Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Cardboard Box, artist - Havoc. Date of issue: 17.04.2019
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Cardboard Box |
| 41st side nigga, them thirsty side niggas |
| Number one pick, gutter litter, leavin' 'em bitter |
| How the fuck a nigga figure he can come through this? |
| With no worry at all and ice on his wrist |
| Plottin' to get it, poppn' them slugs |
| One in the mug, leave 'em in the morgue, keepin' it gangsta? |
| we keepin' |
| It thug |
| Makin' albums, washin' that dough made from narcotics |
| You know the mob brolic, gats we got it |
| Like a bitch on her period, don’t even wanna see you |
| Unless you got what I need, and we sure not peoples |
| Only niggas that I fuck wit' could hold what I bust wit' |
| A one minute nigga, hit 'em like when I nut quick |
| Got a bad ass bitch that’ll fuck your clique |
| Ass so fat, make the illest nigga dry snitch |
| It’s time to stretch on these cats cause my dogs is restless |
| The number one sinner mothafucka, repent this |
| Fuckin' wit' us will leave you in a cardboard box |
| Fuckin' wit' us will leave you leakin', callin' the cops |
| With nothin' to bust? |
| we’ll leave you in a fucked up spot |
| And you don’t even wanna be that nigga claimin' a spot |
| Verse 2: (The Jackal) |
| Play stupid, 32 shots nigga, looped it |
| 64 troopers, Tim boots and Rugers |
| Show and prover, Q.B. |
| manuever |
| Pure breed grower, flow gives brain tumors |
| Holla at ya dog, movin' units |
| Ain’t ready for the onslaught |
| Try to knock the Don off |
| Not too much talk, niggas just pop off |
| Got that feelin' inside, who willin' to ride? |
| Aight here, take this Four-Five |
| Cardboard box these niggas off sides |
| Rap nigga live, rap niggas alive |
| That nigga high, gangsta stroll, stackin' to the sky |
| Poppin' his collar nigga, tossin' that dollar |
| Act up, blood clot his throat, make it hard to swallow |
| Used to pitch times holdin' trotters |
| Now I pitch 16's with the culture power saga |
| You sorry, don’t bother, Q.B. |
| to Carter |
| Rucker, Nino, Goodfella, Godfather |
| Verse 3: (Littles) |
| Came home after 5, stood on my own two |
| I learned to seperate Men from Boys and crews |
| I toy with dudes, now I’m just annoyed with fools |
| I’m a pimp on a track with another Mans food |
| I refuse to be whored by another Mans rules |
| It’s a pimp and ho game, you gotta respect the business |
| But I only mob with thugs and gangsta niggas |
| It seems nowadays snitches get respect |
| Ya’ll don’t know a real nigga 'till he’s layed to rest? |
| Ya’ll lucky I ain’t come home chasin' necks |
| Arms, legs, chests, blazin' tecks |
| Cause I love to snap, crackle, and pop them hammers |
| Rock bandanas, cop wanna knock and jam us |
| Watch and slam us, locked up, box and canners |
| Cause when I start lickin' all you niggas start snitchin' |
| Bitchin', little niggas start missin' |
| We provide ya’ll with the truth and facts |
| Ya’ll don’t wanna give me burn with these ruthless raps |
| Shit, I’ll bounce ya’ll ass straight off the tracks |
| Plus I roll with gorillas and I’m true to cats |
| Verse 4: (Nature) |
| All I need is a kick and a snare, ya’ll niggas scared |
| My name speaks for itself, it rains as soon as it hits the air |
| Got a wicked stare, one eye crossed |
| In Queens fiends returnin' every gun I toss |
| Every dun I corpse, my religion is none |
| I figured once I lay it out niggas 'll run |
| I could type it up e-mail |
| And give it to you, when you’re done you’re comin' back for a refill |
| Grade A shit, like the taste of the haze and the dro |
| I rock the same Guess jeans five days in a row |
| See my Thirty-Six waist is now Thirty-Eight |
| Quick to help a nigga up to the pearly gates |
| Makin' sure every other live nigga heard of Nate |
| Guaranteed to boost the murder rate |
| If it don’t it will niggas, chill just give it some time |
| How much pain can a nigga provide? |
| Ya’ll niggas rhyme? |