Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Alex (Stolen Script), artist - Ghostface Killah.
Date of issue: 31.12.2005
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Alex (Stolen Script) |
Yeah… that’s right |
Hardy Boys shit… uh huh |
Smoke a Winston to this shit, nigga |
Word up, 'bout to fuckin' throw ya head up, yeah |
Yo, yo he got his stones from Greece |
In mouth he had like thirty plus karats |
Big ratchets, smoke cigars like a Bogart classic |
Told niggas if he dies he want a glass casket |
Parents died when he was five years old |
Made his way inside the US with Colombian Gold |
A fake name in the passport |
Benetton luggage, one sister, pretty thing, light skin |
Niggas will body over her like fuck it |
With a scar by her left eye |
Her brother Alex was extremely close, he sold coats and minks |
Had trays put in toilets and sinks |
Loved to roller skate, ninety nine did time up in Rahway |
Came home blown, the thorough kings and soldiers |
Never gave a fuck about that MC beef in Queens |
Alex, he was a rich nigga |
He had close to ten bodies under his belt |
His man did the last one and got murdered himself |
Took him a while to get his head together |
Alex one day out in LA, made a call in New York |
Told his man Oc, God it’s goin' down, fly the whole team in for support |
Remember that Ray shit that Jamie Foxx played? |
That was my shit |
I never got paid, they got rich off a stolen script |
In ninety eight I seen Charles on the Cali strip |
Showed him the copyrights, his life in the real flick |
In Braille, he read it in no time |
Hit me with his math, said I’ll give you some more lines |
Real talk, stand up dude |
Said how you like Jamie Foxx to replay you? |
He said yea that’s cool |
But under one circumstance, you think he can bow my walk, flip my talk and my |
hands? |
I said sure why not, he can imitate anything trust me this young boy hot |
Shook his hand then I bounced in the limo |
Grabbed my cell, bit my cigar and then rolled down the window |
Contacted Stony Brook and Roberts |
Told them we got an intent letter, yo Ray Ray signed it |
Now we can move on and shoot this live shit |
With mad options, Paramount and DreamWorks we shop it |
Or Mandalay and New Line cop it |
I go and get ten mil' and blow it on the independent market |
But anyway down in PF Changs, I had a meeting with this rich investor |
Said they’ll throw twenty million on the kid’s film only if he chose the cast |
He was drunk, he was talkin' real fast |
So I test his mouth, laid back then I put him on blast |
Where exactly we gon' get this cash? |
I gotta ill Gotti Gigante connect |
Wise guys that kill Bulotti, catching bodies, earnin' respect |
The waiter came in a dropped off the shrimp fried rice he ordered |
I said thanks as he poured my water |
Then out came the veggie rolls, sesame chicken and mint tea |
Rice wine had me wanting to pee |
Said excuse me I’ll be right back, pardon me |
Grabbed his glass and he nodded to me |
Skated off to take a piss, the shit felt like a nut |
Got back the dude vanished, briefcase, script, and all |
Ask the waiter where he go, the motherfucker spoke Spanish |