Box In Hand Lyrics by Ghostface Killah

Box In Hand Lyrics

    ft. Raekwon, Method Man

    [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

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