Ginos, cut-tin dime slabs\nThen he bagged up Chino, rushed through the crowd with a hee-ho\nSlapshots, jackpots, and pe-nnals\nThrow graffiti on the wall, throwin up Reemo\nGambino three dice, headcrack Cee-Lo\nIn ya earhole, let the snare roll go low\nLower than low, lower than zero\nWho's your rhymin heroes? *heavy breathing*\n(\"Killa beeeeeeeeeeees?\")\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious\nBzzzz. you hear the hornet, you ducks don't want it\nI dogs blast turbo, supersonic\nHats off, welcome back, whipe the sweat off\nBobby Digital, half-man and half-cyborg\nNY City, home of the fly bitties\nWith high-heel shoes and tattoos on side titties\nShorties swallow up the apple cider\nRa' doin a buck forty in the yellow Spyder\nWith the black interior, my mack superior\nTo your theory of gats, up in the cafeteria\nI used to cut class and bang lunch tables\nWith four finger weaves and long chunky gold cables\nNow I'm known to smack drum machines, carry +Guillotines+\nWatch my bullets scream (\"Pheeewwwwww!\") and hit the target\nYou can't trace the path of air for Richard Starlett\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious\nIt's the return of the bad boy, the mic Sean Penn\nFloss gems across the globe with my nine Sourceman\nAt a speed that excedes your convertible Benz\nFrom a distance you glimpse, supernocular lens\nStay hotter than a ex-con dodgin the pens\nKilla Squadron, known to start a popular trend\nAnd the emblem, symbolize the wisdom\nCertifies the platinum, magnifies the stardom\nShots bust at random, wake you out your boredom\nKings of our kindom, reppin from our hoodlums\nGotta whip them problems, cuz yo we step on toes\nBangin heads knockin teeth loose, welcome to the pros\nFlash quiz, do that nigga handle his biz?\nI spin a song like Michael and Diana in the Wiz\nThe rough shit, I bust it for the republic\nGovernment, you ain't lovin it, whatchu fuckin wit?\nManifesto, light it like a techno club\nOutside I don't expect no love\nMan this grip, make the fans flip, don't chance it\nCop the goods, while my hundred hoods run rampid\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Killa Beez (feat. Bobby Digital, U-God, Inspectah Deck & Suga Bang Bang)\n artist: Wu-Tang Killa Beez\n album: The Sting [CD 1]\n duration_ms: 238000\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n It's the Killa Beez...\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n I was born with this magnet, warned by the dragnet\n About my dirty habits,\n I got to have it, the super-glow\n Deuce Bigelow - Male Gigolo\n Gold hands crush Coke cans and Michelobs\n Style is Nino, black Benzito, Valentino\n Nine needles - voice; evil steelo\n Hit, like the bull, more pull than Magneto\n Crush kilos with my bare hand, reload the Eagle\n Nine dirty strikes, leaped up off all you people\n Burn therapy, chemo, seap hoes\n See you through the peephole - in the crime lab\n Countin Ginos, cut-tin dime slabs\n Then he bagged up Chino, rushed through the crowd with a hee-ho\n Slapshots, jackpots, and pe-nnals\n Throw graffiti on the wall, throwin up Reemo\n Gambino three dice, headcrack Cee-Lo\n In ya earhole, let the snare roll go low\n Lower than low, lower than zero\n Who's your rhymin heroes? *heavy breathing*\n (\"Killa beeeeeeeeeeees?\")\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n Bzzzz. you hear the hornet, you ducks don't want it\n I dogs blast turbo, supersonic\n Hats off, welcome back, whipe the sweat off\n Bobby Digital, half-man and half-cyborg\n NY City, home of the fly bitties\n With high-heel shoes and tattoos on side titties\n Shorties swallow up the apple cider\n Ra' doin a buck forty in the yellow Spyder\n With the black interior, my mack superior\n To your theory of gats, up in the cafeteria\n I used to cut class and bang lunch tables\n With four finger weaves and long chunky gold cables\n Now I'm known to smack drum machines, carry +Guillotines+\n Watch my bullets scream (\"Pheeewwwwww!\") and hit the target\n You can't trace the path of air for Richard Starlett\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n It's the return of the bad boy, the mic Sean Penn\n Floss gems across the globe with my nine Sourceman\n At a speed that excedes your convertible Benz\n From a distance you glimpse, supernocular lens\n Stay hotter than a ex-con dodgin the pens\n Killa Squadron, known to start a popular trend\n And the emblem, symbolize the wisdom\n Certifies the platinum, magnifies the stardom\n Shots bust at random, wake you out your boredom\n Kings of our kindom, reppin from our hoodlums\n Gotta whip them problems, cuz yo we step on toes\n Bangin heads knockin teeth loose, welcome to the pros\n Flash quiz, do that nigga handle his biz?\n I spin a song like Michael and Diana in the Wiz\n The rough shit, I bust it for the republic\n Government, you ain't lovin it, whatchu fuckin wit?\n Manifesto, light it like a techno club\n Outside I don't expect no love\n Man this grip, make the fans flip, don't chance it\n Cop the goods, while my hundred hoods run rampid\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n"},{"id":12640264,"name":"Killa Beez Ft. Bobby Digital, U-God, Inspectah Deck, Suga Bang Bang","trackName":"Killa Beez Ft. Bobby Digital, U-God, Inspectah Deck, Suga Bang Bang","artistName":"Wu-Tang Killa Beez","albumName":"The Sting","duration":238.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"It's the Killa Beez...\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious\nI was born with this magnet, warned by the dragnet\nAbout my dirty habits,\nI got to have it, the super-glow\nDeuce Bigelow - Male Gigolo\nGold hands crush Coke cans and Michelobs\nStyle is Nino, black Benzito, Valentino\nNine needles - voice; evil steelo\nHit, like the bull, more pull than Magneto\nCrush kilos with my bare hand, reload the Eagle\nNine dirty strikes, leaped up off all you people\nBurn therapy, chemo, seap hoes\nSee you through the peephole - in the crime lab\nCountin Ginos, cut-tin dime slabs\nThen he bagged up Chino, rushed through the crowd with a hee-ho\nSlapshots, jackpots, and pe-nnals\nThrow graffiti on the wall, throwin up Reemo\nGambino three dice, headcrack Cee-Lo\nIn ya earhole, let the snare roll go low\nLower than low, lower than zero\nWho's your rhymin heroes? *heavy breathing*\n(\"Killa beeeeeeeeeeees?\")\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious\nBzzzz. you hear the hornet, you ducks don't want it\nI dogs blast turbo, supersonic\nHats off, welcome back, whipe the sweat off\nBobby Digital, half-man and half-cyborg\nNY City, home of the fly bitties\nWith high-heel shoes and tattoos on side titties\nShorties swallow up the apple cider\nRa' doin a buck forty in the yellow Spyder\nWith the black interior, my mack superior\nTo your theory of gats, up in the cafeteria\nI used to cut class and bang lunch tables\nWith four finger weaves and long chunky gold cables\nNow I'm known to smack drum machines, carry +Guillotines+\nWatch my bullets scream (\"Pheeewwwwww!\") and hit the target\nYou can't trace the path of air for Richard Starlett\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious\nIt's the return of the bad boy, the mic Sean Penn\nFloss gems across the globe with my nine Sourceman\nAt a speed that excedes your convertible Benz\nFrom a distance you glimpse, supernocular lens\nStay hotter than a ex-con dodgin the pens\nKilla Squadron, known to start a popular trend\nAnd the emblem, symbolize the wisdom\nCertifies the platinum, magnifies the stardom\nShots bust at random, wake you out your boredom\nKings of our kindom, reppin from our hoodlums\nGotta whip them problems, cuz yo we step on toes\nBangin heads knockin teeth loose, welcome to the pros\nFlash quiz, do that nigga handle his biz?\nI spin a song like Michael and Diana in the Wiz\nThe rough shit, I bust it for the republic\nGovernment, you ain't lovin it, whatchu fuckin wit?\nManifesto, light it like a techno club\nOutside I don't expect no love\nMan this grip, make the fans flip, don't chance it\nCop the goods, while my hundred hoods run rampid\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious\nYou're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\nYou're no warrior, ya not so devious","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Killa Beez Ft. Bobby Digital, U-God, Inspectah Deck, Suga Bang Bang\n artist: Wu-Tang Killa Beez\n album: The Sting\n duration_ms: 238000\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n It's the Killa Beez...\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n I was born with this magnet, warned by the dragnet\n About my dirty habits,\n I got to have it, the super-glow\n Deuce Bigelow - Male Gigolo\n Gold hands crush Coke cans and Michelobs\n Style is Nino, black Benzito, Valentino\n Nine needles - voice; evil steelo\n Hit, like the bull, more pull than Magneto\n Crush kilos with my bare hand, reload the Eagle\n Nine dirty strikes, leaped up off all you people\n Burn therapy, chemo, seap hoes\n See you through the peephole - in the crime lab\n Countin Ginos, cut-tin dime slabs\n Then he bagged up Chino, rushed through the crowd with a hee-ho\n Slapshots, jackpots, and pe-nnals\n Throw graffiti on the wall, throwin up Reemo\n Gambino three dice, headcrack Cee-Lo\n In ya earhole, let the snare roll go low\n Lower than low, lower than zero\n Who's your rhymin heroes? *heavy breathing*\n (\"Killa beeeeeeeeeeees?\")\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n Bzzzz. you hear the hornet, you ducks don't want it\n I dogs blast turbo, supersonic\n Hats off, welcome back, whipe the sweat off\n Bobby Digital, half-man and half-cyborg\n NY City, home of the fly bitties\n With high-heel shoes and tattoos on side titties\n Shorties swallow up the apple cider\n Ra' doin a buck forty in the yellow Spyder\n With the black interior, my mack superior\n To your theory of gats, up in the cafeteria\n I used to cut class and bang lunch tables\n With four finger weaves and long chunky gold cables\n Now I'm known to smack drum machines, carry +Guillotines+\n Watch my bullets scream (\"Pheeewwwwww!\") and hit the target\n You can't trace the path of air for Richard Starlett\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n It's the return of the bad boy, the mic Sean Penn\n Floss gems across the globe with my nine Sourceman\n At a speed that excedes your convertible Benz\n From a distance you glimpse, supernocular lens\n Stay hotter than a ex-con dodgin the pens\n Killa Squadron, known to start a popular trend\n And the emblem, symbolize the wisdom\n Certifies the platinum, magnifies the stardom\n Shots bust at random, wake you out your boredom\n Kings of our kindom, reppin from our hoodlums\n Gotta whip them problems, cuz yo we step on toes\n Bangin heads knockin teeth loose, welcome to the pros\n Flash quiz, do that nigga handle his biz?\n I spin a song like Michael and Diana in the Wiz\n The rough shit, I bust it for the republic\n Government, you ain't lovin it, whatchu fuckin wit?\n Manifesto, light it like a techno club\n Outside I don't expect no love\n Man this grip, make the fans flip, don't chance it\n Cop the goods, while my hundred hoods run rampid\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n You're no warrior, ya can't bang like us\n You're no warrior, ya not so devious\n"},{"id":29969393,"name":"Fatal Sting (Ft. Black Knights Of The North Star)","trackName":"Fatal Sting (Ft. Black Knights Of The North Star)","artistName":"Wu-Tang Clan","albumName":"Killa Beez: The Swarm","duration":249.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"(Verse 1:)\n\nIn the battle fields mics collide like sword fights\nGet stabbed up by the swift technique of a Black Knight\nWho pierce strikes like vicious snakes, rhymes elevate\nNiggaz get sniped watch me annihilate\nThe Gods got me eating off a fine dinner plates\nWith this rap shit told me don't procrastinate\nWest Coast lyricist, Killa Bee clique we swarm thick\nSpit the written like scripts\nNo but fully loaded throw darts and make it hit, the target\nPardon, me as I keep on starting, mo' shit\nFeel the wrath with these raw hits from Math\nYou don't stand a chance, you can't top it we too advance\n\n(Verse 2:)\n\nSharp shooter with the greatest accuracy\nBlast it rapidly, If those attacking me are after me\nYou never capture me, it's sad to see niggaz testing me\nYou meet your destiny can't get next to me\nThe best of me you know the recipe\nThe cut-throat making blood soak from the gun-smoke\nHave you gasping for oxygen\nThen pops you with the glocks again\nDrop 'em in with the street life, the street type\nWe snipe, artificial niggaz under street lights\nStreet fights transform into wars with firearms\nBullets storm niggaz start to swarm like rise on\nDying on the same blocks when they exchange rocks\nAnd hand cops flamed rocks\nYear after year up in the same spot\nTotal madness synergy in city streets\nBattle many fleets as they walk by the gates of the darkside\n\n(Black Knights)\nYo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo\n\n(Verse 3:)\n\nThe microphone magnificent\nBurning hot like syphilis\nHit your dish drink from distances\nBombin' leave no witnesses\nThe street division kid from the,\nHome of the wasteland\nStyles bionic, sounds blow holes through your basement\nFace it for the Black Knights there's no replacement\nYou're basic, kid put this in your mouth so you can taste it\nThese ancient rhymes are lethal\nWhen manifested bring wrath of bloody vengeance\nto suckers that second guessed it\nConfess it I got the type flows that'll make you stagger\nCame out my mother's womb with a blunt and bloody dagger\nFrom day one I knew that I'll be on some ol' lye shit\nDo or die shit, ready to ride slug slide shit\n\n(Verse 4:)\n\nThe audity prodigy,\nThe cosmos commodity, knowledge guides equality\nA whiff while I myth and a sniff off a E&J fifth\nand a spliff, the proton neutron,\nSally with the crouton dipping in the Yucon,\nSupernova yoga, dosia, ambrosia crane and cobra\nThe yolk for help and the stealth with the knowledge of self\nlike no one else, the code of yoba\n>From the noble none of my niggaz local","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Fatal Sting (Ft. Black Knights Of The North Star)\n artist: Wu-Tang Clan\n album: 'Killa Beez: The Swarm'\n duration_ms: 249000\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n (Verse 1:)\n\n In the battle fields mics collide like sword fights\n Get stabbed up by the swift technique of a Black Knight\n Who pierce strikes like vicious snakes, rhymes elevate\n Niggaz get sniped watch me annihilate\n The Gods got me eating off a fine dinner plates\n With this rap shit told me don't procrastinate\n West Coast lyricist, Killa Bee clique we swarm thick\n Spit the written like scripts\n No but fully loaded throw darts and make it hit, the target\n Pardon, me as I keep on starting, mo' shit\n Feel the wrath with these raw hits from Math\n You don't stand a chance, you can't top it we too advance\n\n (Verse 2:)\n\n Sharp shooter with the greatest accuracy\n Blast it rapidly, If those attacking me are after me\n You never capture me, it's sad to see niggaz testing me\n You meet your destiny can't get next to me\n The best of me you know the recipe\n The cut-throat making blood soak from the gun-smoke\n Have you gasping for oxygen\n Then pops you with the glocks again\n Drop 'em in with the street life, the street type\n We snipe, artificial niggaz under street lights\n Street fights transform into wars with firearms\n Bullets storm niggaz start to swarm like rise on\n Dying on the same blocks when they exchange rocks\n And hand cops flamed rocks\n Year after year up in the same spot\n Total madness synergy in city streets\n Battle many fleets as they walk by the gates of the darkside\n\n (Black Knights)\n Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo\n\n (Verse 3:)\n\n The microphone magnificent\n Burning hot like syphilis\n Hit your dish drink from distances\n Bombin' leave no witnesses\n The street division kid from the,\n Home of the wasteland\n Styles bionic, sounds blow holes through your basement\n Face it for the Black Knights there's no replacement\n You're basic, kid put this in your mouth so you can taste it\n These ancient rhymes are lethal\n When manifested bring wrath of bloody vengeance\n to suckers that second guessed it\n Confess it I got the type flows that'll make you stagger\n Came out my mother's womb with a blunt and bloody dagger\n From day one I knew that I'll be on some ol' lye shit\n Do or die shit, ready to ride slug slide shit\n\n (Verse 4:)\n\n The audity prodigy,\n The cosmos commodity, knowledge guides equality\n A whiff while I myth and a sniff off a E&J fifth\n and a spliff, the proton neutron,\n Sally with the crouton dipping in the Yucon,\n Supernova yoga, dosia, ambrosia crane and cobra\n The yolk for help and the stealth with the knowledge of self\n like no one else, the code of yoba\n >From the noble none of my niggaz local\n"},{"id":31573074,"name":"Punishment (Ft. Black Knights Of The North Star)","trackName":"Punishment (Ft. Black Knights Of The North Star)","artistName":"Wu-Tang Clan","albumName":"Killa Beez: The Swarm","duration":295.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Wu-Tang\nHolocaust punishment\nYo, yo, yo, yo\nYo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo\n\nFrom the hills of the Pacific\nI bring fury and anger\nStabbing devils in their chest with a rusty ship anchor\nBlood and sand we command and conquer\nWasted land,\nThen expand the regions undiscovered by modern man\nBody counts increase by thousands by the hour\nThe sniper on reserve blastin hots from the water tower\nAbsorbin' energy from the sun MC's run\nMy brain burst like to blow chunks outta you lungs\nBlood on the pavement\nCrews gaze in amazement\nI was doing that to niggaz who test me on the slave ship\nWe sell tapes and stage jail breaks for past cell mates\nMurder you at hell's gate daring bitches to yell rape\nAnd pale face gests hollow points I swallow joints\nWith romantic charisma that'll make your momma moist\nMy voice ensemble of bullets rip through your squadron\nCirculate the planets move back you better dodge 'em\nOr get opened up like a margin\nBuddah sargeant,\nChrist I should've warned you I never missed a target\nThe living weapon war machine by buried king\nRelentless remorse is guiltless and unclean\nAlso the sources supreme of my team\nBlack Knight brigade peels caps like tangerine\nHolocaustic, hypnotic, psychotic, sub-atomic,\npsychopathic, hyperactive, unattractive\n\nWe bring nothing but punishment\nLike nice be runnin' shit\nhave 'em runnin' quick\nUppercuts is what we coming with\nFuck the government\nI grab the mic, that's when the thunder hit\nNever love a bitch\nRhymes echo throughout the dungeon pits\n(REPEAT)\n\nSomething from my culture\nI stay to harmony\nThe way of life that best suits me\nI sincerely love Allah's mathematics\nFreedom and raw The Abbott\nI rest within the square\nWhich is 4 times 90 why niggaz trues dare\nThe dominant intelligence\n99 elements we're offspring celibate\nWithout knowledge life's irrelevant\nI wrote the benevolent (Wu-Tang eminent)\n\nI bring lyrics to existence\nWhen I speak these powerful words\nThe priest of pandimonium the wargod has emerged\nAbove sea-level that's when thunder rolls\nand lightning strike down\nAtrocity lay that poor ass and rain it for you compund\nChaotically the Black Knights we move erotically\nLyrically perform labotamy on your biology a prodigy\nA philosophy and theology my idiology's to break down\nMC's microscopically\nThe ghetto tropically gettin' more hectic by the second\nGhetto warfare straight bullets hit off the window sectors\nAnd hit kids cause niggaz spit wigs with no precautions\nThe war I raise down from their grave to haunt your concious\nWith bloody screams nightmares and bloody dreams\nOf niggaz haunting you through dark alleyways\nThrough missing smoke screen\nHave you tweaking like a crack fiend\nOn high bean like Christine\nThe lords rain supreme\n\n(Chrous)\n\nI'm original mallot\nWith metaphor dominant intelligence\nI give a nigga a hardcore detention with his\nbirthstar invention\nI was mentioned I be creeping with the intention\nTo break free from this evil mad society\nDon't lie to me\nI'm dope, I scope stuff I like to telescope\nTo provoke from being choked\nCause my ability is soul lying\nAnd let me open up your insides\nAnd man hide,\nNot from confusion with this high energy I'm using\nStatic got you lighting and moving\nThrough the abyss where snakes hiss\nAnd many men get pissed for following false elements\nFor following false elements\n\n(last line x2)","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Punishment (Ft. Black Knights Of The North Star)\n artist: Wu-Tang Clan\n album: 'Killa Beez: The Swarm'\n duration_ms: 295000\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n Wu-Tang\n Holocaust punishment\n Yo, yo, yo, yo\n Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo\n\n From the hills of the Pacific\n I bring fury and anger\n Stabbing devils in their chest with a rusty ship anchor\n Blood and sand we command and conquer\n Wasted land,\n Then expand the regions undiscovered by modern man\n Body counts increase by thousands by the hour\n The sniper on reserve blastin hots from the water tower\n Absorbin' energy from the sun MC's run\n My brain burst like to blow chunks outta you lungs\n Blood on the pavement\n Crews gaze in amazement\n I was doing that to niggaz who test me on the slave ship\n We sell tapes and stage jail breaks for past cell mates\n Murder you at hell's gate daring bitches to yell rape\n And pale face gests hollow points I swallow joints\n With romantic charisma that'll make your momma moist\n My voice ensemble of bullets rip through your squadron\n Circulate the planets move back you better dodge 'em\n Or get opened up like a margin\n Buddah sargeant,\n Christ I should've warned you I never missed a target\n The living weapon war machine by buried king\n Relentless remorse is guiltless and unclean\n Also the sources supreme of my team\n Black Knight brigade peels caps like tangerine\n Holocaustic, hypnotic, psychotic, sub-atomic,\n psychopathic, hyperactive, unattractive\n\n We bring nothing but punishment\n Like nice be runnin' shit\n have 'em runnin' quick\n Uppercuts is what we coming with\n Fuck the government\n I grab the mic, that's when the thunder hit\n Never love a bitch\n Rhymes echo throughout the dungeon pits\n (REPEAT)\n\n Something from my culture\n I stay to harmony\n The way of life that best suits me\n I sincerely love Allah's mathematics\n Freedom and raw The Abbott\n I rest within the square\n Which is 4 times 90 why niggaz trues dare\n The dominant intelligence\n 99 elements we're offspring celibate\n Without knowledge life's irrelevant\n I wrote the benevolent (Wu-Tang eminent)\n\n I bring lyrics to existence\n When I speak these powerful words\n The priest of pandimonium the wargod has emerged\n Above sea-level that's when thunder rolls\n and lightning strike down\n Atrocity lay that poor ass and rain it for you compund\n Chaotically the Black Knights we move erotically\n Lyrically perform labotamy on your biology a prodigy\n A philosophy and theology my idiology's to break down\n MC's microscopically\n The ghetto tropically gettin' more hectic by the second\n Ghetto warfare straight bullets hit off the window sectors\n And hit kids cause niggaz spit wigs with no precautions\n The war I raise down from their grave to haunt your concious\n With bloody screams nightmares and bloody dreams\n Of niggaz haunting you through dark alleyways\n Through missing smoke screen\n Have you tweaking like a crack fiend\n On high bean like Christine\n The lords rain supreme\n\n (Chrous)\n\n I'm original mallot\n With metaphor dominant intelligence\n I give a nigga a hardcore detention with his\n birthstar invention\n I was mentioned I be creeping with the intention\n To break free from this evil mad society\n Don't lie to me\n I'm dope, I scope stuff I like to telescope\n To provoke from being choked\n Cause my ability is soul lying\n And let me open up your insides\n And man hide,\n Not from confusion with this high energy I'm using\n Static got you lighting and moving\n Through the abyss where snakes hiss\n And many men get pissed for following false elements\n For following false elements\n\n (last line x2)\n"},{"id":25056317,"name":"Intro","trackName":"Intro","artistName":"Wu-Tang Clan","albumName":"Killa Beez: The Swarm","duration":30.768,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Yo, yo one two one two, yo live in effect\nWe got the king Ruler Zig-Zag-Zag Allah\nCommonly known to y'all as the RZA\nYo before we go into side two or side\nB of this double CD\nKnahmsayin I want to give y'all a little announcement man\nFor the last year there's been a lot of music comin out\nThe shit been weak, knowhatI'msayin?\nA lot of niggas trying to take hip-hop\nAnd make that shit R&B, rap and bullshit yaknowhatI'msayin?\nOr make that shit funk\nFuck that, this is MCin right\nHere, this is hip-hop\nWu-Tang, Wu-Tang gonna\nBring it to you in the purest form\nI got the GZA on my side, Killah Priest\nSunz of Man, Royal Fam,\nKillarmy, Gravediggaz, 12 O'Clock\nYo, we want to let y'all niggas\nKnow somethin man\nTo my people all across the world;\nJapan, Europe -- knowhatI'msayin?\nCanada, knowmean -- Austria,\nGermany, Sweden\nYo, this is true hip-hop you\nListenin to right here\nIn the pure form, this ain't no\nR&B with a wack nigga takin the loop\nBe loopin that shit thinkin it's gonna be the sound of the culture\nYaknowhatI'msayin? (That player bullshit)\nYaknowhatI'msayin? All\nThat player dressin up\nOn this shit, actin like this some\nKind of fashion show man\nYaknowhatI'msayin? This is\nHip-hop right here\nYaknowhatI'msayin? This is lyrics, MCin\nAnd yo, to y'all niggas who think you going to become an MC overnight\nYaknowhatI'msayin? Better\nSnap out that fuckin dream\nMan it takes years for this you\nCat in the Hat ass rappers\nYou Dr. Seuss, Mother Goose, simple\nMinded\n(Stop runnin up on niggas with\nAll that wack shit)\nWord up man (talking bout \"you MC\")\nYou ain't no MC; niggas ain't made for this yaknowhatI'msayin?\nThis shit was Only Built 4\nCuban Linx -- we told y'all niggas back then\nAnd then everybody wanted to change their motherfuckin name\nYaknowhatI'msayin? We come out with a style\nNow everybody wanna imitate our style and all you producers out there\nYaknowhatI'msayin? It's all\nGood to show love to a nigga\nBut stop bitin my shit, yaknowhatI'msayin?\nCome from your own heart with this shit\nAnd all y'all MC's, stop biting\nFrom my niggas\nWe told ya'll niggas on the fucking Cuban Linx album\nDon't bite our shit, y'all niggas keep biting\nYo, I'm going to tell y'all something man\nIt's time for the Wu revolution right here\nTo all my niggas across the world\nRaise your motherfucking fist in the air\nAnd get ready for the Triumph\nCause the Gods is here to take over this shit\nWord up, peace","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Intro\n artist: Wu-Tang Clan\n album: 'Killa Beez: The Swarm'\n duration_ms: 30768\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n Yo, yo one two one two, yo live in effect\n We got the king Ruler Zig-Zag-Zag Allah\n Commonly known to y'all as the RZA\n Yo before we go into side two or side\n B of this double CD\n Knahmsayin I want to give y'all a little announcement man\n For the last year there's been a lot of music comin out\n The shit been weak, knowhatI'msayin?\n A lot of niggas trying to take hip-hop\n And make that shit R&B, rap and bullshit yaknowhatI'msayin?\n Or make that shit funk\n Fuck that, this is MCin right\n Here, this is hip-hop\n Wu-Tang, Wu-Tang gonna\n Bring it to you in the purest form\n I got the GZA on my side, Killah Priest\n Sunz of Man, Royal Fam,\n Killarmy, Gravediggaz, 12 O'Clock\n Yo, we want to let y'all niggas\n Know somethin man\n To my people all across the world;\n Japan, Europe -- knowhatI'msayin?\n Canada, knowmean -- Austria,\n Germany, Sweden\n Yo, this is true hip-hop you\n Listenin to right here\n In the pure form, this ain't no\n R&B with a wack nigga takin the loop\n Be loopin that shit thinkin it's gonna be the sound of the culture\n YaknowhatI'msayin? (That player bullshit)\n YaknowhatI'msayin? All\n That player dressin up\n On this shit, actin like this some\n Kind of fashion show man\n YaknowhatI'msayin? This is\n Hip-hop right here\n YaknowhatI'msayin? This is lyrics, MCin\n And yo, to y'all niggas who think you going to become an MC overnight\n YaknowhatI'msayin? Better\n Snap out that fuckin dream\n Man it takes years for this you\n Cat in the Hat ass rappers\n You Dr. Seuss, Mother Goose, simple\n Minded\n (Stop runnin up on niggas with\n All that wack shit)\n Word up man (talking bout \"you MC\")\n You ain't no MC; niggas ain't made for this yaknowhatI'msayin?\n This shit was Only Built 4\n Cuban Linx -- we told y'all niggas back then\n And then everybody wanted to change their motherfuckin name\n YaknowhatI'msayin? We come out with a style\n Now everybody wanna imitate our style and all you producers out there\n YaknowhatI'msayin? It's all\n Good to show love to a nigga\n But stop bitin my shit, yaknowhatI'msayin?\n Come from your own heart with this shit\n And all y'all MC's, stop biting\n From my niggas\n We told ya'll niggas on the fucking Cuban Linx album\n Don't bite our shit, y'all niggas keep biting\n Yo, I'm going to tell y'all something man\n It's time for the Wu revolution right here\n To all my niggas across the world\n Raise your motherfucking fist in the air\n And get ready for the Triumph\n Cause the Gods is here to take over this shit\n Word up, peace\n"},{"id":35935658,"name":"Execute Them","trackName":"Execute Them","artistName":"Wu-Tang Clan","albumName":"Killa Beez: The Swarm","duration":221.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"YoyoyoyoyoYO! Yo\nIs the niggaz ready for this son?\nNiggaz ain't ready for this ock\nOne two whatcha wanna do (I'm gonna give it to em anyway though man)\nPeep the Inspectah Deck (You know they ain't ready for it)\nLyrical threat\nRepresenting Wu-Tang\nSlang, ninety-five\nHittin it live\nYou know what time it is\n\nBlessed with the art rhymes that's sharp like a circular saw\nHit the floor like Dorf, who wants the war\nThen slide by my, lyrical driveby\nChops rush, making black hearts bust, plus knifes they got\nwhen they rush, built like construction tools\nCrushing fools, in twos\nForced dude to blast you out your fuckin shoes\nA South swap with the bombs I drop\nPlan A to terrorize you can't stop the plot\nExecution of an amateur, who dared to challenge the\nClansman, holding a sword like Excalibur\nTruth is my shield, show and prove I reveal\nReality, a coldness the heart can feel\nLivin life where caps peel, and crack deals from nine to five\nBut I survived in these hard times I nearly died\nNow I'm wanted by death I did escape\nNow it's thrown on a tape with those who can relate\nStill I wrap my face take a space in the staircase\nHits takin place, yo God, watch the Jakes\nOut of state court dates, chase me with the warrants\nFor my insurance, switched names to Michael Lawrence\nThe Rebel, stomps through the slums I'm from\nComing through with nuff niggaz, and nuff guns to bust son\nSo read the article, lyrical assassin with the arsenal\nPotential witnesses are incapable\nof testifying, I won't be frying in the chair\nPlus the case closed, I won't be ever shackled, and safe clothes\nI make foes, exasperates then, I make friends\nCause today's friends, show theyselves as snakes in the end\nAnd if you fit the trend then Protect Ya Neck\nShaolin, INS, Killa Hill Projects\n\nNo one on this earth, can hold me\nNo one on this earth, can fool me\nNo one on this earth, can grip the mic\nLike, I, do, nigga\n\nYou ever, feel, that you can\nTest me, you got to face the Clan and\nNever, return to the mic again\nThere's no one in the world\n\nLet me at them! I blast off lyrics like a Magnum\nForty-four caliber, bustin mad holes in my challenger\nTongue in your throat is swiss cheese\nThe wild freestyler, wild like Gene Wilder\nWu-Tang killa bee aimed at your brain\nwith my stinger, it stun your mind, when I bring ya\nThirty-six chambers of anger, frustration\nFor waiting, to let loose on the nation\nFar from commercial no need for no rehearsal\nHit you from all angles then form a circle\nGo against the grain within close range\nwhen I Slam, like Onyx, come get some, that's a promise\nI'll represent, here's the evidence\nScience of mad murder plates I make sense\nMy technique of speech is deep, like Leviathan\nHittin up your block with rhymes, like a firing\nShooting for the platinum, then bring it back to\nthe same place I got the gat from, let me at them","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Execute Them\n artist: Wu-Tang Clan\n album: 'Killa Beez: The Swarm'\n duration_ms: 221000\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n YoyoyoyoyoYO! Yo\n Is the niggaz ready for this son?\n Niggaz ain't ready for this ock\n One two whatcha wanna do (I'm gonna give it to em anyway though man)\n Peep the Inspectah Deck (You know they ain't ready for it)\n Lyrical threat\n Representing Wu-Tang\n Slang, ninety-five\n Hittin it live\n You know what time it is\n\n Blessed with the art rhymes that's sharp like a circular saw\n Hit the floor like Dorf, who wants the war\n Then slide by my, lyrical driveby\n Chops rush, making black hearts bust, plus knifes they got\n when they rush, built like construction tools\n Crushing fools, in twos\n Forced dude to blast you out your fuckin shoes\n A South swap with the bombs I drop\n Plan A to terrorize you can't stop the plot\n Execution of an amateur, who dared to challenge the\n Clansman, holding a sword like Excalibur\n Truth is my shield, show and prove I reveal\n Reality, a coldness the heart can feel\n Livin life where caps peel, and crack deals from nine to five\n But I survived in these hard times I nearly died\n Now I'm wanted by death I did escape\n Now it's thrown on a tape with those who can relate\n Still I wrap my face take a space in the staircase\n Hits takin place, yo God, watch the Jakes\n Out of state court dates, chase me with the warrants\n For my insurance, switched names to Michael Lawrence\n The Rebel, stomps through the slums I'm from\n Coming through with nuff niggaz, and nuff guns to bust son\n So read the article, lyrical assassin with the arsenal\n Potential witnesses are incapable\n of testifying, I won't be frying in the chair\n Plus the case closed, I won't be ever shackled, and safe clothes\n I make foes, exasperates then, I make friends\n Cause today's friends, show theyselves as snakes in the end\n And if you fit the trend then Protect Ya Neck\n Shaolin, INS, Killa Hill Projects\n\n No one on this earth, can hold me\n No one on this earth, can fool me\n No one on this earth, can grip the mic\n Like, I, do, nigga\n\n You ever, feel, that you can\n Test me, you got to face the Clan and\n Never, return to the mic again\n There's no one in the world\n\n Let me at them! I blast off lyrics like a Magnum\n Forty-four caliber, bustin mad holes in my challenger\n Tongue in your throat is swiss cheese\n The wild freestyler, wild like Gene Wilder\n Wu-Tang killa bee aimed at your brain\n with my stinger, it stun your mind, when I bring ya\n Thirty-six chambers of anger, frustration\n For waiting, to let loose on the nation\n Far from commercial no need for no rehearsal\n Hit you from all angles then form a circle\n Go against the grain within close range\n when I Slam, like Onyx, come get some, that's a promise\n I'll represent, here's the evidence\n Science of mad murder plates I make sense\n My technique of speech is deep, like Leviathan\n Hittin up your block with rhymes, like a firing\n Shooting for the platinum, then bring it back to\n the same place I got the gat from, let me at them\n"},{"id":25458668,"name":"Cobra Clutch (Ft. Ghostface Killah)","trackName":"Cobra Clutch (Ft. Ghostface Killah)","artistName":"Wu-Tang Clan","albumName":"Killa Beez: The Swarm","duration":222.144,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Yo, yeah bitch\nAiyyo, motherfucker\nAiyyo, swallow it\n\nAiyyo we dazzle off this bloody version of 'Glaciers'\nSlang shot threw a gem in his mouth, swallowed his razor (wsssht)\nSay no more, my back be parked against the wall\nTrooper square holding, 'Face don't give a fuck about the law\nTake off the bracelets, don't get blinded by the ice Boo\nIt's not cool, Veronica slept, plus the decimal\nLook at my jumper logo look familiar? It's Power (Where is he?)\nYo every fine snitch knocks an inch off Eddie Bauer\nGucci sneaker rockin just another form of 'Chessboxin'\nNo cock-blockin, supreme clientele, till I'm droppin\nKangol slanted, Ghost'll ran with it, hippie hung-out\nClub bandit never empty-handed when I brand it\nMark callin Austin, Mark callin Austin down in Boston\nBoth of them dead, cop in the loft and\nbig chain swingin nigga, Matchbox car drivin\nStreet whylin, Role' with the four-finger glidin\nWatch him, scorchin with spells and top toxin\nAmoxins til the stock skyrocket, Bobby Mocassin\nSwitched from Pert Plus, escrow on the side throw in sun trust\nGhost'll keep shinin til the sun bust\nyo word up, born-to-be right behind the curtain with her nose out\nSixty center get the Rover out\nFeatherhead heathens, teethin on mic dicks\nWhen thy said, \"Let the kids die for your bread nigga!\"\n\nYo, promoters don't want us in clubs because we spaz out\n'Who is these righteous motherfuckers with they flags out?'\nStapleton Projects, recognize you're lookin at\nAllah's best, puttin on the hits is no contest\nNOW, who the hypest in New York City?\nWU-TANG! Radio stop shittin on me!\n\n[Superfly]\n\"I got fifty men out in the street\nNow if they all get bitch troubles I starve\nIs that it? Is that what you're tryin to tell me?\"\n\nAiyyo, the moccasin money, one man behind the plate\nHold it down honey-shallah rock the half man Gumby\nTwisted, the mime of the floods, niggaz spell drama\none oh five point six llama\nCosmetic classical, slum is shield, Milagro Beanfield\nWatch me inhale half of you, new attributes\nTeletronics, DBX, one sixty X\nCompression with the A and sharp press\nExtract bass in which the gooey dew drips, vanilla suckle\nwith jasmine bits, five hundred rap battin average\nOne taste the bowl and blow up magic, Houdini escapes\nfrom the fermenting hell halls of tragic\nSpeaking to the First of April's, deep in the rap game\nErasial, Excedrin head bredderns catch facials\nSide orders, one telephone for take out\nStomp your man half to death rob him then we break it\nGet off on the? Clove? Exit, knees dirty, chick now\nwith low leverage, watch it how she lick the head of me\nCause it's law, order today, we pay dues\nNew Tomorrow's, Rubik's Cube money in a tube\nDeck the Halls, crush salary dice that's in? hall\nHey y'all Peppermint Pattie's, slum my Peter Paul\nWrangler, straight laid the track when it's sag\nwith one banger, interlude loop caused me to hang up\nTicklish, Crunchberry niggaz at the flicks pissed off\nStandin in the rain and can't find they whips\nSuckers! Motherfucker! Yo\n\nYo, promoters don't want us in clubs because we spaz out\n'Who is these righteous motherfuckers with they flags out?'\nStapleton Projects, recognize you're lookin at\nAllah's best, puttin on the hits is no contest\nNOW, who the hypest in New York City?\nWU-TANG! Radio stop shittin on me\n\n________","syncedLyrics":"[00:01.68] Yo, yeah bitch\n[00:04.89] Aiyyo, motherfucker\n[00:07.47] Aiyyo, swallow it\n[00:10.00] Aiyyo we dazzle off this bloody version of 'Glaciers'\n[00:12.73] Slang shot threw a gem in his mouth, swallowed his razor (wsssht)\n[00:15.31] Say no more, my back be parked against the wall\n[00:17.52] Trooper square holding, 'Face don't give a fuck about the law\n[00:20.18] Take off the bracelets, don't get blinded by the ice Boo\n[00:22.70] It's not cool, Veronica slept, plus the decimal\n[00:25.45] Look at my jumper logo look familiar? It's Power (Where is he?)\n[00:28.75] Yo every fine snitch knocks an inch off Eddie Bauer\n[00:30.85] Gucci sneaker rockin just another form of 'Chessboxin'\n[00:33.25] No cock-blockin, supreme clientele, till I'm droppin\n[00:35.18] Kangol slanted, Ghost'll ran with it, hippie hung-out\n[00:38.12] Club bandit never empty-handed when I brand it\n[00:40.72] Mark callin Austin, Mark callin Austin down in Boston\n[00:43.43] Both of them dead, cop in the loft and\n[00:46.08] Big chain swingin nigga, Matchbox car drivin\n[00:48.23] Street whylin, Role' with the four-finger glidin\n[00:50.80] Watch him, scorchin with spells and top toxin\n[00:53.42] Amoxins til the stock skyrocket, Bobby Mocassin\n[00:56.13] Switched from Pert Plus, escrow on the side throw in sun trust\n[00:59.28] Ghost'll keep shinin til the sun bust\n[01:01.37] Yo word up, born-to-be right behind the curtain with her nose out\n[01:04.55] Sixty center get the Rover out\n[01:06.29] Featherhead heathens, teethin on mic dicks\n[01:08.83] When thy said, \"Let the kids die for your bread nigga!\"\n[01:11.47] Yo, promoters don't want us in clubs because we spaz out\n[01:14.06] 'Who is these righteous motherfuckers with they flags out?'\n[01:16.75] Stapleton Projects, recognize you're lookin at\n[01:19.74] Allah's best, puttin on the hits is no contest\n[01:21.65] NOW, who the hypest in New York City?\n[01:24.14] WU-TANG! Radio stop shittin on me!\n[01:26.80] [Superfly]\n[01:27.36] \"I got fifty men out in the street\n[01:28.27] Now if they all get bitch troubles I starve\n[01:29.61] Is that it? Is that what you're tryin to tell me?\"\n[01:31.98] Aiyyo, the moccasin money, one man behind the plate\n[01:34.55] Hold it down honey-shallah rock the half man Gumby\n[01:37.21] Twisted, the mime of the floods, niggaz spell drama\n[01:39.93] One oh five point six llama\n[01:41.51] Cosmetic classical, slum is shield, Milagro Beanfield\n[01:44.57] Watch me inhale half of you, new attributes\n[01:47.39] Teletronics, DBX, one sixty X\n[01:49.49] Compression with the A and sharp press\n[01:52.19] Extract bass in which the gooey dew drips, vanilla suckle\n[01:54.72] With jasmine bits, five hundred rap battin average\n[01:57.43] One taste the bowl and blow up magic, Houdini escapes\n[02:00.08] From the fermenting hell halls of tragic\n[02:02.65] Speaking to the First of April's, deep in the rap game\n[02:05.34] Erasial, Excedrin head bredderns catch facials\n[02:07.50] Side orders, one telephone for take out\n[02:10.19] Stomp your man half to death rob him then we break it\n[02:12.82] Get off on the? Clove? Exit, knees dirty, chick now\n[02:15.48] With low leverage, watch it how she lick the head of me\n[02:18.05] Cause it's law, order today, we pay dues\n[02:20.52] New Tomorrow's, Rubik's Cube money in a tube\n[02:22.71] Deck the Halls, crush salary dice that's in? hall\n[02:25.42] Hey y'all Peppermint Pattie's, slum my Peter Paul\n[02:28.39] Wrangler, straight laid the track when it's sag\n[02:30.77] With one banger, interlude loop caused me to hang up\n[02:33.35] Ticklish, Crunchberry niggaz at the flicks pissed off\n[02:36.04] Standin in the rain and can't find they whips\n[02:38.21] Suckers! Motherfucker! Yo\n[02:42.05] Yo, promoters don't want us in clubs because we spaz out\n[02:46.00] 'Who is these righteous motherfuckers with they flags out?'\n[02:48.78] Stapleton Projects, recognize you're lookin at\n[02:51.66] Allah's best, puttin on the hits is no contest\n[02:53.18] NOW, who the hypest in New York City?\n[02:56.04] WU-TANG! Radio stop shittin on me\n[02:58.68] ________\n[03:06.22] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Cobra Clutch (Ft. Ghostface Killah)\n artist: Wu-Tang Clan\n album: 'Killa Beez: The Swarm'\n duration_ms: 222144\n instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Yo, yeah bitch\n start_ms: 1680\n end_ms: 4890\n- text: Aiyyo, motherfucker\n start_ms: 4890\n end_ms: 7470\n- text: Aiyyo, swallow it\n start_ms: 7470\n end_ms: 10000\n- text: Aiyyo we dazzle off this bloody version of 'Glaciers'\n start_ms: 10000\n end_ms: 12730\n- text: Slang shot threw a gem in his mouth, swallowed his razor (wsssht)\n start_ms: 12730\n end_ms: 15310\n- text: Say no more, my back be parked against the wall\n start_ms: 15310\n end_ms: 17520\n- text: Trooper square holding, 'Face don't give a fuck about the law\n start_ms: 17520\n end_ms: 20180\n- text: Take off the bracelets, don't get blinded by the ice Boo\n start_ms: 20180\n end_ms: 22700\n- text: It's not cool, Veronica slept, plus the decimal\n start_ms: 22700\n end_ms: 25450\n- text: Look at my jumper logo look familiar? It's Power (Where is he?)\n start_ms: 25450\n end_ms: 28750\n- text: Yo every fine snitch knocks an inch off Eddie Bauer\n start_ms: 28750\n end_ms: 30850\n- text: Gucci sneaker rockin just another form of 'Chessboxin'\n start_ms: 30850\n end_ms: 33250\n- text: No cock-blockin, supreme clientele, till I'm droppin\n start_ms: 33250\n end_ms: 35180\n- text: Kangol slanted, Ghost'll ran with it, hippie hung-out\n start_ms: 35180\n end_ms: 38120\n- text: Club bandit never empty-handed when I brand it\n start_ms: 38120\n end_ms: 40720\n- text: Mark callin Austin, Mark callin Austin down in Boston\n start_ms: 40720\n end_ms: 43430\n- text: Both of them dead, cop in the loft and\n start_ms: 43430\n end_ms: 46080\n- text: Big chain swingin nigga, Matchbox car drivin\n start_ms: 46080\n end_ms: 48230\n- text: Street whylin, Role' with the four-finger glidin\n start_ms: 48230\n end_ms: 50800\n- text: Watch him, scorchin with spells and top toxin\n start_ms: 50800\n end_ms: 53420\n- text: Amoxins til the stock skyrocket, Bobby Mocassin\n start_ms: 53420\n end_ms: 56130\n- text: Switched from Pert Plus, escrow on the side throw in sun trust\n start_ms: 56130\n end_ms: 59280\n- text: Ghost'll keep shinin til the sun bust\n start_ms: 59280\n end_ms: 61370\n- text: Yo word up, born-to-be right behind the curtain with her nose out\n start_ms: 61370\n end_ms: 64550\n- text: Sixty center get the Rover out\n start_ms: 64550\n end_ms: 66290\n- text: Featherhead heathens, teethin on mic dicks\n start_ms: 66290\n end_ms: 68830\n- text: When thy said, \"Let the kids die for your bread nigga!\"\n start_ms: 68830\n end_ms: 71470\n- text: Yo, promoters don't want us in clubs because we spaz out\n start_ms: 71470\n end_ms: 74060\n- text: '''Who is these righteous motherfuckers with they flags out?'''\n start_ms: 74060\n end_ms: 76750\n- text: Stapleton Projects, recognize you're lookin at\n start_ms: 76750\n end_ms: 79740\n- text: Allah's best, puttin on the hits is no contest\n start_ms: 79740\n end_ms: 81650\n- text: NOW, who the hypest in New York City?\n start_ms: 81650\n end_ms: 84140\n- text: WU-TANG! Radio stop shittin on me!\n start_ms: 84140\n end_ms: 86800\n- text: '[Superfly]'\n start_ms: 86800\n end_ms: 87360\n- text: '\"I got fifty men out in the street'\n start_ms: 87360\n end_ms: 88270\n- text: Now if they all get bitch troubles I starve\n start_ms: 88270\n end_ms: 89610\n- text: Is that it? Is that what you're tryin to tell me?\"\n start_ms: 89610\n end_ms: 91980\n- text: Aiyyo, the moccasin money, one man behind the plate\n start_ms: 91980\n end_ms: 94550\n- text: Hold it down honey-shallah rock the half man Gumby\n start_ms: 94550\n end_ms: 97210\n- text: Twisted, the mime of the floods, niggaz spell drama\n start_ms: 97210\n end_ms: 99930\n- text: One oh five point six llama\n start_ms: 99930\n end_ms: 101510\n- text: Cosmetic classical, slum is shield, Milagro Beanfield\n start_ms: 101510\n end_ms: 104570\n- text: Watch me inhale half of you, new attributes\n start_ms: 104570\n end_ms: 107390\n- text: Teletronics, DBX, one sixty X\n start_ms: 107390\n end_ms: 109490\n- text: Compression with the A and sharp press\n start_ms: 109490\n end_ms: 112190\n- text: Extract bass in which the gooey dew drips, vanilla suckle\n start_ms: 112190\n end_ms: 114720\n- text: With jasmine bits, five hundred rap battin average\n start_ms: 114720\n end_ms: 117430\n- text: One taste the bowl and blow up magic, Houdini escapes\n start_ms: 117430\n end_ms: 120080\n- text: From the fermenting hell halls of tragic\n start_ms: 120080\n end_ms: 122650\n- text: Speaking to the First of April's, deep in the rap game\n start_ms: 122650\n end_ms: 125340\n- text: Erasial, Excedrin head bredderns catch facials\n start_ms: 125340\n end_ms: 127500\n- text: Side orders, one telephone for take out\n start_ms: 127500\n end_ms: 130190\n- text: Stomp your man half to death rob him then we break it\n start_ms: 130190\n end_ms: 132820\n- text: Get off on the? Clove? Exit, knees dirty, chick now\n start_ms: 132820\n end_ms: 135480\n- text: With low leverage, watch it how she lick the head of me\n start_ms: 135480\n end_ms: 138050\n- text: Cause it's law, order today, we pay dues\n start_ms: 138050\n end_ms: 140520\n- text: New Tomorrow's, Rubik's Cube money in a tube\n start_ms: 140520\n end_ms: 142710\n- text: Deck the Halls, crush salary dice that's in? hall\n start_ms: 142710\n end_ms: 145420\n- text: Hey y'all Peppermint Pattie's, slum my Peter Paul\n start_ms: 145420\n end_ms: 148390\n- text: Wrangler, straight laid the track when it's sag\n start_ms: 148390\n end_ms: 150770\n- text: With one banger, interlude loop caused me to hang up\n start_ms: 150770\n end_ms: 153350\n- text: Ticklish, Crunchberry niggaz at the flicks pissed off\n start_ms: 153350\n end_ms: 156040\n- text: Standin in the rain and can't find they whips\n start_ms: 156040\n end_ms: 158210\n- text: Suckers! Motherfucker! Yo\n start_ms: 158210\n end_ms: 162050\n- text: Yo, promoters don't want us in clubs because we spaz out\n start_ms: 162050\n end_ms: 166000\n- text: '''Who is these righteous motherfuckers with they flags out?'''\n start_ms: 166000\n end_ms: 168780\n- text: Stapleton Projects, recognize you're lookin at\n start_ms: 168780\n end_ms: 171660\n- text: Allah's best, puttin on the hits is no contest\n start_ms: 171660\n end_ms: 173180\n- text: NOW, who the hypest in New York City?\n start_ms: 173180\n end_ms: 176040\n- text: WU-TANG! Radio stop shittin on me\n start_ms: 176040\n end_ms: 178680\n- text: ________\n start_ms: 178680\n end_ms: 186220\n- text: ''\n start_ms: 186220\nplain: |-\n Yo, yeah bitch\n Aiyyo, motherfucker\n Aiyyo, swallow it\n\n Aiyyo we dazzle off this bloody version of 'Glaciers'\n Slang shot threw a gem in his mouth, swallowed his razor (wsssht)\n Say no more, my back be parked against the wall\n Trooper square holding, 'Face don't give a fuck about the law\n Take off the bracelets, don't get blinded by the ice Boo\n It's not cool, Veronica slept, plus the decimal\n Look at my jumper logo look familiar? It's Power (Where is he?)\n Yo every fine snitch knocks an inch off Eddie Bauer\n Gucci sneaker rockin just another form of 'Chessboxin'\n No cock-blockin, supreme clientele, till I'm droppin\n Kangol slanted, Ghost'll ran with it, hippie hung-out\n Club bandit never empty-handed when I brand it\n Mark callin Austin, Mark callin Austin down in Boston\n Both of them dead, cop in the loft and\n big chain swingin nigga, Matchbox car drivin\n Street whylin, Role' with the four-finger glidin\n Watch him, scorchin with spells and top toxin\n Amoxins til the stock skyrocket, Bobby Mocassin\n Switched from Pert Plus, escrow on the side throw in sun trust\n Ghost'll keep shinin til the sun bust\n yo word up, born-to-be right behind the curtain with her nose out\n Sixty center get the Rover out\n Featherhead heathens, teethin on mic dicks\n When thy said, \"Let the kids die for your bread nigga!\"\n\n Yo, promoters don't want us in clubs because we spaz out\n 'Who is these righteous motherfuckers with they flags out?'\n Stapleton Projects, recognize you're lookin at\n Allah's best, puttin on the hits is no contest\n NOW, who the hypest in New York City?\n WU-TANG! Radio stop shittin on me!\n\n [Superfly]\n \"I got fifty men out in the street\n Now if they all get bitch troubles I starve\n Is that it? Is that what you're tryin to tell me?\"\n\n Aiyyo, the moccasin money, one man behind the plate\n Hold it down honey-shallah rock the half man Gumby\n Twisted, the mime of the floods, niggaz spell drama\n one oh five point six llama\n Cosmetic classical, slum is shield, Milagro Beanfield\n Watch me inhale half of you, new attributes\n Teletronics, DBX, one sixty X\n Compression with the A and sharp press\n Extract bass in which the gooey dew drips, vanilla suckle\n with jasmine bits, five hundred rap battin average\n One taste the bowl and blow up magic, Houdini escapes\n from the fermenting hell halls of tragic\n Speaking to the First of April's, deep in the rap game\n Erasial, Excedrin head bredderns catch facials\n Side orders, one telephone for take out\n Stomp your man half to death rob him then we break it\n Get off on the? Clove? Exit, knees dirty, chick now\n with low leverage, watch it how she lick the head of me\n Cause it's law, order today, we pay dues\n New Tomorrow's, Rubik's Cube money in a tube\n Deck the Halls, crush salary dice that's in? hall\n Hey y'all Peppermint Pattie's, slum my Peter Paul\n Wrangler, straight laid the track when it's sag\n with one banger, interlude loop caused me to hang up\n Ticklish, Crunchberry niggaz at the flicks pissed off\n Standin in the rain and can't find they whips\n Suckers! Motherfucker! Yo\n\n Yo, promoters don't want us in clubs because we spaz out\n 'Who is these righteous motherfuckers with they flags out?'\n Stapleton Projects, recognize you're lookin at\n Allah's best, puttin on the hits is no contest\n NOW, who the hypest in New York City?\n WU-TANG! Radio stop shittin on me\n\n ________\n"},{"id":7925471,"name":"Doe Rae Wu","trackName":"Doe Rae Wu","artistName":"Bobby Digital, ODB & Kinetic","albumName":"Wu-Tang Productions Present Killa Beez: The Sting","duration":156.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Naege hal mal isseum iri iriwabwa\nMwodeun deureojulge iri iriwabwa\nIldan algesseuni iri iriwabwa\nYeogiga bulpyeonhamyeon bakkeuro nawa\nYayayayaya iriwabwa\nYayayaya bakkeuro nawa\nCome here welcome to the real man's world\nLife is just a full of questions with no answers\nGeu modeun jilmundeurui dap nan junbidwaeisseo\nYoung king young boss the dream chaser\nGold chains gold watches and diamond bezel\nNaega wonhaneun geon gajyeo mwodeun maeumdaero\nHyeonsiri eotteoteun gan geokjeong eobsi salmyeon doego\nHanareul irun huen saeropge tto daeum level\nGeuge naui hiphabeul algo sipeo iri iriwabwa\nHwaksilhi silhi malhal teni illy illy wa na\nJeoldae jiji jiji anha beolbeol giji giji araseodeul\nJjokpalligi sirheum nune ttuiji ttuiji mara u dig\n\nNaege hal mal isseum iri iriwabwa\nMwodeun deureojulge iri iriwabwa\nIldan algesseuni iri iriwabwa\nYeogiga bulpyeonhamyeon bakkeuro nawa\nYayayayaya iriwabwa\nYayayaya bakkeuro nawa\nYayayayaya iriwabwa\nYayayaya bakkeuro nawa\n\nI'm talkin bout harutgaeui gunchim\nYoung blood busim\nBaneuldoduk sododuk doeneun sokdamui jungsim\nJeongsangiraseo da beoreok hago busiji\nNal mullo bwatdamyeon tabaseukocheoreom juui\nHaera nan bangtanghae yeppeun namja ttawin beorim\nNal goemurirago bulleo naega jachinghan jeok eobsi\nNeonen jeonsin yuri api jiha deonjeonboda hwol jochi\nSillyeogi oemomyeon nan bangtan yuri ape wonbin\nTteotda hamyeon eumchi raepeodeurui ilkkaji\nDa hae meogeo hal il eobsi neoneneun i kkaji\nNal hubaero injeong mareo chinhan cheok samgahaji\nKkoumyeon sillyeogeuro kkeokkeo ssagaji\n\nNaege hal mal isseum iri iriwabwa\nMwodeun deureojulge iri iriwabwa\nIldan algesseuni iri iriwabwa\nYeogiga bulpyeonhamyeon bakkeuro nawa\nYayayayaya iriwabwa\nYayayaya bakkeuro nawa\nYayayayaya iriwabwa\nYayayaya bakkeuro nawa\n\nNobody can do it like me\nLike me like me\nNobody can do it like me\nLike me like me\nNo that's not me my dear\nDwido dora boji malgo ttwieo\nGeollimyeon kkeut U have no idea\nIge majimagiya neoui sowoneul deureojulge\nTtan malhaji malgo mujogeon bireo\nChaegimjyeo chaegimjyeo niga han mal\nGeurae dasi hanbeon haebwa eoseo naege banmal\nMeonji hwinallyeo igeon pinalleya\nKkeuteun yeongeoro halge Get the fxxx outta here\nGajjaga neomuna manha\nIgeon museun samnyugeup manhwa\nTaekdo eomneun sori haji mara ani\nIriwabwa naega teullyeosseuni niga na daesin maja\n\nNaege hal mal isseum iri iriwabwa\nMwodeun deureojulge iri iriwabwa\nIldan algesseuni iri iriwabwa\nYeogiga bulpyeonhamyeon bakkeuro nawa\nYayayayaya iriwabwa\nYayayaya bakkeuro nawa\nYayayayaya iriwabwa\nYayayaya bakkeuro nawa","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Doe Rae Wu\n artist: Bobby Digital, ODB & Kinetic\n album: 'Wu-Tang Productions Present Killa Beez: The Sting'\n duration_ms: 156000\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n Naege hal mal isseum iri iriwabwa\n Mwodeun deureojulge iri iriwabwa\n Ildan algesseuni iri iriwabwa\n Yeogiga bulpyeonhamyeon bakkeuro nawa\n Yayayayaya iriwabwa\n Yayayaya bakkeuro nawa\n Come here welcome to the real man's world\n Life is just a full of questions with no answers\n Geu modeun jilmundeurui dap nan junbidwaeisseo\n Young king young boss the dream chaser\n Gold chains gold watches and diamond bezel\n Naega wonhaneun geon gajyeo mwodeun maeumdaero\n Hyeonsiri eotteoteun gan geokjeong eobsi salmyeon doego\n Hanareul irun huen saeropge tto daeum level\n Geuge naui hiphabeul algo sipeo iri iriwabwa\n Hwaksilhi silhi malhal teni illy illy wa na\n Jeoldae jiji jiji anha beolbeol giji giji araseodeul\n Jjokpalligi sirheum nune ttuiji ttuiji mara u dig\n\n Naege hal mal isseum iri iriwabwa\n Mwodeun deureojulge iri iriwabwa\n Ildan algesseuni iri iriwabwa\n Yeogiga bulpyeonhamyeon bakkeuro nawa\n Yayayayaya iriwabwa\n Yayayaya bakkeuro nawa\n Yayayayaya iriwabwa\n Yayayaya bakkeuro nawa\n\n I'm talkin bout harutgaeui gunchim\n Young blood busim\n Baneuldoduk sododuk doeneun sokdamui jungsim\n Jeongsangiraseo da beoreok hago busiji\n Nal mullo bwatdamyeon tabaseukocheoreom juui\n Haera nan bangtanghae yeppeun namja ttawin beorim\n Nal goemurirago bulleo naega jachinghan jeok eobsi\n Neonen jeonsin yuri api jiha deonjeonboda hwol jochi\n Sillyeogi oemomyeon nan bangtan yuri ape wonbin\n Tteotda hamyeon eumchi raepeodeurui ilkkaji\n Da hae meogeo hal il eobsi neoneneun i kkaji\n Nal hubaero injeong mareo chinhan cheok samgahaji\n Kkoumyeon sillyeogeuro kkeokkeo ssagaji\n\n Naege hal mal isseum iri iriwabwa\n Mwodeun deureojulge iri iriwabwa\n Ildan algesseuni iri iriwabwa\n Yeogiga bulpyeonhamyeon bakkeuro nawa\n Yayayayaya iriwabwa\n Yayayaya bakkeuro nawa\n Yayayayaya iriwabwa\n Yayayaya bakkeuro nawa\n\n Nobody can do it like me\n Like me like me\n Nobody can do it like me\n Like me like me\n No that's not me my dear\n Dwido dora boji malgo ttwieo\n Geollimyeon kkeut U have no idea\n Ige majimagiya neoui sowoneul deureojulge\n Ttan malhaji malgo mujogeon bireo\n Chaegimjyeo chaegimjyeo niga han mal\n Geurae dasi hanbeon haebwa eoseo naege banmal\n Meonji hwinallyeo igeon pinalleya\n Kkeuteun yeongeoro halge Get the fxxx outta here\n Gajjaga neomuna manha\n Igeon museun samnyugeup manhwa\n Taekdo eomneun sori haji mara ani\n Iriwabwa naega teullyeosseuni niga na daesin maja\n\n Naege hal mal isseum iri iriwabwa\n Mwodeun deureojulge iri iriwabwa\n Ildan algesseuni iri iriwabwa\n Yeogiga bulpyeonhamyeon bakkeuro nawa\n Yayayayaya iriwabwa\n Yayayaya bakkeuro nawa\n Yayayayaya iriwabwa\n Yayayaya bakkeuro nawa\n"},{"id":26822026,"name":"Doe Rae Wu","trackName":"Doe Rae Wu","artistName":"Bobby Digital, ODB & Kinetic","albumName":"Wu-Tang Productions Present Killa Beez: The Sting","duration":152.920816,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Naege hal mal isseum iri iriwabwa\nMwodeun deureojulge iri iriwabwa\nIldan algesseuni iri iriwabwa\nYeogiga bulpyeonhamyeon bakkeuro nawa\nYayayayaya iriwabwa\nYayayaya bakkeuro nawa\nCome here welcome to the real man's world\nLife is just a full of questions with no answers\nGeu modeun jilmundeurui dap nan junbidwaeisseo\nYoung king young boss the dream chaser\nGold chains gold watches and diamond bezel\nNaega wonhaneun geon gajyeo mwodeun maeumdaero\nHyeonsiri eotteoteun gan geokjeong eobsi salmyeon doego\nHanareul irun huen saeropge tto daeum level\nGeuge naui hiphabeul algo sipeo iri iriwabwa\nHwaksilhi silhi malhal teni illy illy wa na\nJeoldae jiji jiji anha beolbeol giji giji araseodeul\nJjokpalligi sirheum nune ttuiji ttuiji mara u dig\n\nNaege hal mal isseum iri iriwabwa\nMwodeun deureojulge iri iriwabwa\nIldan algesseuni iri iriwabwa\nYeogiga bulpyeonhamyeon bakkeuro nawa\nYayayayaya iriwabwa\nYayayaya bakkeuro nawa\nYayayayaya iriwabwa\nYayayaya bakkeuro nawa\n\nI'm talkin bout harutgaeui gunchim\nYoung blood busim\nBaneuldoduk sododuk doeneun sokdamui jungsim\nJeongsangiraseo da beoreok hago busiji\nNal mullo bwatdamyeon tabaseukocheoreom juui\nHaera nan bangtanghae yeppeun namja ttawin beorim\nNal goemurirago bulleo naega jachinghan jeok eobsi\nNeonen jeonsin yuri api jiha deonjeonboda hwol jochi\nSillyeogi oemomyeon nan bangtan yuri ape wonbin\nTteotda hamyeon eumchi raepeodeurui ilkkaji\nDa hae meogeo hal il eobsi neoneneun i kkaji\nNal hubaero injeong mareo chinhan cheok samgahaji\nKkoumyeon sillyeogeuro kkeokkeo ssagaji\n\nNaege hal mal isseum iri iriwabwa\nMwodeun deureojulge iri iriwabwa\nIldan algesseuni iri iriwabwa\nYeogiga bulpyeonhamyeon bakkeuro nawa\nYayayayaya iriwabwa\nYayayaya bakkeuro nawa\nYayayayaya iriwabwa\nYayayaya bakkeuro nawa\n\nNobody can do it like me\nLike me like me\nNobody can do it like me\nLike me like me\nNo that's not me my dear\nDwido dora boji malgo ttwieo\nGeollimyeon kkeut U have no idea\nIge majimagiya neoui sowoneul deureojulge\nTtan malhaji malgo mujogeon bireo\nChaegimjyeo chaegimjyeo niga han mal\nGeurae dasi hanbeon haebwa eoseo naege banmal\nMeonji hwinallyeo igeon pinalleya\nKkeuteun yeongeoro halge Get the fxxx outta here\nGajjaga neomuna manha\nIgeon museun samnyugeup manhwa\nTaekdo eomneun sori haji mara ani\nIriwabwa naega teullyeosseuni niga na daesin maja\n\nNaege hal mal isseum iri iriwabwa\nMwodeun deureojulge iri iriwabwa\nIldan algesseuni iri iriwabwa\nYeogiga bulpyeonhamyeon bakkeuro nawa\nYayayayaya iriwabwa\nYayayaya bakkeuro nawa\nYayayayaya iriwabwa\nYayayaya bakkeuro nawa","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Doe Rae Wu\n artist: Bobby Digital, ODB & Kinetic\n album: 'Wu-Tang Productions Present Killa Beez: The Sting'\n duration_ms: 152921\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n Naege hal mal isseum iri iriwabwa\n Mwodeun deureojulge iri iriwabwa\n Ildan algesseuni iri iriwabwa\n Yeogiga bulpyeonhamyeon bakkeuro nawa\n Yayayayaya iriwabwa\n Yayayaya bakkeuro nawa\n Come here welcome to the real man's world\n Life is just a full of questions with no answers\n Geu modeun jilmundeurui dap nan junbidwaeisseo\n Young king young boss the dream chaser\n Gold chains gold watches and diamond bezel\n Naega wonhaneun geon gajyeo mwodeun maeumdaero\n Hyeonsiri eotteoteun gan geokjeong eobsi salmyeon doego\n Hanareul irun huen saeropge tto daeum level\n Geuge naui hiphabeul algo sipeo iri iriwabwa\n Hwaksilhi silhi malhal teni illy illy wa na\n Jeoldae jiji jiji anha beolbeol giji giji araseodeul\n Jjokpalligi sirheum nune ttuiji ttuiji mara u dig\n\n Naege hal mal isseum iri iriwabwa\n Mwodeun deureojulge iri iriwabwa\n Ildan algesseuni iri iriwabwa\n Yeogiga bulpyeonhamyeon bakkeuro nawa\n Yayayayaya iriwabwa\n Yayayaya bakkeuro nawa\n Yayayayaya iriwabwa\n Yayayaya bakkeuro nawa\n\n I'm talkin bout harutgaeui gunchim\n Young blood busim\n Baneuldoduk sododuk doeneun sokdamui jungsim\n Jeongsangiraseo da beoreok hago busiji\n Nal mullo bwatdamyeon tabaseukocheoreom juui\n Haera nan bangtanghae yeppeun namja ttawin beorim\n Nal goemurirago bulleo naega jachinghan jeok eobsi\n Neonen jeonsin yuri api jiha deonjeonboda hwol jochi\n Sillyeogi oemomyeon nan bangtan yuri ape wonbin\n Tteotda hamyeon eumchi raepeodeurui ilkkaji\n Da hae meogeo hal il eobsi neoneneun i kkaji\n Nal hubaero injeong mareo chinhan cheok samgahaji\n Kkoumyeon sillyeogeuro kkeokkeo ssagaji\n\n Naege hal mal isseum iri iriwabwa\n Mwodeun deureojulge iri iriwabwa\n Ildan algesseuni iri iriwabwa\n Yeogiga bulpyeonhamyeon bakkeuro nawa\n Yayayayaya iriwabwa\n Yayayaya bakkeuro nawa\n Yayayayaya iriwabwa\n Yayayaya bakkeuro nawa\n\n Nobody can do it like me\n Like me like me\n Nobody can do it like me\n Like me like me\n No that's not me my dear\n Dwido dora boji malgo ttwieo\n Geollimyeon kkeut U have no idea\n Ige majimagiya neoui sowoneul deureojulge\n Ttan malhaji malgo mujogeon bireo\n Chaegimjyeo chaegimjyeo niga han mal\n Geurae dasi hanbeon haebwa eoseo naege banmal\n Meonji hwinallyeo igeon pinalleya\n Kkeuteun yeongeoro halge Get the fxxx outta here\n Gajjaga neomuna manha\n Igeon museun samnyugeup manhwa\n Taekdo eomneun sori haji mara ani\n Iriwabwa naega teullyeosseuni niga na daesin maja\n\n Naege hal mal isseum iri iriwabwa\n Mwodeun deureojulge iri iriwabwa\n Ildan algesseuni iri iriwabwa\n Yeogiga bulpyeonhamyeon bakkeuro nawa\n Yayayayaya iriwabwa\n Yayayaya bakkeuro nawa\n Yayayayaya iriwabwa\n Yayayaya bakkeuro nawa\n"},{"id":18138240,"name":"KB Ridin' Ft. Wu-Tang Clan, Shacronz, Suga Bang Bang","trackName":"KB Ridin' Ft. Wu-Tang Clan, Shacronz, Suga Bang Bang","artistName":"Wu-Tang Killa Beez","albumName":"The Sting","duration":354.533333,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Word (These mothafuckin' niggas, man)\nYeah, I hear that, you got that shit, right?\n(Yeah, I got it) Lemme hear it\n(I'ma two-way Sunn back right now\nNext time she show up right on time for this shit)\nWord, no doubt\n(Better stop smokin' on that shit)\nFuck that, hey, don't do it with him\n(Whatever)\nYo yeah, lemme get that mothafucka's sayin' on this, nigga\n(Yeah, niggas be buggin' in here\nNigga don't speak no fuckin' English, word?)\nYou get me everything? (I got you a cheese joint)\n{Diamond buscuits, mothafucka!}\n\nNow let's see, we don't get down like that\nSee, he holds his own, haha, he holds his own\nHaha, he holds his own (Bank!)\n(John Blizzy) {Straight like that}\nHe holdin' twenty on this\n(Ghost Deini) {Uh-huh! Yeah!}\n(ShaCronz) {The invincible, baby)\nBad boys (Suga Bang) {It's like that!}\n(D-Digi!)\n\nSpontaneous combustion got niggas lustin'\nFuckin' with this head bustin' track spanker\nDecaffinator, crab sinker, twenty-five\nTryin' to live to see my forty acher, before I die\nImmaculate conceptions like loaded weapons\nShootin' up ya rap session in mere seconds (Bluh! Bluh!)\nYa whole style is undressin'\nTry to hide yaself behind the R&B section\nAnd got spotted, fuckin' with them fake artists who make garbage\nNow ya like a human target with no direction\nAnd no protection, rap nigga assed out and no question\nDead and buried, we holdin' like the military\nFuck Dog Shit, hide-out beats and hot cherries\nOn virgin mic's, style very cri-Tical\nBy any means necessary, mad lyr-ical\nThe Ghostrider, want vengeance on you style biters\nYa whole sect got you gassed 'til I sparked the lighter\nAnd burnt that ass like Dhalsim in Street Fighter\nI play the shadows, scopin' out you lime lighters and Desperados\n\nKilla Beez is ridin' East to West, baby\nSee our twenties spinnin' on our trucks, baby\nDiamonds, Cubans hangin' from our neck, baby\nCome on, come on\n\n{Baby cuz It's Not a Game}\nYou see them mothafuckin' twenty-inch chromes spinnin'?\n{Rocked out, baby, ice hangin'}\n\nBailed out from drugs, almost retired from bubblin'\nHammers was the guns under the rug, lift off my publishin'\nJet to Miami, I chuggle-lug the beat\nFiends beepin' me, I erase and delete (Come on)\nSurrounded my palm trees and sound-proof condos\nTryin' out Spanish foods, Roberto's bangin' bongos\nDo whatever, crackin' down weather, it means nice\nWalkin' down the strip, these fat niggas broke the ice\nDrive it in a host, the trucks, the gate's wide open\nA square box fell out, I'm hopin' it be coke and\nI snatched it, dipped into a parkin' lot and wrapped it\nSee diamonds, pearls, rubies, gems, covered with acid\nHeavens to mega-troid, infants'll know I'm paranoid\nWhat she goes through, I'm on a next flight to St. Croix\nSneaker boy and Genius, I heard he struck oil\nHim and Masta Killa own Fox and mad loyal\n\nDiamonds, Cubans hangin' from our neck, baby\nCome on, come on\n\n{The finest, baby, the finest}\n(You see them Linx hangin'?)\n\nYo, yo\nYou know I rarely fight, I keep heat plus I'm very nice\nI run with two-eighties on me like Jerry Rice\nI fuck with many birds, not the canary type\nI've seen a lot of happy days and scary nights\nMy click hotter than fish grease, kids be diss-free\nMost of these labels can't handle this heat\nI love new twat, scrap ho's on a few blocks\nWhen my hate grows I let the tools pop\nA lot of these rap niggas be fast to plea\nRaw cook up, Got the Hook-Up like Master P\nF.G., we don't talk, nigga, fast to squeeze\nWalk up and let a hundred shots crash ya V\nThe first to pull out, the first to body somethin'\nI got all the heat all the shorties in ya lobby pumpin'\nThem dudes you standin' with probably frontin'\nKilla Bee Gang got that shit that keep ya hottie jumpin'\nWhat?\n\nKilla Beez is ridin' East to West, baby\nSee our twenties spinnin' on our trucks, baby\nDiamonds, Cubans hangin' from our neck, baby\nCome on, come on\nKilla Beez is ridin' East to West, baby\nSee our twenties spinnin' on our trucks, baby\nDiamonds, Cubans hangin' from our neck, baby\nCome on, come on\n\n{Straight like that, baby, it's nuttin' less, K.B., baby\nDon't forget it, C.C.F.}\nYou see the shits spinnin'?\nCome on, nigga! {Clamp on, baby} Come on!\nYo, yo, tell them niggas, son\nWhat? What?\nYou see the shits spinnin'? {Yeah}\nShit hangin', son, they hangin' {Better catch it}\nCome on! Come on!\n\nStraight gangsta\n(Yo, you've just been experiencin'\nWu-Tang Killa Beez - The Sting)\nExplosive, baby, comin' at you\n(Y'all mothafuckas know.\nThe next chamber's the mothafuckin' weather)\nLook out for the Stingers, baby","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: KB Ridin' Ft. Wu-Tang Clan, Shacronz, Suga Bang Bang\n artist: Wu-Tang Killa Beez\n album: The Sting\n duration_ms: 354533\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n Word (These mothafuckin' niggas, man)\n Yeah, I hear that, you got that shit, right?\n (Yeah, I got it) Lemme hear it\n (I'ma two-way Sunn back right now\n Next time she show up right on time for this shit)\n Word, no doubt\n (Better stop smokin' on that shit)\n Fuck that, hey, don't do it with him\n (Whatever)\n Yo yeah, lemme get that mothafucka's sayin' on this, nigga\n (Yeah, niggas be buggin' in here\n Nigga don't speak no fuckin' English, word?)\n You get me everything? (I got you a cheese joint)\n {Diamond buscuits, mothafucka!}\n\n Now let's see, we don't get down like that\n See, he holds his own, haha, he holds his own\n Haha, he holds his own (Bank!)\n (John Blizzy) {Straight like that}\n He holdin' twenty on this\n (Ghost Deini) {Uh-huh! Yeah!}\n (ShaCronz) {The invincible, baby)\n Bad boys (Suga Bang) {It's like that!}\n (D-Digi!)\n\n Spontaneous combustion got niggas lustin'\n Fuckin' with this head bustin' track spanker\n Decaffinator, crab sinker, twenty-five\n Tryin' to live to see my forty acher, before I die\n Immaculate conceptions like loaded weapons\n Shootin' up ya rap session in mere seconds (Bluh! Bluh!)\n Ya whole style is undressin'\n Try to hide yaself behind the R&B section\n And got spotted, fuckin' with them fake artists who make garbage\n Now ya like a human target with no direction\n And no protection, rap nigga assed out and no question\n Dead and buried, we holdin' like the military\n Fuck Dog Shit, hide-out beats and hot cherries\n On virgin mic's, style very cri-Tical\n By any means necessary, mad lyr-ical\n The Ghostrider, want vengeance on you style biters\n Ya whole sect got you gassed 'til I sparked the lighter\n And burnt that ass like Dhalsim in Street Fighter\n I play the shadows, scopin' out you lime lighters and Desperados\n\n Killa Beez is ridin' East to West, baby\n See our twenties spinnin' on our trucks, baby\n Diamonds, Cubans hangin' from our neck, baby\n Come on, come on\n\n {Baby cuz It's Not a Game}\n You see them mothafuckin' twenty-inch chromes spinnin'?\n {Rocked out, baby, ice hangin'}\n\n Bailed out from drugs, almost retired from bubblin'\n Hammers was the guns under the rug, lift off my publishin'\n Jet to Miami, I chuggle-lug the beat\n Fiends beepin' me, I erase and delete (Come on)\n Surrounded my palm trees and sound-proof condos\n Tryin' out Spanish foods, Roberto's bangin' bongos\n Do whatever, crackin' down weather, it means nice\n Walkin' down the strip, these fat niggas broke the ice\n Drive it in a host, the trucks, the gate's wide open\n A square box fell out, I'm hopin' it be coke and\n I snatched it, dipped into a parkin' lot and wrapped it\n See diamonds, pearls, rubies, gems, covered with acid\n Heavens to mega-troid, infants'll know I'm paranoid\n What she goes through, I'm on a next flight to St. Croix\n Sneaker boy and Genius, I heard he struck oil\n Him and Masta Killa own Fox and mad loyal\n\n Diamonds, Cubans hangin' from our neck, baby\n Come on, come on\n\n {The finest, baby, the finest}\n (You see them Linx hangin'?)\n\n Yo, yo\n You know I rarely fight, I keep heat plus I'm very nice\n I run with two-eighties on me like Jerry Rice\n I fuck with many birds, not the canary type\n I've seen a lot of happy days and scary nights\n My click hotter than fish grease, kids be diss-free\n Most of these labels can't handle this heat\n I love new twat, scrap ho's on a few blocks\n When my hate grows I let the tools pop\n A lot of these rap niggas be fast to plea\n Raw cook up, Got the Hook-Up like Master P\n F.G., we don't talk, nigga, fast to squeeze\n Walk up and let a hundred shots crash ya V\n The first to pull out, the first to body somethin'\n I got all the heat all the shorties in ya lobby pumpin'\n Them dudes you standin' with probably frontin'\n Killa Bee Gang got that shit that keep ya hottie jumpin'\n What?\n\n Killa Beez is ridin' East to West, baby\n See our twenties spinnin' on our trucks, baby\n Diamonds, Cubans hangin' from our neck, baby\n Come on, come on\n Killa Beez is ridin' East to West, baby\n See our twenties spinnin' on our trucks, baby\n Diamonds, Cubans hangin' from our neck, baby\n Come on, come on\n\n {Straight like that, baby, it's nuttin' less, K.B., baby\n Don't forget it, C.C.F.}\n You see the shits spinnin'?\n Come on, nigga! {Clamp on, baby} Come on!\n Yo, yo, tell them niggas, son\n What? What?\n You see the shits spinnin'? {Yeah}\n Shit hangin', son, they hangin' {Better catch it}\n Come on! Come on!\n\n Straight gangsta\n (Yo, you've just been experiencin'\n Wu-Tang Killa Beez - The Sting)\n Explosive, baby, comin' at you\n (Y'all mothafuckas know.\n The next chamber's the mothafuckin' weather)\n Look out for the Stingers, baby\n"},{"id":3320425,"name":"KB Ridin'","trackName":"KB Ridin'","artistName":"Wu-Tang Clan, Shacronz & Suga Bang Bang","albumName":"Wu-Tang Productions Present Killa Beez: The Sting","duration":355.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Word (These mothafuckin' niggas, man)\nYeah, I hear that, you got that shit, right?\n(Yeah, I got it) Lemme hear it\n(I'ma two-way Sunn back right now\nNext time she show up right on time for this shit)\nWord, no doubt\n(Better stop smokin' on that shit)\nFuck that, hey, don't do it with him\n(Whatever)\nYo yeah, lemme get that mothafucka's sayin' on this, nigga\n(Yeah, niggas be buggin' in here\nNigga don't speak no fuckin' English, word?)\nYou get me everything? (I got you a cheese joint)\n{Diamond buscuits, mothafucka!}\n\nNow let's see, we don't get down like that\nSee, he holds his own, haha, he holds his own\nHaha, he holds his own (Bank!)\n(John Blizzy) {Straight like that}\nHe holdin' twenty on this\n(Ghost Deini) {Uh-huh! Yeah!}\n(ShaCronz) {The invincible, baby)\nBad boys (Suga Bang) {It's like that!}\n(D-Digi!)\n\nSpontaneous combustion got niggas lustin'\nFuckin' with this head bustin' track spanker\nDecaffinator, crab sinker, twenty-five\nTryin' to live to see my forty acher, before I die\nImmaculate conceptions like loaded weapons\nShootin' up ya rap session in mere seconds (Bluh! Bluh!)\nYa whole style is undressin'\nTry to hide yaself behind the R&B section\nAnd got spotted, fuckin' with them fake artists who make garbage\nNow ya like a human target with no direction\nAnd no protection, rap nigga assed out and no question\nDead and buried, we holdin' like the military\nFuck Dog Shit, hide-out beats and hot cherries\nOn virgin mic's, style very cri-Tical\nBy any means necessary, mad lyr-ical\nThe Ghostrider, want vengeance on you style biters\nYa whole sect got you gassed 'til I sparked the lighter\nAnd burnt that ass like Dhalsim in Street Fighter\nI play the shadows, scopin' out you lime lighters and Desperados\n\nKilla Beez is ridin' East to West, baby\nSee our twenties spinnin' on our trucks, baby\nDiamonds, Cubans hangin' from our neck, baby\nCome on, come on\n\n{Baby cuz It's Not a Game}\nYou see them mothafuckin' twenty-inch chromes spinnin'?\n{Rocked out, baby, ice hangin'}\n\nBailed out from drugs, almost retired from bubblin'\nHammers was the guns under the rug, lift off my publishin'\nJet to Miami, I chuggle-lug the beat\nFiends beepin' me, I erase and delete (Come on)\nSurrounded my palm trees and sound-proof condos\nTryin' out Spanish foods, Roberto's bangin' bongos\nDo whatever, crackin' down weather, it means nice\nWalkin' down the strip, these fat niggas broke the ice\nDrive it in a host, the trucks, the gate's wide open\nA square box fell out, I'm hopin' it be coke and\nI snatched it, dipped into a parkin' lot and wrapped it\nSee diamonds, pearls, rubies, gems, covered with acid\nHeavens to mega-troid, infants'll know I'm paranoid\nWhat she goes through, I'm on a next flight to St. Croix\nSneaker boy and Genius, I heard he struck oil\nHim and Masta Killa own Fox and mad loyal\n\nDiamonds, Cubans hangin' from our neck, baby\nCome on, come on\n\n{The finest, baby, the finest}\n(You see them Linx hangin'?)\n\nYo, yo\nYou know I rarely fight, I keep heat plus I'm very nice\nI run with two-eighties on me like Jerry Rice\nI fuck with many birds, not the canary type\nI've seen a lot of happy days and scary nights\nMy click hotter than fish grease, kids be diss-free\nMost of these labels can't handle this heat\nI love new twat, scrap ho's on a few blocks\nWhen my hate grows I let the tools pop\nA lot of these rap niggas be fast to plea\nRaw cook up, Got the Hook-Up like Master P\nF.G., we don't talk, nigga, fast to squeeze\nWalk up and let a hundred shots crash ya V\nThe first to pull out, the first to body somethin'\nI got all the heat all the shorties in ya lobby pumpin'\nThem dudes you standin' with probably frontin'\nKilla Bee Gang got that shit that keep ya hottie jumpin'\nWhat?\n\nKilla Beez is ridin' East to West, baby\nSee our twenties spinnin' on our trucks, baby\nDiamonds, Cubans hangin' from our neck, baby\nCome on, come on\nKilla Beez is ridin' East to West, baby\nSee our twenties spinnin' on our trucks, baby\nDiamonds, Cubans hangin' from our neck, baby\nCome on, come on\n\n{Straight like that, baby, it's nuttin' less, K.B., baby\nDon't forget it, C.C.F.}\nYou see the shits spinnin'?\nCome on, nigga! {Clamp on, baby} Come on!\nYo, yo, tell them niggas, son\nWhat? What?\nYou see the shits spinnin'? {Yeah}\nShit hangin', son, they hangin' {Better catch it}\nCome on! Come on!\n\nStraight gangsta\n(Yo, you've just been experiencin'\nWu-Tang Killa Beez - The Sting)\nExplosive, baby, comin' at you\n(Y'all mothafuckas know.\nThe next chamber's the mothafuckin' weather)\nLook out for the Stingers, baby","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: KB Ridin'\n artist: Wu-Tang Clan, Shacronz & Suga Bang Bang\n album: 'Wu-Tang Productions Present Killa Beez: The Sting'\n duration_ms: 355000\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n Word (These mothafuckin' niggas, man)\n Yeah, I hear that, you got that shit, right?\n (Yeah, I got it) Lemme hear it\n (I'ma two-way Sunn back right now\n Next time she show up right on time for this shit)\n Word, no doubt\n (Better stop smokin' on that shit)\n Fuck that, hey, don't do it with him\n (Whatever)\n Yo yeah, lemme get that mothafucka's sayin' on this, nigga\n (Yeah, niggas be buggin' in here\n Nigga don't speak no fuckin' English, word?)\n You get me everything? (I got you a cheese joint)\n {Diamond buscuits, mothafucka!}\n\n Now let's see, we don't get down like that\n See, he holds his own, haha, he holds his own\n Haha, he holds his own (Bank!)\n (John Blizzy) {Straight like that}\n He holdin' twenty on this\n (Ghost Deini) {Uh-huh! Yeah!}\n (ShaCronz) {The invincible, baby)\n Bad boys (Suga Bang) {It's like that!}\n (D-Digi!)\n\n Spontaneous combustion got niggas lustin'\n Fuckin' with this head bustin' track spanker\n Decaffinator, crab sinker, twenty-five\n Tryin' to live to see my forty acher, before I die\n Immaculate conceptions like loaded weapons\n Shootin' up ya rap session in mere seconds (Bluh! Bluh!)\n Ya whole style is undressin'\n Try to hide yaself behind the R&B section\n And got spotted, fuckin' with them fake artists who make garbage\n Now ya like a human target with no direction\n And no protection, rap nigga assed out and no question\n Dead and buried, we holdin' like the military\n Fuck Dog Shit, hide-out beats and hot cherries\n On virgin mic's, style very cri-Tical\n By any means necessary, mad lyr-ical\n The Ghostrider, want vengeance on you style biters\n Ya whole sect got you gassed 'til I sparked the lighter\n And burnt that ass like Dhalsim in Street Fighter\n I play the shadows, scopin' out you lime lighters and Desperados\n\n Killa Beez is ridin' East to West, baby\n See our twenties spinnin' on our trucks, baby\n Diamonds, Cubans hangin' from our neck, baby\n Come on, come on\n\n {Baby cuz It's Not a Game}\n You see them mothafuckin' twenty-inch chromes spinnin'?\n {Rocked out, baby, ice hangin'}\n\n Bailed out from drugs, almost retired from bubblin'\n Hammers was the guns under the rug, lift off my publishin'\n Jet to Miami, I chuggle-lug the beat\n Fiends beepin' me, I erase and delete (Come on)\n Surrounded my palm trees and sound-proof condos\n Tryin' out Spanish foods, Roberto's bangin' bongos\n Do whatever, crackin' down weather, it means nice\n Walkin' down the strip, these fat niggas broke the ice\n Drive it in a host, the trucks, the gate's wide open\n A square box fell out, I'm hopin' it be coke and\n I snatched it, dipped into a parkin' lot and wrapped it\n See diamonds, pearls, rubies, gems, covered with acid\n Heavens to mega-troid, infants'll know I'm paranoid\n What she goes through, I'm on a next flight to St. Croix\n Sneaker boy and Genius, I heard he struck oil\n Him and Masta Killa own Fox and mad loyal\n\n Diamonds, Cubans hangin' from our neck, baby\n Come on, come on\n\n {The finest, baby, the finest}\n (You see them Linx hangin'?)\n\n Yo, yo\n You know I rarely fight, I keep heat plus I'm very nice\n I run with two-eighties on me like Jerry Rice\n I fuck with many birds, not the canary type\n I've seen a lot of happy days and scary nights\n My click hotter than fish grease, kids be diss-free\n Most of these labels can't handle this heat\n I love new twat, scrap ho's on a few blocks\n When my hate grows I let the tools pop\n A lot of these rap niggas be fast to plea\n Raw cook up, Got the Hook-Up like Master P\n F.G., we don't talk, nigga, fast to squeeze\n Walk up and let a hundred shots crash ya V\n The first to pull out, the first to body somethin'\n I got all the heat all the shorties in ya lobby pumpin'\n Them dudes you standin' with probably frontin'\n Killa Bee Gang got that shit that keep ya hottie jumpin'\n What?\n\n Killa Beez is ridin' East to West, baby\n See our twenties spinnin' on our trucks, baby\n Diamonds, Cubans hangin' from our neck, baby\n Come on, come on\n Killa Beez is ridin' East to West, baby\n See our twenties spinnin' on our trucks, baby\n Diamonds, Cubans hangin' from our neck, baby\n Come on, come on\n\n {Straight like that, baby, it's nuttin' less, K.B., baby\n Don't forget it, C.C.F.}\n You see the shits spinnin'?\n Come on, nigga! {Clamp on, baby} Come on!\n Yo, yo, tell them niggas, son\n What? What?\n You see the shits spinnin'? {Yeah}\n Shit hangin', son, they hangin' {Better catch it}\n Come on! Come on!\n\n Straight gangsta\n (Yo, you've just been experiencin'\n Wu-Tang Killa Beez - The Sting)\n Explosive, baby, comin' at you\n (Y'all mothafuckas know.\n The next chamber's the mothafuckin' weather)\n Look out for the Stingers, baby\n"},{"id":11091137,"name":"KB Ridin’","trackName":"KB Ridin’","artistName":"Wu‐Tang Clan, ShaCronz & Suga Bang Bang","albumName":"Wu-Tang Productions Present Killa Beez: The Sting","duration":355.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Word (These mothafuckin' niggas, man)\nYeah, I hear that, you got that shit, right?\n(Yeah, I got it) Lemme hear it\n(I'ma two-way Sunn back right now\nNext time she show up right on time for this shit)\nWord, no doubt\n(Better stop smokin' on that shit)\nFuck that, hey, don't do it with him\n(Whatever)\nYo yeah, lemme get that mothafucka's sayin' on this, nigga\n(Yeah, niggas be buggin' in here\nNigga don't speak no fuckin' English, word?)\nYou get me everything? (I got you a cheese joint)\n{Diamond buscuits, mothafucka!}\n\nNow let's see, we don't get down like that\nSee, he holds his own, haha, he holds his own\nHaha, he holds his own (Bank!)\n(John Blizzy) {Straight like that}\nHe holdin' twenty on this\n(Ghost Deini) {Uh-huh! Yeah!}\n(ShaCronz) {The invincible, baby)\nBad boys (Suga Bang) {It's like that!}\n(D-Digi!)\n\nSpontaneous combustion got niggas lustin'\nFuckin' with this head bustin' track spanker\nDecaffinator, crab sinker, twenty-five\nTryin' to live to see my forty acher, before I die\nImmaculate conceptions like loaded weapons\nShootin' up ya rap session in mere seconds (Bluh! Bluh!)\nYa whole style is undressin'\nTry to hide yaself behind the R&B section\nAnd got spotted, fuckin' with them fake artists who make garbage\nNow ya like a human target with no direction\nAnd no protection, rap nigga assed out and no question\nDead and buried, we holdin' like the military\nFuck Dog Shit, hide-out beats and hot cherries\nOn virgin mic's, style very cri-Tical\nBy any means necessary, mad lyr-ical\nThe Ghostrider, want vengeance on you style biters\nYa whole sect got you gassed 'til I sparked the lighter\nAnd burnt that ass like Dhalsim in Street Fighter\nI play the shadows, scopin' out you lime lighters and Desperados\n\nKilla Beez is ridin' East to West, baby\nSee our twenties spinnin' on our trucks, baby\nDiamonds, Cubans hangin' from our neck, baby\nCome on, come on\n\n{Baby cuz It's Not a Game}\nYou see them mothafuckin' twenty-inch chromes spinnin'?\n{Rocked out, baby, ice hangin'}\n\nBailed out from drugs, almost retired from bubblin'\nHammers was the guns under the rug, lift off my publishin'\nJet to Miami, I chuggle-lug the beat\nFiends beepin' me, I erase and delete (Come on)\nSurrounded my palm trees and sound-proof condos\nTryin' out Spanish foods, Roberto's bangin' bongos\nDo whatever, crackin' down weather, it means nice\nWalkin' down the strip, these fat niggas broke the ice\nDrive it in a host, the trucks, the gate's wide open\nA square box fell out, I'm hopin' it be coke and\nI snatched it, dipped into a parkin' lot and wrapped it\nSee diamonds, pearls, rubies, gems, covered with acid\nHeavens to mega-troid, infants'll know I'm paranoid\nWhat she goes through, I'm on a next flight to St. Croix\nSneaker boy and Genius, I heard he struck oil\nHim and Masta Killa own Fox and mad loyal\n\nDiamonds, Cubans hangin' from our neck, baby\nCome on, come on\n\n{The finest, baby, the finest}\n(You see them Linx hangin'?)\n\nYo, yo\nYou know I rarely fight, I keep heat plus I'm very nice\nI run with two-eighties on me like Jerry Rice\nI fuck with many birds, not the canary type\nI've seen a lot of happy days and scary nights\nMy click hotter than fish grease, kids be diss-free\nMost of these labels can't handle this heat\nI love new twat, scrap ho's on a few blocks\nWhen my hate grows I let the tools pop\nA lot of these rap niggas be fast to plea\nRaw cook up, Got the Hook-Up like Master P\nF.G., we don't talk, nigga, fast to squeeze\nWalk up and let a hundred shots crash ya V\nThe first to pull out, the first to body somethin'\nI got all the heat all the shorties in ya lobby pumpin'\nThem dudes you standin' with probably frontin'\nKilla Bee Gang got that shit that keep ya hottie jumpin'\nWhat?\n\nKilla Beez is ridin' East to West, baby\nSee our twenties spinnin' on our trucks, baby\nDiamonds, Cubans hangin' from our neck, baby\nCome on, come on\nKilla Beez is ridin' East to West, baby\nSee our twenties spinnin' on our trucks, baby\nDiamonds, Cubans hangin' from our neck, baby\nCome on, come on\n\n{Straight like that, baby, it's nuttin' less, K.B., baby\nDon't forget it, C.C.F.}\nYou see the shits spinnin'?\nCome on, nigga! {Clamp on, baby} Come on!\nYo, yo, tell them niggas, son\nWhat? What?\nYou see the shits spinnin'? {Yeah}\nShit hangin', son, they hangin' {Better catch it}\nCome on! Come on!\n\nStraight gangsta\n(Yo, you've just been experiencin'\nWu-Tang Killa Beez - The Sting)\nExplosive, baby, comin' at you\n(Y'all mothafuckas know.\nThe next chamber's the mothafuckin' weather)\nLook out for the Stingers, baby","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: KB Ridin’\n artist: Wu‐Tang Clan, ShaCronz & Suga Bang Bang\n album: 'Wu-Tang Productions Present Killa Beez: The Sting'\n duration_ms: 355000\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n Word (These mothafuckin' niggas, man)\n Yeah, I hear that, you got that shit, right?\n (Yeah, I got it) Lemme hear it\n (I'ma two-way Sunn back right now\n Next time she show up right on time for this shit)\n Word, no doubt\n (Better stop smokin' on that shit)\n Fuck that, hey, don't do it with him\n (Whatever)\n Yo yeah, lemme get that mothafucka's sayin' on this, nigga\n (Yeah, niggas be buggin' in here\n Nigga don't speak no fuckin' English, word?)\n You get me everything? (I got you a cheese joint)\n {Diamond buscuits, mothafucka!}\n\n Now let's see, we don't get down like that\n See, he holds his own, haha, he holds his own\n Haha, he holds his own (Bank!)\n (John Blizzy) {Straight like that}\n He holdin' twenty on this\n (Ghost Deini) {Uh-huh! Yeah!}\n (ShaCronz) {The invincible, baby)\n Bad boys (Suga Bang) {It's like that!}\n (D-Digi!)\n\n Spontaneous combustion got niggas lustin'\n Fuckin' with this head bustin' track spanker\n Decaffinator, crab sinker, twenty-five\n Tryin' to live to see my forty acher, before I die\n Immaculate conceptions like loaded weapons\n Shootin' up ya rap session in mere seconds (Bluh! Bluh!)\n Ya whole style is undressin'\n Try to hide yaself behind the R&B section\n And got spotted, fuckin' with them fake artists who make garbage\n Now ya like a human target with no direction\n And no protection, rap nigga assed out and no question\n Dead and buried, we holdin' like the military\n Fuck Dog Shit, hide-out beats and hot cherries\n On virgin mic's, style very cri-Tical\n By any means necessary, mad lyr-ical\n The Ghostrider, want vengeance on you style biters\n Ya whole sect got you gassed 'til I sparked the lighter\n And burnt that ass like Dhalsim in Street Fighter\n I play the shadows, scopin' out you lime lighters and Desperados\n\n Killa Beez is ridin' East to West, baby\n See our twenties spinnin' on our trucks, baby\n Diamonds, Cubans hangin' from our neck, baby\n Come on, come on\n\n {Baby cuz It's Not a Game}\n You see them mothafuckin' twenty-inch chromes spinnin'?\n {Rocked out, baby, ice hangin'}\n\n Bailed out from drugs, almost retired from bubblin'\n Hammers was the guns under the rug, lift off my publishin'\n Jet to Miami, I chuggle-lug the beat\n Fiends beepin' me, I erase and delete (Come on)\n Surrounded my palm trees and sound-proof condos\n Tryin' out Spanish foods, Roberto's bangin' bongos\n Do whatever, crackin' down weather, it means nice\n Walkin' down the strip, these fat niggas broke the ice\n Drive it in a host, the trucks, the gate's wide open\n A square box fell out, I'm hopin' it be coke and\n I snatched it, dipped into a parkin' lot and wrapped it\n See diamonds, pearls, rubies, gems, covered with acid\n Heavens to mega-troid, infants'll know I'm paranoid\n What she goes through, I'm on a next flight to St. Croix\n Sneaker boy and Genius, I heard he struck oil\n Him and Masta Killa own Fox and mad loyal\n\n Diamonds, Cubans hangin' from our neck, baby\n Come on, come on\n\n {The finest, baby, the finest}\n (You see them Linx hangin'?)\n\n Yo, yo\n You know I rarely fight, I keep heat plus I'm very nice\n I run with two-eighties on me like Jerry Rice\n I fuck with many birds, not the canary type\n I've seen a lot of happy days and scary nights\n My click hotter than fish grease, kids be diss-free\n Most of these labels can't handle this heat\n I love new twat, scrap ho's on a few blocks\n When my hate grows I let the tools pop\n A lot of these rap niggas be fast to plea\n Raw cook up, Got the Hook-Up like Master P\n F.G., we don't talk, nigga, fast to squeeze\n Walk up and let a hundred shots crash ya V\n The first to pull out, the first to body somethin'\n I got all the heat all the shorties in ya lobby pumpin'\n Them dudes you standin' with probably frontin'\n Killa Bee Gang got that shit that keep ya hottie jumpin'\n What?\n\n Killa Beez is ridin' East to West, baby\n See our twenties spinnin' on our trucks, baby\n Diamonds, Cubans hangin' from our neck, baby\n Come on, come on\n Killa Beez is ridin' East to West, baby\n See our twenties spinnin' on our trucks, baby\n Diamonds, Cubans hangin' from our neck, baby\n Come on, come on\n\n {Straight like that, baby, it's nuttin' less, K.B., baby\n Don't forget it, C.C.F.}\n You see the shits spinnin'?\n Come on, nigga! {Clamp on, baby} Come on!\n Yo, yo, tell them niggas, son\n What? What?\n You see the shits spinnin'? {Yeah}\n Shit hangin', son, they hangin' {Better catch it}\n Come on! Come on!\n\n Straight gangsta\n (Yo, you've just been experiencin'\n Wu-Tang Killa Beez - The Sting)\n Explosive, baby, comin' at you\n (Y'all mothafuckas know.\n The next chamber's the mothafuckin' weather)\n Look out for the Stingers, baby\n"},{"id":27338563,"name":"Da Mystery Of Chess Boxing Classic","trackName":"Da Mystery Of Chess Boxing Classic","artistName":"Wu Tang Clan","albumName":"DJ Messiah-Return Of The Killa Beez","duration":285.753469,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"The game of chess, is like a swordfight\nYou must think first, before you move\nToad style is immensely strong\nAnd immune to nearly any weapon\nWhen it's properly used, it's almost invincible\n\nRaw I'mma give it to ya, with no trivia\nRaw like cocaine straight from Bolivia\nMy hip hop will rock and shock the nation\nLike the emancipation proclamation\nWeak MC's approach with slang that's dead\nYou might as well run into the wall\nAnd bang your head\nI'm pushin' force, my force your doubtin'\n\nI'm makin' devils cower\n\nTo the caucus mountains\n\nWell I'm a sire, I set the microphone on fire\nRap styles vary, and carry like Mariah\nI come from the Shaolin slum\nAnd the isle I'm from\nIs comin' through with nuff niggaz\nAnd nuff guns\nSo if you wanna come sweatin'\nStressin' contestin'\nYou'll catch a sharp sword to the midsection\nDon't talk the talk, if you can't walk the walk\nPhony niggaz are outlined in chalk\nA man vexed\n\nIs what the projects made me\nRebel to the grain there's no way to barricade me\nSteamrollin' niggas like a eighteen wheeler\n\nWith the drunk driver drivin'\nThere's no survivin'\n\nRuff like Timberland wear, yea\nMe and the clan\nAnd, yo, the landcruisers out there\nPeace to all the crooks\nAll the niggaz with bad looks\nBald heads, braids, blow this hook\nWe got chrome teks, nickel plated macs\nBlack ac's, drug dealin' styles in phat stacks\nI only been a good nigga for a minute though\n'Cuz I got to get my props, and win it, yo\nI got beef wit commercial ass niggaz with gold teeth\nLampin' in a Lexus eatin' beef\n\nStraight up and down don't even bother\nI got forty niggaz up in here now\nWho kill niggaz fathers\n\nMy peoples, are you with me?\nWhere you at?\n\nIn the front, in the back killa bees on attack\nMy peoples, are you with me?\nWhere you at?\nSmokin' meth hittin' cats on the block with the gats\n\nHere I go, deep type flow\nJacques Cousteau could never get this low\nI'm cherry bombin' shits, boom\nJust warmin' up a little bit, umm hmm\nRappinin' is what's happenin'\nKeep the pockets stacked and then\nHands clappin' and\nAt the party when I move my body\nGotta get up, and be somebody\nGrab the microphone put strength to the bone\nDuh, duh, duh, enter the Wutang zone\nSure enough when I rock that stuff\nHuff puff, I'm gonna catch your bluff tuff\nRough, kickin' rhymes like Jim Kelly\nOr Alex Haley, I'm a m' Beetle Bailey rhymes\nComin' raw style, hardcore\nNiggaz be comin' to the hip hop store\nComin' to buy grocery from me\nTryin to be a hip hop MC\nThe law, in order to enter the Wutang\n\nYou must bring the old dirty bastard type slang\nRepresent the GZA, Abbot, RZA, Shaquan, Inspecta Deck\nDirty hoe gettin' low wit' his flow\nDucin' the ghostface killer\nNo one could get illa\n\nMy peoples, are you with me?\nWhere you at?\nIn the front, in the back killa bees on attack\nMy peoples, are you with me?\nWhere you at?\nSmokin' meth hittin' cats on the block with the gats\n\nSpeakin' of the Devil psych\nNo it's the God, get the shit right\nMega Trife and, yo, I killed you in a past life\nOn the mic while you was kickin' that fast shit\nYou renegged tried again, and got blasted\nHalf mastered ass style mad ruff task\nWhen I struck I had on Tims and a black mask\nRemember that shit? I know you don't remember Jack\nThat night yo I wuz hittin' like a spiked bat\n\nAnd then you thought I was bugged out, and crazy\nStrapped for nonsense, after me became lazy\nYo, nobody budge while I shot slugs\nNever shot thugs, I'm runnin' with thugs that flood mugs\nSo grab your eight plus one, start flippin' and trippin'\nNiggaz is jettin' I'm lickin' off son\nWutang, Wutang, Wutang, Wutang (Wutang is immensely struck)\n\nHomicide's illegal and death is the penalty\nWhat justifies the homicide, when he dies?\nIn his own iniquity it's the\nMaster of the mantis rapture comin' at cha?\nWe have an APB on an MC killer\nLooks like the work of a master\nEvidence indicates that's it's stature\nMerciless like a terrorist hard to capture\n\nThe flow changes like a chameleon\nPlays like a friend, and stabs you like a dagger\nThis technique attacks the immune system\nThe styles like alive paralyzin' the victim\nYou scream, as it enters your bloodstream\nErupts your brain from the pain these thoughts contain\n\nMovin' on a nigga with the speed of a centipede\nOr ninja any motha fuckin' contender\n\nMy peoples, are you with me?\nWhere you at?\nIn the front, in the back killa bees on attack\nMy peoples, are you with me?\nWhere you at?\nSmokin' meth hittin' cats on the block with the gats\n\nImmune to nearly any weapon\nWhen it's properly used, it's almost invincible\nToad style is immensely strong\nAnd immune to nearly any weapon\nWhen it's properly used, it's almost invincible\nIt's properly used","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Da Mystery Of Chess Boxing Classic\n artist: Wu Tang Clan\n album: DJ Messiah-Return Of The Killa Beez\n duration_ms: 285753\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n The game of chess, is like a swordfight\n You must think first, before you move\n Toad style is immensely strong\n And immune to nearly any weapon\n When it's properly used, it's almost invincible\n\n Raw I'mma give it to ya, with no trivia\n Raw like cocaine straight from Bolivia\n My hip hop will rock and shock the nation\n Like the emancipation proclamation\n Weak MC's approach with slang that's dead\n You might as well run into the wall\n And bang your head\n I'm pushin' force, my force your doubtin'\n\n I'm makin' devils cower\n\n To the caucus mountains\n\n Well I'm a sire, I set the microphone on fire\n Rap styles vary, and carry like Mariah\n I come from the Shaolin slum\n And the isle I'm from\n Is comin' through with nuff niggaz\n And nuff guns\n So if you wanna come sweatin'\n Stressin' contestin'\n You'll catch a sharp sword to the midsection\n Don't talk the talk, if you can't walk the walk\n Phony niggaz are outlined in chalk\n A man vexed\n\n Is what the projects made me\n Rebel to the grain there's no way to barricade me\n Steamrollin' niggas like a eighteen wheeler\n\n With the drunk driver drivin'\n There's no survivin'\n\n Ruff like Timberland wear, yea\n Me and the clan\n And, yo, the landcruisers out there\n Peace to all the crooks\n All the niggaz with bad looks\n Bald heads, braids, blow this hook\n We got chrome teks, nickel plated macs\n Black ac's, drug dealin' styles in phat stacks\n I only been a good nigga for a minute though\n 'Cuz I got to get my props, and win it, yo\n I got beef wit commercial ass niggaz with gold teeth\n Lampin' in a Lexus eatin' beef\n\n Straight up and down don't even bother\n I got forty niggaz up in here now\n Who kill niggaz fathers\n\n My peoples, are you with me?\n Where you at?\n\n In the front, in the back killa bees on attack\n My peoples, are you with me?\n Where you at?\n Smokin' meth hittin' cats on the block with the gats\n\n Here I go, deep type flow\n Jacques Cousteau could never get this low\n I'm cherry bombin' shits, boom\n Just warmin' up a little bit, umm hmm\n Rappinin' is what's happenin'\n Keep the pockets stacked and then\n Hands clappin' and\n At the party when I move my body\n Gotta get up, and be somebody\n Grab the microphone put strength to the bone\n Duh, duh, duh, enter the Wutang zone\n Sure enough when I rock that stuff\n Huff puff, I'm gonna catch your bluff tuff\n Rough, kickin' rhymes like Jim Kelly\n Or Alex Haley, I'm a m' Beetle Bailey rhymes\n Comin' raw style, hardcore\n Niggaz be comin' to the hip hop store\n Comin' to buy grocery from me\n Tryin to be a hip hop MC\n The law, in order to enter the Wutang\n\n You must bring the old dirty bastard type slang\n Represent the GZA, Abbot, RZA, Shaquan, Inspecta Deck\n Dirty hoe gettin' low wit' his flow\n Ducin' the ghostface killer\n No one could get illa\n\n My peoples, are you with me?\n Where you at?\n In the front, in the back killa bees on attack\n My peoples, are you with me?\n Where you at?\n Smokin' meth hittin' cats on the block with the gats\n\n Speakin' of the Devil psych\n No it's the God, get the shit right\n Mega Trife and, yo, I killed you in a past life\n On the mic while you was kickin' that fast shit\n You renegged tried again, and got blasted\n Half mastered ass style mad ruff task\n When I struck I had on Tims and a black mask\n Remember that shit? I know you don't remember Jack\n That night yo I wuz hittin' like a spiked bat\n\n And then you thought I was bugged out, and crazy\n Strapped for nonsense, after me became lazy\n Yo, nobody budge while I shot slugs\n Never shot thugs, I'm runnin' with thugs that flood mugs\n So grab your eight plus one, start flippin' and trippin'\n Niggaz is jettin' I'm lickin' off son\n Wutang, Wutang, Wutang, Wutang (Wutang is immensely struck)\n\n Homicide's illegal and death is the penalty\n What justifies the homicide, when he dies?\n In his own iniquity it's the\n Master of the mantis rapture comin' at cha?\n We have an APB on an MC killer\n Looks like the work of a master\n Evidence indicates that's it's stature\n Merciless like a terrorist hard to capture\n\n The flow changes like a chameleon\n Plays like a friend, and stabs you like a dagger\n This technique attacks the immune system\n The styles like alive paralyzin' the victim\n You scream, as it enters your bloodstream\n Erupts your brain from the pain these thoughts contain\n\n Movin' on a nigga with the speed of a centipede\n Or ninja any motha fuckin' contender\n\n My peoples, are you with me?\n Where you at?\n In the front, in the back killa bees on attack\n My peoples, are you with me?\n Where you at?\n Smokin' meth hittin' cats on the block with the gats\n\n Immune to nearly any weapon\n When it's properly used, it's almost invincible\n Toad style is immensely strong\n And immune to nearly any weapon\n When it's properly used, it's almost invincible\n It's properly used\n"},{"id":11610094,"name":"When You Come Home","trackName":"When You Come Home","artistName":"Shyheim","albumName":"Wu-Tang Productions Present Killa Beez: The Sting","duration":253.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"[Intro:]\nDa, Reddy Red, Homicide, Eagle, Free,\nNah' mean? (Do it like we used to)\nReal, uh- huh\nRed, Pabi, What up? Yeah. Ishmael\n\n[Verse 1]\nI used to kick my new rhymes to him when I made them up\nWe'd smoke a blunt, and build on shit was real growing up\nGoing through the same things, we seeing eye to eye\nAnd no matter what happens, promised to let nothing die\nSo was born when he got bagged for 56 dimes\nI'mma give his girl commissary money all the time\nHe caught this disease and couldn't stay out'ta jail\nLocked up when his mom died, shit really got real\nHe came to the wake in handcuffs\nDear God, Life as a shorty shouldn't be so rough\nHis girl eight months pregnant, a nurse assistant holding him down\nFaithfully on every visit, food packages, she bring him trees and\nEverything\nA down ass bitch is a thug's everything\nI'm day he night, we the same blood type, brothers for life\nI fly him kites on the regular\n\n[Chorus]\nWhen you come home, we gon' blow crazy O's son (Don't stress)\nWhen you come home, we gon' fuck mad hoes son (Don't stress)\nWhen you come home, I'mma put you on your toes on (Don't stress)\nWhen you come home, my nigga, when you come home (Don't stress)\nWhen you come home, we gon' blow crazy O's son (Don't stress)\nWhen you come home, I'mma put you on your toes on (Don't stress)\nWhen you come home, we gon' fuck mad hoes son (Don't stress)\nWhen you come home, my nigga, when you come home (Don't stress)\n\n[Verse 2]\nI can see it now, getting off the greyhound with your greens on,\nState boots, yard style this scord a' me\nI meet you at the port authority\nJump in the V2G\nYou finally free\nLong time no see\nGotta make up for lost time\nKnow you got mad rhymes\nHere, rock my shine\nWe on to the exclusive, new shit\nHe blowing up my celly\nI'm like yo son, six minute click\nPulled up to the PJ's, the hood greet\nWelcome home god peace,\nHe platinum on the street with respect and power\nAll he need is currency\nMust report to parole\nMonday by three\nWe gon' get you on the books and take you on tour with me\nNo stress, nigga you can use my address\nHe said I love you Shy and punched me in my chest\n\n[Chorus x2]\nWhen you come home, we gon' blow crazy L's son (Don't stress)\nWhen you come home, I'mma put you on your toes on (Don't stress)\nWhen you come home, we gon' fuck mad hoes son (Don't stress)\nWhen you come home, my nigga, when you come home (Don't stress)\n\n[Verse 3]\nGive a kidney or a lung to nigga if he needed one\nCause that's my Dunn Dunn\nI give him my only gun if he needed it\nOh that bitch, we both beating it\nI can tell him a secret, he ain't repeating it\nCause that's my dog, second grade to the morgue\nAnd when I get locked up, that who the fuck I call\nHe the cheddy ready to pay the clerk, to get me out the dirt\nPut it in my aunt's name, because she work\nWe don't jerk one another, or try to blow each other's cover\nMy mother's like his mother, his mother's like my mother\nNo one on ones; I'm jumpin' in\nFuck that, blazing out the club with our guns back to back\nChicago Bulls style, the manchild\nAin't nothing sweet on the street\nOr if you hit the pen-AL you know my style\n\nWhen you come home, we gon' blow crazy L's son (Don't stress)\nWhen you come home, I'mma put you on your toes on (Don't stress)\nWhen you come home, we gon' fuck mad hoes son (Don't stress)\nWhen you come home, my nigga, when you come home (Don't stress)\nWhen you come home, we gon' blow crazy O's son (Don't stress)\nWhen you come home, we gon' fuck mad hoes son (Don't stress)\nWhen you come home, I'mma put you on your toes on (Don't stress)\nWhen you come home, my nigga, when you come home (Don't stress)\n\nYeah, Shyheim...\nNew York's Finest","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: When You Come Home\n artist: Shyheim\n album: 'Wu-Tang Productions Present Killa Beez: The Sting'\n duration_ms: 253000\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n [Intro:]\n Da, Reddy Red, Homicide, Eagle, Free,\n Nah' mean? (Do it like we used to)\n Real, uh- huh\n Red, Pabi, What up? Yeah. Ishmael\n\n [Verse 1]\n I used to kick my new rhymes to him when I made them up\n We'd smoke a blunt, and build on shit was real growing up\n Going through the same things, we seeing eye to eye\n And no matter what happens, promised to let nothing die\n So was born when he got bagged for 56 dimes\n I'mma give his girl commissary money all the time\n He caught this disease and couldn't stay out'ta jail\n Locked up when his mom died, shit really got real\n He came to the wake in handcuffs\n Dear God, Life as a shorty shouldn't be so rough\n His girl eight months pregnant, a nurse assistant holding him down\n Faithfully on every visit, food packages, she bring him trees and\n Everything\n A down ass bitch is a thug's everything\n I'm day he night, we the same blood type, brothers for life\n I fly him kites on the regular\n\n [Chorus]\n When you come home, we gon' blow crazy O's son (Don't stress)\n When you come home, we gon' fuck mad hoes son (Don't stress)\n When you come home, I'mma put you on your toes on (Don't stress)\n When you come home, my nigga, when you come home (Don't stress)\n When you come home, we gon' blow crazy O's son (Don't stress)\n When you come home, I'mma put you on your toes on (Don't stress)\n When you come home, we gon' fuck mad hoes son (Don't stress)\n When you come home, my nigga, when you come home (Don't stress)\n\n [Verse 2]\n I can see it now, getting off the greyhound with your greens on,\n State boots, yard style this scord a' me\n I meet you at the port authority\n Jump in the V2G\n You finally free\n Long time no see\n Gotta make up for lost time\n Know you got mad rhymes\n Here, rock my shine\n We on to the exclusive, new shit\n He blowing up my celly\n I'm like yo son, six minute click\n Pulled up to the PJ's, the hood greet\n Welcome home god peace,\n He platinum on the street with respect and power\n All he need is currency\n Must report to parole\n Monday by three\n We gon' get you on the books and take you on tour with me\n No stress, nigga you can use my address\n He said I love you Shy and punched me in my chest\n\n [Chorus x2]\n When you come home, we gon' blow crazy L's son (Don't stress)\n When you come home, I'mma put you on your toes on (Don't stress)\n When you come home, we gon' fuck mad hoes son (Don't stress)\n When you come home, my nigga, when you come home (Don't stress)\n\n [Verse 3]\n Give a kidney or a lung to nigga if he needed one\n Cause that's my Dunn Dunn\n I give him my only gun if he needed it\n Oh that bitch, we both beating it\n I can tell him a secret, he ain't repeating it\n Cause that's my dog, second grade to the morgue\n And when I get locked up, that who the fuck I call\n He the cheddy ready to pay the clerk, to get me out the dirt\n Put it in my aunt's name, because she work\n We don't jerk one another, or try to blow each other's cover\n My mother's like his mother, his mother's like my mother\n No one on ones; I'm jumpin' in\n Fuck that, blazing out the club with our guns back to back\n Chicago Bulls style, the manchild\n Ain't nothing sweet on the street\n Or if you hit the pen-AL you know my style\n\n When you come home, we gon' blow crazy L's son (Don't stress)\n When you come home, I'mma put you on your toes on (Don't stress)\n When you come home, we gon' fuck mad hoes son (Don't stress)\n When you come home, my nigga, when you come home (Don't stress)\n When you come home, we gon' blow crazy O's son (Don't stress)\n When you come home, we gon' fuck mad hoes son (Don't stress)\n When you come home, I'mma put you on your toes on (Don't stress)\n When you come home, my nigga, when you come home (Don't stress)\n\n Yeah, Shyheim...\n New York's Finest\n"},{"id":25897062,"name":"Out Think Me Now","trackName":"Out Think Me Now","artistName":"Solomon Childs","albumName":"Wu-Tang Productions Present Killa Beez: The Sting","duration":212.58449,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"[Sampled singer]\nThe storm is.\n\n[Chorus x2: Solomon Childs]\nFemales better try to trick me now\nCats better try and Out Think Me Now\nStick me now, maybe even kill me now\nLet me dominate for two years strong\nYou motherfuckers'll never stop the storm\n\n[Solomon Childs]\nWhat? Yeah.\nUh-huh, what? Yeah.\nYou cowards follow, I'ma lead\nMillenium speed, Jeopardy, Greed\nGolden seed, militant breed\nThis is all a real thug need\nScience of life dunn, black Oriental\nForever bronze to star, day room war\nApocalypse raw\nLimit the sky, let me simplic-ify\nMama said, \"God should never cry\"\nWar with The Source, ya girl know me, straight live\nFound out swine was in Pop Tarts in '85\nYou old school cats is talkin jive\n320 E, bumping Tony Starks shit\nI don't trust a soul\nI don't trust Canal Street gold\nI don't trust Timberland's double sole\nI don't trust cats on the block who done told\nI don't trust Avirex leathers when it be cold\nSettin fire to ya rap books\nFrontin you could get punched in ya mouth\nKing of New York, this is what a thug about\n\n[Chorus x2]\n\n[Solomon Childs]\nUh. yeah.\nApocalypse gifted storm, eyes of Islam\nPain inside Maria eyes\nMoney low got the Gods in the streets heated\nLeft the Queens in the world seated\nTwo kids my baby mom's speeded\nPoverty, swears Allah cheated\nKeep it strawberry, catchin cancer\nMissin the World Series\nSolomon Childs extraordinaire\nPower of the dollar\nBody Brighton, Allah body\nThugged out, ready to flip\n2000 New York rookie\nHard to hit, who want beef?\nPut 'em on the murder cross, imperial laws\nConsider me bein top rank\nWith Pony and Frank\nYo what the deal, Lunar?\nNo more small cookies\nRather get paid and crush rookies\nMe and Mama gettin land with this voice box\nTracks hotter than the Red Sox\nWho ever had doubts.\nYo Baby Boy, this is what a thug about\n\n[Chorus x2]\n\n[Sampled singer]\nThe storm is.","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n title: Out Think Me Now\n artist: Solomon Childs\n album: 'Wu-Tang Productions Present Killa Beez: The Sting'\n duration_ms: 212584\n instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n [Sampled singer]\n The storm is.\n\n [Chorus x2: Solomon Childs]\n Females better try to trick me now\n Cats better try and Out Think Me Now\n Stick me now, maybe even kill me now\n Let me dominate for two years strong\n You motherfuckers'll never stop the storm\n\n [Solomon Childs]\n What? Yeah.\n Uh-huh, what? Yeah.\n You cowards follow, I'ma lead\n Millenium speed, Jeopardy, Greed\n Golden seed, militant breed\n This is all a real thug need\n Science of life dunn, black Oriental\n Forever bronze to star, day room war\n Apocalypse raw\n Limit the sky, let me simplic-ify\n Mama said, \"God should never cry\"\n War with The Source, ya girl know me, straight live\n Found out swine was in Pop Tarts in '85\n You old school cats is talkin jive\n 320 E, bumping Tony Starks shit\n I don't trust a soul\n I don't trust Canal Street gold\n I don't trust Timberland's double sole\n I don't trust cats on the block who done told\n I don't trust Avirex leathers when it be cold\n Settin fire to ya rap books\n Frontin you could get punched in ya mouth\n King of New York, this is what a thug about\n\n [Chorus x2]\n\n [Solomon Childs]\n Uh. yeah.\n Apocalypse gifted storm, eyes of Islam\n Pain inside Maria eyes\n Money low got the Gods in the streets heated\n Left the Queens in the world seated\n Two kids my baby mom's speeded\n Poverty, swears Allah cheated\n Keep it strawberry, catchin cancer\n Missin the World Series\n Solomon Childs extraordinaire\n Power of the dollar\n Body Brighton, Allah body\n Thugged out, ready to flip\n 2000 New York rookie\n Hard to hit, who want beef?\n Put 'em on the murder cross, imperial laws\n Consider me bein top rank\n With Pony and Frank\n Yo what the deal, Lunar?\n No more small cookies\n Rather get paid and crush rookies\n Me and Mama gettin land with this voice box\n Tracks hotter than the Red Sox\n Who ever had doubts.\n Yo Baby Boy, this is what a thug about\n\n [Chorus x2]\n\n [Sampled singer]\n The storm is.\n"}]