Ghostface Killah

Ghostface Killah - Box In Hand lyrics

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Intro: *sung*
 Wu Tang will survive  no no no no no no
 Wu Tang will survive
 Cause every time they flip a party
 You know the party screams and shouts
 Cause you... DAMN! Aw  TC that was the bomb...

 [Ghostface]
 Get all my peoples get all my peoples headphones
 All of em
 Lay em a death warrant
 Aaaah  yo  show it off  kid  show em  what  what
 Let em have it  bust it  hey yo, hey yo

 Verse One: Raekwon

 Blend wine, who want to win mine
 Shorty get a ten-round for floatin
 With the richest, huh
 Flexed out, Flinstone style
 Your crimi-nal pen pal kidnapped Loud, jetted the
 Mosyin, posin for them niggaz up in Poland
 Rollin wax style museum, G 'em
 Them richest niggaz bless this
 Like Russian cut VVS's
 Slide the hatchback, black were finessing this
 Them niggaz over there know, Gazelle goggles
 And them Lottos, 88 style, throwin' bottles (bottles)
 Scenario rap, rap imperial, material (uh, yo yo, yo, yo)
 Murderin' cats is like that real

 Verse Two: Ghostface

 Yo come do me somethin word to Michelob peep the Land Rov'
 Sleeper hold club faggots lay your dome on a stove
 It's like space kid, the whole world is pitch black, granola rap
 Dough got smaller famous team, walked up in Photomat
 Black down, numerous rounds, boots is brown
 Getaway driver, this white bitch from out of town
 We love horse races shakin Jakes and high-speed chases
 Porno stations, drinkin violations, God relations
 90 minute Maxell tapes, instrumental breaks
 Bangin earaches, lay my verse down in two takes
 The speaker pops, the Winchester rifle's in the kitchen
 Murder the DJ's eyes twitchin, woofer hissin

 Interlude: Raekwon

 Yo, he's strong armin, manipulatin niggaz, scrapin niggaz
 Takin play from niggaz, hate fakin niggaz, yo you hear me?
 The whole shit's like wrestling
 What you dare me? Back the fuck up kid, we flexin

 Verse Three: Method Man

 This rap shit bust yo' gums, and leave you stunned
 Pull your plug, now you can't function
 There's no to-tal or sum to this equa-tion, you fro-zen
 Many may come but few are cho-sen
 Pretty niggaz want to play the war po-sin
 When the ruckus come, they be the first to get their shine stolen
 Do or die, it be I, Meta-physical Man
 Holding court from my Wu, indivisible clan
 I see your thoughts and your hand reachin
 It's getting deep in this mud
 Cats heat seekin, for one blood
 Nameless thugs with aimless slugs, shootin at these stank bitches
 Less he gon' bring this above, I make switches
 From the lamp I grant three wishes
 Johnny be parlayin, I Blaze britches, then I roll
 One hundred percent mind, one hundred percent body
 One hundred percent soul, individual
 Assholes tend to run
 From this PLO extortion to the one
 The next chamber, you fuckin with the star spangler
 To the dawn's early light with this head-banger
 Boogie, represent this shit fully
 Like I'm constantly at war with the town bully
 Who want that pressure, about to get smacked silly
 Like a fat bitch in Spandex, free Willy!
 We on some milli, check the joint, engine number nine
 Niggaz wastin time worryin about me and mine
 Get your own shit
Get this song at:
bol.com
amazon.com

Copyrights:

Author: Clifford Smith (2)

Composer: ?

Publisher: Sony Music Entertainment Inc

Details:

Released in: 1996

Language: English

Appearing on: Ironman (1996)

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