Correction Paroles Box In Hand par Ghostface Killah

Featuring(s) : Method Man & Streetlife

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Paroles

[Intro: Ghostface Killah]
Yeah, assorted flavor Clarks
No doubt, it be the champ
Yeah, curly head kid
Yo, yo, yo

[Verse 1: Ghostface Killah]
From Gators to blazers, low fades and razors
Big dick saloon, I contact the womb
The Black Asian wrist location keeps circulating
My wonder twin power activate shit on this nation
Allah seen represent the gumby wintergreen
Who walk mean stand up on your block and burn a bean
Sip Ballantyne looking at that bitch wide behind
The thing that's fucking up her grill is that swine
Then turn around take my last pull off the L
These niggas up the block keep looking at me well
Do they want the jewel, It Ain't Hard to Tell
I recognize a face, he acting like Denzel
Fuck 'em, I want to check Mo for a chop
Told him: bald on the sides, light fade, rough top
Now it's a whole new ball game, strategic mind frame
My dialogue's rebellious rain and reign supreme
Glanced at a red light, seen Killah get on a ninja bike
Show my love to the god, he peeled out and made a right
{*Sound of speeding motorcycle*}

[Chorus: Method Man]
When you walking down your street with your box in your hand
And you bringing the music of the Wu-Tang Clan
And you hear Ironman on your radio, rapping
Your feet start to dancing and your hands start the clapping

[Verse 2: Streetlife]
Street's running through your dance hall gunning
Like Lee Harvey Oswald stunning slapping MCs with summons
For pumping that watered down substance, peep this
Slugs finger creeping, making moves like Crying Freeman
Prince of Thieves, Earth third seed
Heavyweight like Golden Fleece as homicide stroll the streets
In blue Caprice and looking for thugs holding heat
Inner city beef got me plotting trilogy
To dispose enemies sneak attacks, I'm beyond and above that
Seen that, done that–respect, black
I catch a slug to your hardhat, lounging in the Everglades
Surfing the airwave, catch a Buck-50
With the razor blade swiftly, Shaolin cats be shiesty
Strictly drunk off the Irish whiskey

[Verse 3: Method Man]
Rest your headpiece on this one son, cough up a lung
Sleeping on my murderous type ones'lI get you done
I'm looking at these cutthroat kids and how they live
It's like we was partners in spades and you renege
Can't fuck with no nigga like that, he get me jack
Or sent back, meaning whole life fade to black
Whole 7 and a half, up right and roll tight
Fool me once but can't fool me twice, I'm 25
To life on this mic device I'm nothing nice
A mixture of long wild rice and Old Spice
Inflicted, rap addicted, track I stick it
Flip it, daddy long dick it, slide
A little bit beyond twisted, mind in stitches
You thought weak but meant wicked
Niggas choke off my secondhand smoke, lifted
Everyday is like my birthday I'm mad gifted, dead calm
Hit me with the 18 Bronze/Buddha Palm
About to blow like Napalm, go for your arm
Prepare for the warfare or buy a share
Oh what the fuck we dealing with, yeah
Johnny about to go there, need another year
Bust a shot for my sons that didn't make it here

clip

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