Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Box In Hand, artist - Ghostface Killah. Date of issue: 28.10.2021
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Box In Hand |
| 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… |
| 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 |