[{"id":32988925,"name":"Box In Hand (feat. Method Man & Street)","trackName":"Box In Hand (feat. Method Man & Street)","artistName":"Ghostface Killah; Method Man; Street","albumName":"Ironman (With Commentary)","duration":195.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Verse One: Ghostface Killah\n\nYeah, assorted flavor Clarks\nNo doubt\nThe beer champ\nYeah, curly head kid\nYo, yo, yo\n\nFrom Gators to blazers, low fades and razors\nBig dick saloon, I contact the womb; the black asian\nWhich location keeps circulating\nI want the twin power after day shit on his mason\nA God steam represent the gummy with the green\nwho walk fiend stand up on your block and burn a bean\nSir Ballentine, lookin at this bitch walk behind\nThe thing that's fucked up appeal us that's wine\nThey turn around take my last pull off the L\nthese niggas on the block keep looking at me well\nBut they want the jewel it ain't hard to tell\nI'm recognize his face, he actin like Denzel\nBut fuck him, I went to check low for chop\non a ball gone the size like faith up top\nNow it's a whole new ball game, strategic mind frame\nMy dialogue's rebellious raid and razor fame\nGlass out a red light, see Killah get on a ninja bike\nShow my love to the God he peeled out and made a right\n**Sound of speeding motorcycle**\n\nChorus:\n\nWhen you walking down the street with your - Box in your hand\nand you bringing the music of the - Wu-Tang Clan\nAnd you hear Ironman on your - radio rapping\nYour feet start the dancing and your - hands start the clapping\n\nVerse Two: Street\n\nStreet's running through your dancehall gunning\nlike Lee Harvey Oswald stunning slapping MC's with summons\nfor pumping - that watered down substance\nBeef there's slugs finger creeping\nmaking moves like Crying Freeman\nPrince of thieves, earth's third seed\nHeavyweight like golden fleeces homicides stroll the street\nIf Luther preached it, look at the thugs holding heat\nIn the city beef got me plotting trilogy\nTo the smoke enemies sneak attacks I'm beyond and above that\nSeen that done that, respect black\nI catch a slug to your hardhat\nlounging in the everglades, surfing the airwave\nCatch a buck fifty where the razorblades swiftly\nShaolin cats be shiesty, strictly\ndrunk off the Irish whiskey\n\nChorus\n\nVerse Three: Method Man\n\nRest your headpiece on this one sun\ncough up a lung\nSleeping on my murderous type ones I get you done\nI'm looking at these cuthroat kids and how they live\nIt's like we was partners in spades and you renege\nCan't fuck with no nigga like that he get me jack\nOr sent back, meaning whole life fade to black\nI'm looking in the half of right and roll tight\nfool me once but can't fool me twice, I'm 25\nTo life on this mic device ain't nothing nice\na mixture of long wild rice and no spice\nInflicted, rap addicted, track I stick it, flip it\ndaddy long dick-ed, slide\nA little bit beyond twisted, mind in stitches\nYou thought weak but meant wicked\nNiggas choke off my second hand smoke lifted\neveryday is like my birthday I'm mad gifted, dead calm\nHit me with the eighteen bronze, buddah palm\nAbout to blow like Napalm, before your arm\nPrepare for the warfare, or buy a share\nOh what the fuck we dealing with, yeah\nJohnny about to go there\nneed another year\nBust a shot for my sons that didn't make it here\n\nChorus","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Box In Hand (feat. Method Man & Street)\n  artist: Ghostface Killah; Method Man; Street\n  album: Ironman (With Commentary)\n  duration_ms: 195000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Verse One: Ghostface Killah\n\n  Yeah, assorted flavor Clarks\n  No doubt\n  The beer champ\n  Yeah, curly head kid\n  Yo, yo, yo\n\n  From Gators to blazers, low fades and razors\n  Big dick saloon, I contact the womb; the black asian\n  Which location keeps circulating\n  I want the twin power after day shit on his mason\n  A God steam represent the gummy with the green\n  who walk fiend stand up on your block and burn a bean\n  Sir Ballentine, lookin at this bitch walk behind\n  The thing that's fucked up appeal us that's wine\n  They turn around take my last pull off the L\n  these niggas on the block keep looking at me well\n  But they want the jewel it ain't hard to tell\n  I'm recognize his face, he actin like Denzel\n  But fuck him, I went to check low for chop\n  on a ball gone the size like faith up top\n  Now it's a whole new ball game, strategic mind frame\n  My dialogue's rebellious raid and razor fame\n  Glass out a red light, see Killah get on a ninja bike\n  Show my love to the God he peeled out and made a right\n  **Sound of speeding motorcycle**\n\n  Chorus:\n\n  When you walking down the street with your - Box in your hand\n  and you bringing the music of the - Wu-Tang Clan\n  And you hear Ironman on your - radio rapping\n  Your feet start the dancing and your - hands start the clapping\n\n  Verse Two: Street\n\n  Street's running through your dancehall gunning\n  like Lee Harvey Oswald stunning slapping MC's with summons\n  for pumping - that watered down substance\n  Beef there's slugs finger creeping\n  making moves like Crying Freeman\n  Prince of thieves, earth's third seed\n  Heavyweight like golden fleeces homicides stroll the street\n  If Luther preached it, look at the thugs holding heat\n  In the city beef got me plotting trilogy\n  To the smoke enemies sneak attacks I'm beyond and above that\n  Seen that done that, respect black\n  I catch a slug to your hardhat\n  lounging in the everglades, surfing the airwave\n  Catch a buck fifty where the razorblades swiftly\n  Shaolin cats be shiesty, strictly\n  drunk off the Irish whiskey\n\n  Chorus\n\n  Verse Three: Method Man\n\n  Rest your headpiece on this one sun\n  cough up a lung\n  Sleeping on my murderous type ones I get you done\n  I'm looking at these cuthroat kids and how they live\n  It's like we was partners in spades and you renege\n  Can't fuck with no nigga like that he get me jack\n  Or sent back, meaning whole life fade to black\n  I'm looking in the half of right and roll tight\n  fool me once but can't fool me twice, I'm 25\n  To life on this mic device ain't nothing nice\n  a mixture of long wild rice and no spice\n  Inflicted, rap addicted, track I stick it, flip it\n  daddy long dick-ed, slide\n  A little bit beyond twisted, mind in stitches\n  You thought weak but meant wicked\n  Niggas choke off my second hand smoke lifted\n  everyday is like my birthday I'm mad gifted, dead calm\n  Hit me with the eighteen bronze, buddah palm\n  About to blow like Napalm, before your arm\n  Prepare for the warfare, or buy a share\n  Oh what the fuck we dealing with, yeah\n  Johnny about to go there\n  need another year\n  Bust a shot for my sons that didn't make it here\n\n  Chorus\n"},{"id":32085219,"name":"Box In Hand (feat. Method Man & Street)","trackName":"Box In Hand (feat. Method Man & Street)","artistName":"Ghostface Killah, Method Man, Street","albumName":"Ironman (25th Anniversary)","duration":195.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Verse One: Ghostface Killah\n\nYeah, assorted flavor Clarks\nNo doubt\nThe beer champ\nYeah, curly head kid\nYo, yo, yo\n\nFrom Gators to blazers, low fades and razors\nBig dick saloon, I contact the womb; the black asian\nWhich location keeps circulating\nI want the twin power after day shit on his mason\nA God steam represent the gummy with the green\nwho walk fiend stand up on your block and burn a bean\nSir Ballentine, lookin at this bitch walk behind\nThe thing that's fucked up appeal us that's wine\nThey turn around take my last pull off the L\nthese niggas on the block keep looking at me well\nBut they want the jewel it ain't hard to tell\nI'm recognize his face, he actin like Denzel\nBut fuck him, I went to check low for chop\non a ball gone the size like faith up top\nNow it's a whole new ball game, strategic mind frame\nMy dialogue's rebellious raid and razor fame\nGlass out a red light, see Killah get on a ninja bike\nShow my love to the God he peeled out and made a right\n**Sound of speeding motorcycle**\n\nChorus:\n\nWhen you walking down the street with your - Box in your hand\nand you bringing the music of the - Wu-Tang Clan\nAnd you hear Ironman on your - radio rapping\nYour feet start the dancing and your - hands start the clapping\n\nVerse Two: Street\n\nStreet's running through your dancehall gunning\nlike Lee Harvey Oswald stunning slapping MC's with summons\nfor pumping - that watered down substance\nBeef there's slugs finger creeping\nmaking moves like Crying Freeman\nPrince of thieves, earth's third seed\nHeavyweight like golden fleeces homicides stroll the street\nIf Luther preached it, look at the thugs holding heat\nIn the city beef got me plotting trilogy\nTo the smoke enemies sneak attacks I'm beyond and above that\nSeen that done that, respect black\nI catch a slug to your hardhat\nlounging in the everglades, surfing the airwave\nCatch a buck fifty where the razorblades swiftly\nShaolin cats be shiesty, strictly\ndrunk off the Irish whiskey\n\nChorus\n\nVerse Three: Method Man\n\nRest your headpiece on this one sun\ncough up a lung\nSleeping on my murderous type ones I get you done\nI'm looking at these cuthroat kids and how they live\nIt's like we was partners in spades and you renege\nCan't fuck with no nigga like that he get me jack\nOr sent back, meaning whole life fade to black\nI'm looking in the half of right and roll tight\nfool me once but can't fool me twice, I'm 25\nTo life on this mic device ain't nothing nice\na mixture of long wild rice and no spice\nInflicted, rap addicted, track I stick it, flip it\ndaddy long dick-ed, slide\nA little bit beyond twisted, mind in stitches\nYou thought weak but meant wicked\nNiggas choke off my second hand smoke lifted\neveryday is like my birthday I'm mad gifted, dead calm\nHit me with the eighteen bronze, buddah palm\nAbout to blow like Napalm, before your arm\nPrepare for the warfare, or buy a share\nOh what the fuck we dealing with, yeah\nJohnny about to go there\nneed another year\nBust a shot for my sons that didn't make it here\n\nChorus","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Box In Hand (feat. Method Man & Street)\n  artist: Ghostface Killah, Method Man, Street\n  album: Ironman (25th Anniversary)\n  duration_ms: 195000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Verse One: Ghostface Killah\n\n  Yeah, assorted flavor Clarks\n  No doubt\n  The beer champ\n  Yeah, curly head kid\n  Yo, yo, yo\n\n  From Gators to blazers, low fades and razors\n  Big dick saloon, I contact the womb; the black asian\n  Which location keeps circulating\n  I want the twin power after day shit on his mason\n  A God steam represent the gummy with the green\n  who walk fiend stand up on your block and burn a bean\n  Sir Ballentine, lookin at this bitch walk behind\n  The thing that's fucked up appeal us that's wine\n  They turn around take my last pull off the L\n  these niggas on the block keep looking at me well\n  But they want the jewel it ain't hard to tell\n  I'm recognize his face, he actin like Denzel\n  But fuck him, I went to check low for chop\n  on a ball gone the size like faith up top\n  Now it's a whole new ball game, strategic mind frame\n  My dialogue's rebellious raid and razor fame\n  Glass out a red light, see Killah get on a ninja bike\n  Show my love to the God he peeled out and made a right\n  **Sound of speeding motorcycle**\n\n  Chorus:\n\n  When you walking down the street with your - Box in your hand\n  and you bringing the music of the - Wu-Tang Clan\n  And you hear Ironman on your - radio rapping\n  Your feet start the dancing and your - hands start the clapping\n\n  Verse Two: Street\n\n  Street's running through your dancehall gunning\n  like Lee Harvey Oswald stunning slapping MC's with summons\n  for pumping - that watered down substance\n  Beef there's slugs finger creeping\n  making moves like Crying Freeman\n  Prince of thieves, earth's third seed\n  Heavyweight like golden fleeces homicides stroll the street\n  If Luther preached it, look at the thugs holding heat\n  In the city beef got me plotting trilogy\n  To the smoke enemies sneak attacks I'm beyond and above that\n  Seen that done that, respect black\n  I catch a slug to your hardhat\n  lounging in the everglades, surfing the airwave\n  Catch a buck fifty where the razorblades swiftly\n  Shaolin cats be shiesty, strictly\n  drunk off the Irish whiskey\n\n  Chorus\n\n  Verse Three: Method Man\n\n  Rest your headpiece on this one sun\n  cough up a lung\n  Sleeping on my murderous type ones I get you done\n  I'm looking at these cuthroat kids and how they live\n  It's like we was partners in spades and you renege\n  Can't fuck with no nigga like that he get me jack\n  Or sent back, meaning whole life fade to black\n  I'm looking in the half of right and roll tight\n  fool me once but can't fool me twice, I'm 25\n  To life on this mic device ain't nothing nice\n  a mixture of long wild rice and no spice\n  Inflicted, rap addicted, track I stick it, flip it\n  daddy long dick-ed, slide\n  A little bit beyond twisted, mind in stitches\n  You thought weak but meant wicked\n  Niggas choke off my second hand smoke lifted\n  everyday is like my birthday I'm mad gifted, dead calm\n  Hit me with the eighteen bronze, buddah palm\n  About to blow like Napalm, before your arm\n  Prepare for the warfare, or buy a share\n  Oh what the fuck we dealing with, yeah\n  Johnny about to go there\n  need another year\n  Bust a shot for my sons that didn't make it here\n\n  Chorus\n"},{"id":28506141,"name":"Box In Hand (feat. Method Man & Street)","trackName":"Box In Hand (feat. Method Man & Street)","artistName":"Ghostface Killah; Method Man; Street","albumName":"Ironman","duration":195.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Verse One: Ghostface Killah\n\nYeah, assorted flavor Clarks\nNo doubt\nThe beer champ\nYeah, curly head kid\nYo, yo, yo\n\nFrom Gators to blazers, low fades and razors\nBig dick saloon, I contact the womb; the black asian\nWhich location keeps circulating\nI want the twin power after day shit on his mason\nA God steam represent the gummy with the green\nwho walk fiend stand up on your block and burn a bean\nSir Ballentine, lookin at this bitch walk behind\nThe thing that's fucked up appeal us that's wine\nThey turn around take my last pull off the L\nthese niggas on the block keep looking at me well\nBut they want the jewel it ain't hard to tell\nI'm recognize his face, he actin like Denzel\nBut fuck him, I went to check low for chop\non a ball gone the size like faith up top\nNow it's a whole new ball game, strategic mind frame\nMy dialogue's rebellious raid and razor fame\nGlass out a red light, see Killah get on a ninja bike\nShow my love to the God he peeled out and made a right\n**Sound of speeding motorcycle**\n\nChorus:\n\nWhen you walking down the street with your - Box in your hand\nand you bringing the music of the - Wu-Tang Clan\nAnd you hear Ironman on your - radio rapping\nYour feet start the dancing and your - hands start the clapping\n\nVerse Two: Street\n\nStreet's running through your dancehall gunning\nlike Lee Harvey Oswald stunning slapping MC's with summons\nfor pumping - that watered down substance\nBeef there's slugs finger creeping\nmaking moves like Crying Freeman\nPrince of thieves, earth's third seed\nHeavyweight like golden fleeces homicides stroll the street\nIf Luther preached it, look at the thugs holding heat\nIn the city beef got me plotting trilogy\nTo the smoke enemies sneak attacks I'm beyond and above that\nSeen that done that, respect black\nI catch a slug to your hardhat\nlounging in the everglades, surfing the airwave\nCatch a buck fifty where the razorblades swiftly\nShaolin cats be shiesty, strictly\ndrunk off the Irish whiskey\n\nChorus\n\nVerse Three: Method Man\n\nRest your headpiece on this one sun\ncough up a lung\nSleeping on my murderous type ones I get you done\nI'm looking at these cuthroat kids and how they live\nIt's like we was partners in spades and you renege\nCan't fuck with no nigga like that he get me jack\nOr sent back, meaning whole life fade to black\nI'm looking in the half of right and roll tight\nfool me once but can't fool me twice, I'm 25\nTo life on this mic device ain't nothing nice\na mixture of long wild rice and no spice\nInflicted, rap addicted, track I stick it, flip it\ndaddy long dick-ed, slide\nA little bit beyond twisted, mind in stitches\nYou thought weak but meant wicked\nNiggas choke off my second hand smoke lifted\neveryday is like my birthday I'm mad gifted, dead calm\nHit me with the eighteen bronze, buddah palm\nAbout to blow like Napalm, before your arm\nPrepare for the warfare, or buy a share\nOh what the fuck we dealing with, yeah\nJohnny about to go there\nneed another year\nBust a shot for my sons that didn't make it here\n\nChorus","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Box In Hand (feat. Method Man & Street)\n  artist: Ghostface Killah; Method Man; Street\n  album: Ironman\n  duration_ms: 195000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Verse One: Ghostface Killah\n\n  Yeah, assorted flavor Clarks\n  No doubt\n  The beer champ\n  Yeah, curly head kid\n  Yo, yo, yo\n\n  From Gators to blazers, low fades and razors\n  Big dick saloon, I contact the womb; the black asian\n  Which location keeps circulating\n  I want the twin power after day shit on his mason\n  A God steam represent the gummy with the green\n  who walk fiend stand up on your block and burn a bean\n  Sir Ballentine, lookin at this bitch walk behind\n  The thing that's fucked up appeal us that's wine\n  They turn around take my last pull off the L\n  these niggas on the block keep looking at me well\n  But they want the jewel it ain't hard to tell\n  I'm recognize his face, he actin like Denzel\n  But fuck him, I went to check low for chop\n  on a ball gone the size like faith up top\n  Now it's a whole new ball game, strategic mind frame\n  My dialogue's rebellious raid and razor fame\n  Glass out a red light, see Killah get on a ninja bike\n  Show my love to the God he peeled out and made a right\n  **Sound of speeding motorcycle**\n\n  Chorus:\n\n  When you walking down the street with your - Box in your hand\n  and you bringing the music of the - Wu-Tang Clan\n  And you hear Ironman on your - radio rapping\n  Your feet start the dancing and your - hands start the clapping\n\n  Verse Two: Street\n\n  Street's running through your dancehall gunning\n  like Lee Harvey Oswald stunning slapping MC's with summons\n  for pumping - that watered down substance\n  Beef there's slugs finger creeping\n  making moves like Crying Freeman\n  Prince of thieves, earth's third seed\n  Heavyweight like golden fleeces homicides stroll the street\n  If Luther preached it, look at the thugs holding heat\n  In the city beef got me plotting trilogy\n  To the smoke enemies sneak attacks I'm beyond and above that\n  Seen that done that, respect black\n  I catch a slug to your hardhat\n  lounging in the everglades, surfing the airwave\n  Catch a buck fifty where the razorblades swiftly\n  Shaolin cats be shiesty, strictly\n  drunk off the Irish whiskey\n\n  Chorus\n\n  Verse Three: Method Man\n\n  Rest your headpiece on this one sun\n  cough up a lung\n  Sleeping on my murderous type ones I get you done\n  I'm looking at these cuthroat kids and how they live\n  It's like we was partners in spades and you renege\n  Can't fuck with no nigga like that he get me jack\n  Or sent back, meaning whole life fade to black\n  I'm looking in the half of right and roll tight\n  fool me once but can't fool me twice, I'm 25\n  To life on this mic device ain't nothing nice\n  a mixture of long wild rice and no spice\n  Inflicted, rap addicted, track I stick it, flip it\n  daddy long dick-ed, slide\n  A little bit beyond twisted, mind in stitches\n  You thought weak but meant wicked\n  Niggas choke off my second hand smoke lifted\n  everyday is like my birthday I'm mad gifted, dead calm\n  Hit me with the eighteen bronze, buddah palm\n  About to blow like Napalm, before your arm\n  Prepare for the warfare, or buy a share\n  Oh what the fuck we dealing with, yeah\n  Johnny about to go there\n  need another year\n  Bust a shot for my sons that didn't make it here\n\n  Chorus\n"},{"id":3678803,"name":"Box In Hand (feat. Method Man & Street)","trackName":"Box In Hand (feat. Method Man & Street)","artistName":"Ghostface Killah feat. Method Man & Street","albumName":"Ironman (25th Anniversary)","duration":195.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Verse One: Ghostface Killah\n\nYeah, assorted flavor Clarks\nNo doubt\nThe beer champ\nYeah, curly head kid\nYo, yo, yo\n\nFrom Gators to blazers, low fades and razors\nBig dick saloon, I contact the womb; the black asian\nWhich location keeps circulating\nI want the twin power after day shit on his mason\nA God steam represent the gummy with the green\nWho walk fiend stand up on your block and burn a bean\nSir Ballentine, lookin at this bitch walk behind\nThe thing that's fucked up appeal us that's wine\nThey turn around take my last pull off the L\nThese niggas on the block keep looking at me well\nBut they want the jewel it ain't hard to tell\nI'm recognize his face, he actin like Denzel\nBut fuck him, I went to check low for chop\nOn a ball gone the size like faith up top\nNow it's a whole new ball game, strategic mind frame\nMy dialogue's rebellious raid and razor fame\nGlass out a red light, see Killah get on a ninja bike\nShow my love to the God he peeled out and made a right\n**Sound of speeding motorcycle**\n\nChorus:\n\nWhen you walking down the street with your - Box in your hand\nAnd you bringing the music of the - Wu-Tang Clan\nAnd you hear Ironman on your - radio rapping\nYour feet start the dancing and your - hands start the clapping\n\nVerse Two: Street\n\nStreet's running through your dancehall gunning\nLike Lee Harvey Oswald stunning slapping MC's with summons\nFor pumping - that watered down substance\nBeef there's slugs finger creeping\nMaking moves like Crying Freeman\nPrince of thieves, earth's third seed\nHeavyweight like golden fleeces homicides stroll the street\nIf Luther preached it, look at the thugs holding heat\nIn the city beef got me plotting trilogy\nTo the smoke enemies sneak attacks I'm beyond and above that\nSeen that done that, respect black\nI catch a slug to your hardhat\nLounging in the everglades, surfing the airwave\nCatch a buck fifty where the razorblades swiftly\nShaolin cats be shiesty, strictly\nDrunk off the Irish whiskey\n\nChorus\n\nVerse Three: Method Man\n\nRest your headpiece on this one sun\nCough up a lung\nSleeping on my murderous type ones I get you done\nI'm looking at these cuthroat kids and how they live\nIt's like we was partners in spades and you renege\nCan't fuck with no nigga like that he get me jack\nOr sent back, meaning whole life fade to black\nI'm looking in the half of right and roll tight\nFool me once but can't fool me twice, I'm 25\nTo life on this mic device ain't nothing nice\nA mixture of long wild rice and no spice\nInflicted, rap addicted, track I stick it, flip it\nDaddy long dick-ed, slide\nA little bit beyond twisted, mind in stitches\nYou thought weak but meant wicked\nNiggas choke off my second hand smoke lifted\nEveryday is like my birthday I'm mad gifted, dead calm\nHit me with the eighteen bronze, buddah palm\nAbout to blow like Napalm, before your arm\nPrepare for the warfare, or buy a share\nOh what the fuck we dealing with, yeah\nJohnny about to go there\nNeed another year\nBust a shot for my sons that didn't make it here\n\nChorus","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Box In Hand (feat. Method Man & Street)\n  artist: Ghostface Killah feat. Method Man & Street\n  album: Ironman (25th Anniversary)\n  duration_ms: 195000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Verse One: Ghostface Killah\n\n  Yeah, assorted flavor Clarks\n  No doubt\n  The beer champ\n  Yeah, curly head kid\n  Yo, yo, yo\n\n  From Gators to blazers, low fades and razors\n  Big dick saloon, I contact the womb; the black asian\n  Which location keeps circulating\n  I want the twin power after day shit on his mason\n  A God steam represent the gummy with the green\n  Who walk fiend stand up on your block and burn a bean\n  Sir Ballentine, lookin at this bitch walk behind\n  The thing that's fucked up appeal us that's wine\n  They turn around take my last pull off the L\n  These niggas on the block keep looking at me well\n  But they want the jewel it ain't hard to tell\n  I'm recognize his face, he actin like Denzel\n  But fuck him, I went to check low for chop\n  On a ball gone the size like faith up top\n  Now it's a whole new ball game, strategic mind frame\n  My dialogue's rebellious raid and razor fame\n  Glass out a red light, see Killah get on a ninja bike\n  Show my love to the God he peeled out and made a right\n  **Sound of speeding motorcycle**\n\n  Chorus:\n\n  When you walking down the street with your - Box in your hand\n  And you bringing the music of the - Wu-Tang Clan\n  And you hear Ironman on your - radio rapping\n  Your feet start the dancing and your - hands start the clapping\n\n  Verse Two: Street\n\n  Street's running through your dancehall gunning\n  Like Lee Harvey Oswald stunning slapping MC's with summons\n  For pumping - that watered down substance\n  Beef there's slugs finger creeping\n  Making moves like Crying Freeman\n  Prince of thieves, earth's third seed\n  Heavyweight like golden fleeces homicides stroll the street\n  If Luther preached it, look at the thugs holding heat\n  In the city beef got me plotting trilogy\n  To the smoke enemies sneak attacks I'm beyond and above that\n  Seen that done that, respect black\n  I catch a slug to your hardhat\n  Lounging in the everglades, surfing the airwave\n  Catch a buck fifty where the razorblades swiftly\n  Shaolin cats be shiesty, strictly\n  Drunk off the Irish whiskey\n\n  Chorus\n\n  Verse Three: Method Man\n\n  Rest your headpiece on this one sun\n  Cough up a lung\n  Sleeping on my murderous type ones I get you done\n  I'm looking at these cuthroat kids and how they live\n  It's like we was partners in spades and you renege\n  Can't fuck with no nigga like that he get me jack\n  Or sent back, meaning whole life fade to black\n  I'm looking in the half of right and roll tight\n  Fool me once but can't fool me twice, I'm 25\n  To life on this mic device ain't nothing nice\n  A mixture of long wild rice and no spice\n  Inflicted, rap addicted, track I stick it, flip it\n  Daddy long dick-ed, slide\n  A little bit beyond twisted, mind in stitches\n  You thought weak but meant wicked\n  Niggas choke off my second hand smoke lifted\n  Everyday is like my birthday I'm mad gifted, dead calm\n  Hit me with the eighteen bronze, buddah palm\n  About to blow like Napalm, before your arm\n  Prepare for the warfare, or buy a share\n  Oh what the fuck we dealing with, yeah\n  Johnny about to go there\n  Need another year\n  Bust a shot for my sons that didn't make it here\n\n  Chorus\n"},{"id":2184057,"name":"Box In Hand","trackName":"Box In Hand","artistName":"Ghostface Killah feat. Method Man & Street","albumName":"Iron Man","duration":195.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Verse One: Ghostface Killah\n\nYeah, assorted flavor Clarks\nNo doubt\nThe beer champ\nYeah, curly head kid\nYo, yo, yo\n\nFrom Gators to blazers, low fades and razors\nBig dick saloon, I contact the womb; the black asian\nWhich location keeps circulating\nI want the twin power after day shit on his mason\nA God steam represent the gummy with the green\nWho walk fiend stand up on your block and burn a bean\nSir Ballentine, lookin at this bitch walk behind\nThe thing that's fucked up appeal us that's wine\nThey turn around take my last pull off the L\nThese niggas on the block keep looking at me well\nBut they want the jewel it ain't hard to tell\nI'm recognize his face, he actin like Denzel\nBut fuck him, I went to check low for chop\nOn a ball gone the size like faith up top\nNow it's a whole new ball game, strategic mind frame\nMy dialogue's rebellious raid and razor fame\nGlass out a red light, see Killah get on a ninja bike\nShow my love to the God he peeled out and made a right\n**Sound of speeding motorcycle**\n\nChorus:\n\nWhen you walking down the street with your - Box in your hand\nAnd you bringing the music of the - Wu-Tang Clan\nAnd you hear Ironman on your - radio rapping\nYour feet start the dancing and your - hands start the clapping\n\nVerse Two: Street\n\nStreet's running through your dancehall gunning\nLike Lee Harvey Oswald stunning slapping MC's with summons\nFor pumping - that watered down substance\nBeef there's slugs finger creeping\nMaking moves like Crying Freeman\nPrince of thieves, earth's third seed\nHeavyweight like golden fleeces homicides stroll the street\nIf Luther preached it, look at the thugs holding heat\nIn the city beef got me plotting trilogy\nTo the smoke enemies sneak attacks I'm beyond and above that\nSeen that done that, respect black\nI catch a slug to your hardhat\nLounging in the everglades, surfing the airwave\nCatch a buck fifty where the razorblades swiftly\nShaolin cats be shiesty, strictly\nDrunk off the Irish whiskey\n\nChorus\n\nVerse Three: Method Man\n\nRest your headpiece on this one sun\nCough up a lung\nSleeping on my murderous type ones I get you done\nI'm looking at these cuthroat kids and how they live\nIt's like we was partners in spades and you renege\nCan't fuck with no nigga like that he get me jack\nOr sent back, meaning whole life fade to black\nI'm looking in the half of right and roll tight\nFool me once but can't fool me twice, I'm 25\nTo life on this mic device ain't nothing nice\nA mixture of long wild rice and no spice\nInflicted, rap addicted, track I stick it, flip it\nDaddy long dick-ed, slide\nA little bit beyond twisted, mind in stitches\nYou thought weak but meant wicked\nNiggas choke off my second hand smoke lifted\nEveryday is like my birthday I'm mad gifted, dead calm\nHit me with the eighteen bronze, buddah palm\nAbout to blow like Napalm, before your arm\nPrepare for the warfare, or buy a share\nOh what the fuck we dealing with, yeah\nJohnny about to go there\nNeed another year\nBust a shot for my sons that didn't make it here\n\nChorus","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Box In Hand\n  artist: Ghostface Killah feat. Method Man & Street\n  album: Iron Man\n  duration_ms: 195000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Verse One: Ghostface Killah\n\n  Yeah, assorted flavor Clarks\n  No doubt\n  The beer champ\n  Yeah, curly head kid\n  Yo, yo, yo\n\n  From Gators to blazers, low fades and razors\n  Big dick saloon, I contact the womb; the black asian\n  Which location keeps circulating\n  I want the twin power after day shit on his mason\n  A God steam represent the gummy with the green\n  Who walk fiend stand up on your block and burn a bean\n  Sir Ballentine, lookin at this bitch walk behind\n  The thing that's fucked up appeal us that's wine\n  They turn around take my last pull off the L\n  These niggas on the block keep looking at me well\n  But they want the jewel it ain't hard to tell\n  I'm recognize his face, he actin like Denzel\n  But fuck him, I went to check low for chop\n  On a ball gone the size like faith up top\n  Now it's a whole new ball game, strategic mind frame\n  My dialogue's rebellious raid and razor fame\n  Glass out a red light, see Killah get on a ninja bike\n  Show my love to the God he peeled out and made a right\n  **Sound of speeding motorcycle**\n\n  Chorus:\n\n  When you walking down the street with your - Box in your hand\n  And you bringing the music of the - Wu-Tang Clan\n  And you hear Ironman on your - radio rapping\n  Your feet start the dancing and your - hands start the clapping\n\n  Verse Two: Street\n\n  Street's running through your dancehall gunning\n  Like Lee Harvey Oswald stunning slapping MC's with summons\n  For pumping - that watered down substance\n  Beef there's slugs finger creeping\n  Making moves like Crying Freeman\n  Prince of thieves, earth's third seed\n  Heavyweight like golden fleeces homicides stroll the street\n  If Luther preached it, look at the thugs holding heat\n  In the city beef got me plotting trilogy\n  To the smoke enemies sneak attacks I'm beyond and above that\n  Seen that done that, respect black\n  I catch a slug to your hardhat\n  Lounging in the everglades, surfing the airwave\n  Catch a buck fifty where the razorblades swiftly\n  Shaolin cats be shiesty, strictly\n  Drunk off the Irish whiskey\n\n  Chorus\n\n  Verse Three: Method Man\n\n  Rest your headpiece on this one sun\n  Cough up a lung\n  Sleeping on my murderous type ones I get you done\n  I'm looking at these cuthroat kids and how they live\n  It's like we was partners in spades and you renege\n  Can't fuck with no nigga like that he get me jack\n  Or sent back, meaning whole life fade to black\n  I'm looking in the half of right and roll tight\n  Fool me once but can't fool me twice, I'm 25\n  To life on this mic device ain't nothing nice\n  A mixture of long wild rice and no spice\n  Inflicted, rap addicted, track I stick it, flip it\n  Daddy long dick-ed, slide\n  A little bit beyond twisted, mind in stitches\n  You thought weak but meant wicked\n  Niggas choke off my second hand smoke lifted\n  Everyday is like my birthday I'm mad gifted, dead calm\n  Hit me with the eighteen bronze, buddah palm\n  About to blow like Napalm, before your arm\n  Prepare for the warfare, or buy a share\n  Oh what the fuck we dealing with, yeah\n  Johnny about to go there\n  Need another year\n  Bust a shot for my sons that didn't make it here\n\n  Chorus\n"},{"id":6320474,"name":"Box in Hand (feat. Method Man & Street)","trackName":"Box in Hand (feat. Method Man & Street)","artistName":"Ghostface Killah","albumName":"Ironman","duration":195.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Verse One: Ghostface Killah\n\nYeah, assorted flavor Clarks\nNo doubt\nThe beer champ\nYeah, curly head kid\nYo, yo, yo\n\nFrom Gators to blazers, low fades and razors\nBig dick saloon, I contact the womb; the black asian\nWhich location keeps circulating\nI want the twin power after day shit on his mason\nA God steam represent the gummy with the green\nWho walk fiend stand up on your block and burn a bean\nSir Ballentine, lookin at this bitch walk behind\nThe thing that's fucked up appeal us that's wine\nThey turn around take my last pull off the L\nThese niggas on the block keep looking at me well\nBut they want the jewel it ain't hard to tell\nI'm recognize his face, he actin like Denzel\nBut fuck him, I went to check low for chop\nOn a ball gone the size like faith up top\nNow it's a whole new ball game, strategic mind frame\nMy dialogue's rebellious raid and razor fame\nGlass out a red light, see Killah get on a ninja bike\nShow my love to the God he peeled out and made a right\n**Sound of speeding motorcycle**\n\nChorus:\n\nWhen you walking down the street with your - Box in your hand\nAnd you bringing the music of the - Wu-Tang Clan\nAnd you hear Ironman on your - radio rapping\nYour feet start the dancing and your - hands start the clapping\n\nVerse Two: Street\n\nStreet's running through your dancehall gunning\nLike Lee Harvey Oswald stunning slapping MC's with summons\nFor pumping - that watered down substance\nBeef there's slugs finger creeping\nMaking moves like Crying Freeman\nPrince of thieves, earth's third seed\nHeavyweight like golden fleeces homicides stroll the street\nIf Luther preached it, look at the thugs holding heat\nIn the city beef got me plotting trilogy\nTo the smoke enemies sneak attacks I'm beyond and above that\nSeen that done that, respect black\nI catch a slug to your hardhat\nLounging in the everglades, surfing the airwave\nCatch a buck fifty where the razorblades swiftly\nShaolin cats be shiesty, strictly\nDrunk off the Irish whiskey\n\nChorus\n\nVerse Three: Method Man\n\nRest your headpiece on this one sun\nCough up a lung\nSleeping on my murderous type ones I get you done\nI'm looking at these cuthroat kids and how they live\nIt's like we was partners in spades and you renege\nCan't fuck with no nigga like that he get me jack\nOr sent back, meaning whole life fade to black\nI'm looking in the half of right and roll tight\nFool me once but can't fool me twice, I'm 25\nTo life on this mic device ain't nothing nice\nA mixture of long wild rice and no spice\nInflicted, rap addicted, track I stick it, flip it\nDaddy long dick-ed, slide\nA little bit beyond twisted, mind in stitches\nYou thought weak but meant wicked\nNiggas choke off my second hand smoke lifted\nEveryday is like my birthday I'm mad gifted, dead calm\nHit me with the eighteen bronze, buddah palm\nAbout to blow like Napalm, before your arm\nPrepare for the warfare, or buy a share\nOh what the fuck we dealing with, yeah\nJohnny about to go there\nNeed another year\nBust a shot for my sons that didn't make it here\n\nChorus","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Box in Hand (feat. Method Man & Street)\n  artist: Ghostface Killah\n  album: Ironman\n  duration_ms: 195000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Verse One: Ghostface Killah\n\n  Yeah, assorted flavor Clarks\n  No doubt\n  The beer champ\n  Yeah, curly head kid\n  Yo, yo, yo\n\n  From Gators to blazers, low fades and razors\n  Big dick saloon, I contact the womb; the black asian\n  Which location keeps circulating\n  I want the twin power after day shit on his mason\n  A God steam represent the gummy with the green\n  Who walk fiend stand up on your block and burn a bean\n  Sir Ballentine, lookin at this bitch walk behind\n  The thing that's fucked up appeal us that's wine\n  They turn around take my last pull off the L\n  These niggas on the block keep looking at me well\n  But they want the jewel it ain't hard to tell\n  I'm recognize his face, he actin like Denzel\n  But fuck him, I went to check low for chop\n  On a ball gone the size like faith up top\n  Now it's a whole new ball game, strategic mind frame\n  My dialogue's rebellious raid and razor fame\n  Glass out a red light, see Killah get on a ninja bike\n  Show my love to the God he peeled out and made a right\n  **Sound of speeding motorcycle**\n\n  Chorus:\n\n  When you walking down the street with your - Box in your hand\n  And you bringing the music of the - Wu-Tang Clan\n  And you hear Ironman on your - radio rapping\n  Your feet start the dancing and your - hands start the clapping\n\n  Verse Two: Street\n\n  Street's running through your dancehall gunning\n  Like Lee Harvey Oswald stunning slapping MC's with summons\n  For pumping - that watered down substance\n  Beef there's slugs finger creeping\n  Making moves like Crying Freeman\n  Prince of thieves, earth's third seed\n  Heavyweight like golden fleeces homicides stroll the street\n  If Luther preached it, look at the thugs holding heat\n  In the city beef got me plotting trilogy\n  To the smoke enemies sneak attacks I'm beyond and above that\n  Seen that done that, respect black\n  I catch a slug to your hardhat\n  Lounging in the everglades, surfing the airwave\n  Catch a buck fifty where the razorblades swiftly\n  Shaolin cats be shiesty, strictly\n  Drunk off the Irish whiskey\n\n  Chorus\n\n  Verse Three: Method Man\n\n  Rest your headpiece on this one sun\n  Cough up a lung\n  Sleeping on my murderous type ones I get you done\n  I'm looking at these cuthroat kids and how they live\n  It's like we was partners in spades and you renege\n  Can't fuck with no nigga like that he get me jack\n  Or sent back, meaning whole life fade to black\n  I'm looking in the half of right and roll tight\n  Fool me once but can't fool me twice, I'm 25\n  To life on this mic device ain't nothing nice\n  A mixture of long wild rice and no spice\n  Inflicted, rap addicted, track I stick it, flip it\n  Daddy long dick-ed, slide\n  A little bit beyond twisted, mind in stitches\n  You thought weak but meant wicked\n  Niggas choke off my second hand smoke lifted\n  Everyday is like my birthday I'm mad gifted, dead calm\n  Hit me with the eighteen bronze, buddah palm\n  About to blow like Napalm, before your arm\n  Prepare for the warfare, or buy a share\n  Oh what the fuck we dealing with, yeah\n  Johnny about to go there\n  Need another year\n  Bust a shot for my sons that didn't make it here\n\n  Chorus\n"},{"id":9395369,"name":"Box In Hand (feat. Method Man & Street)","trackName":"Box In Hand (feat. Method Man & Street)","artistName":"Ghostface Killah","albumName":"Ironman (25th Anniversary)","duration":195.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Verse One: Ghostface Killah\n\nYeah, assorted flavor Clarks\nNo doubt\nThe beer champ\nYeah, curly head kid\nYo, yo, yo\n\nFrom Gators to blazers, low fades and razors\nBig dick saloon, I contact the womb; the black asian\nWhich location keeps circulating\nI want the twin power after day shit on his mason\nA God steam represent the gummy with the green\nwho walk fiend stand up on your block and burn a bean\nSir Ballentine, lookin at this bitch walk behind\nThe thing that's fucked up appeal us that's wine\nThey turn around take my last pull off the L\nthese niggas on the block keep looking at me well\nBut they want the jewel it ain't hard to tell\nI'm recognize his face, he actin like Denzel\nBut fuck him, I went to check low for chop\non a ball gone the size like faith up top\nNow it's a whole new ball game, strategic mind frame\nMy dialogue's rebellious raid and razor fame\nGlass out a red light, see Killah get on a ninja bike\nShow my love to the God he peeled out and made a right\n**Sound of speeding motorcycle**\n\nChorus:\n\nWhen you walking down the street with your - Box in your hand\nand you bringing the music of the - Wu-Tang Clan\nAnd you hear Ironman on your - radio rapping\nYour feet start the dancing and your - hands start the clapping\n\nVerse Two: Street\n\nStreet's running through your dancehall gunning\nlike Lee Harvey Oswald stunning slapping MC's with summons\nfor pumping - that watered down substance\nBeef there's slugs finger creeping\nmaking moves like Crying Freeman\nPrince of thieves, earth's third seed\nHeavyweight like golden fleeces homicides stroll the street\nIf Luther preached it, look at the thugs holding heat\nIn the city beef got me plotting trilogy\nTo the smoke enemies sneak attacks I'm beyond and above that\nSeen that done that, respect black\nI catch a slug to your hardhat\nlounging in the everglades, surfing the airwave\nCatch a buck fifty where the razorblades swiftly\nShaolin cats be shiesty, strictly\ndrunk off the Irish whiskey\n\nChorus\n\nVerse Three: Method Man\n\nRest your headpiece on this one sun\ncough up a lung\nSleeping on my murderous type ones I get you done\nI'm looking at these cuthroat kids and how they live\nIt's like we was partners in spades and you renege\nCan't fuck with no nigga like that he get me jack\nOr sent back, meaning whole life fade to black\nI'm looking in the half of right and roll tight\nfool me once but can't fool me twice, I'm 25\nTo life on this mic device ain't nothing nice\na mixture of long wild rice and no spice\nInflicted, rap addicted, track I stick it, flip it\ndaddy long dick-ed, slide\nA little bit beyond twisted, mind in stitches\nYou thought weak but meant wicked\nNiggas choke off my second hand smoke lifted\neveryday is like my birthday I'm mad gifted, dead calm\nHit me with the eighteen bronze, buddah palm\nAbout to blow like Napalm, before your arm\nPrepare for the warfare, or buy a share\nOh what the fuck we dealing with, yeah\nJohnny about to go there\nneed another year\nBust a shot for my sons that didn't make it here\n\nChorus","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Box In Hand (feat. Method Man & Street)\n  artist: Ghostface Killah\n  album: Ironman (25th Anniversary)\n  duration_ms: 195000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Verse One: Ghostface Killah\n\n  Yeah, assorted flavor Clarks\n  No doubt\n  The beer champ\n  Yeah, curly head kid\n  Yo, yo, yo\n\n  From Gators to blazers, low fades and razors\n  Big dick saloon, I contact the womb; the black asian\n  Which location keeps circulating\n  I want the twin power after day shit on his mason\n  A God steam represent the gummy with the green\n  who walk fiend stand up on your block and burn a bean\n  Sir Ballentine, lookin at this bitch walk behind\n  The thing that's fucked up appeal us that's wine\n  They turn around take my last pull off the L\n  these niggas on the block keep looking at me well\n  But they want the jewel it ain't hard to tell\n  I'm recognize his face, he actin like Denzel\n  But fuck him, I went to check low for chop\n  on a ball gone the size like faith up top\n  Now it's a whole new ball game, strategic mind frame\n  My dialogue's rebellious raid and razor fame\n  Glass out a red light, see Killah get on a ninja bike\n  Show my love to the God he peeled out and made a right\n  **Sound of speeding motorcycle**\n\n  Chorus:\n\n  When you walking down the street with your - Box in your hand\n  and you bringing the music of the - Wu-Tang Clan\n  And you hear Ironman on your - radio rapping\n  Your feet start the dancing and your - hands start the clapping\n\n  Verse Two: Street\n\n  Street's running through your dancehall gunning\n  like Lee Harvey Oswald stunning slapping MC's with summons\n  for pumping - that watered down substance\n  Beef there's slugs finger creeping\n  making moves like Crying Freeman\n  Prince of thieves, earth's third seed\n  Heavyweight like golden fleeces homicides stroll the street\n  If Luther preached it, look at the thugs holding heat\n  In the city beef got me plotting trilogy\n  To the smoke enemies sneak attacks I'm beyond and above that\n  Seen that done that, respect black\n  I catch a slug to your hardhat\n  lounging in the everglades, surfing the airwave\n  Catch a buck fifty where the razorblades swiftly\n  Shaolin cats be shiesty, strictly\n  drunk off the Irish whiskey\n\n  Chorus\n\n  Verse Three: Method Man\n\n  Rest your headpiece on this one sun\n  cough up a lung\n  Sleeping on my murderous type ones I get you done\n  I'm looking at these cuthroat kids and how they live\n  It's like we was partners in spades and you renege\n  Can't fuck with no nigga like that he get me jack\n  Or sent back, meaning whole life fade to black\n  I'm looking in the half of right and roll tight\n  fool me once but can't fool me twice, I'm 25\n  To life on this mic device ain't nothing nice\n  a mixture of long wild rice and no spice\n  Inflicted, rap addicted, track I stick it, flip it\n  daddy long dick-ed, slide\n  A little bit beyond twisted, mind in stitches\n  You thought weak but meant wicked\n  Niggas choke off my second hand smoke lifted\n  everyday is like my birthday I'm mad gifted, dead calm\n  Hit me with the eighteen bronze, buddah palm\n  About to blow like Napalm, before your arm\n  Prepare for the warfare, or buy a share\n  Oh what the fuck we dealing with, yeah\n  Johnny about to go there\n  need another year\n  Bust a shot for my sons that didn't make it here\n\n  Chorus\n"},{"id":29598115,"name":"Box in Hand","trackName":"Box in Hand","artistName":"Ghostface Killah feat. Method Man & Street Life","albumName":"Go In","duration":208.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Verse One: Ghostface Killah\n\nYeah, assorted flavor Clarks\nNo doubt\nThe beer champ\nYeah, curly head kid\nYo, yo, yo\n\nFrom Gators to blazers, low fades and razors\nBig dick saloon, I contact the womb; the black asian\nWhich location keeps circulating\nI want the twin power after day shit on his mason\nA God steam represent the gummy with the green\nwho walk fiend stand up on your block and burn a bean\nSir Ballentine, lookin at this bitch walk behind\nThe thing that's fucked up appeal us that's wine\nThey turn around take my last pull off the L\nthese niggas on the block keep looking at me well\nBut they want the jewel it ain't hard to tell\nI'm recognize his face, he actin like Denzel\nBut fuck him, I went to check low for chop\non a ball gone the size like faith up top\nNow it's a whole new ball game, strategic mind frame\nMy dialogue's rebellious raid and razor fame\nGlass out a red light, see Killah get on a ninja bike\nShow my love to the God he peeled out and made a right\n**Sound of speeding motorcycle**\n\nChorus:\n\nWhen you walking down the street with your - Box in your hand\nand you bringing the music of the - Wu-Tang Clan\nAnd you hear Ironman on your - radio rapping\nYour feet start the dancing and your - hands start the clapping\n\nVerse Two: Street\n\nStreet's running through your dancehall gunning\nlike Lee Harvey Oswald stunning slapping MC's with summons\nfor pumping - that watered down substance\nBeef there's slugs finger creeping\nmaking moves like Crying Freeman\nPrince of thieves, earth's third seed\nHeavyweight like golden fleeces homicides stroll the street\nIf Luther preached it, look at the thugs holding heat\nIn the city beef got me plotting trilogy\nTo the smoke enemies sneak attacks I'm beyond and above that\nSeen that done that, respect black\nI catch a slug to your hardhat\nlounging in the everglades, surfing the airwave\nCatch a buck fifty where the razorblades swiftly\nShaolin cats be shiesty, strictly\ndrunk off the Irish whiskey\n\nChorus\n\nVerse Three: Method Man\n\nRest your headpiece on this one sun\ncough up a lung\nSleeping on my murderous type ones I get you done\nI'm looking at these cuthroat kids and how they live\nIt's like we was partners in spades and you renege\nCan't fuck with no nigga like that he get me jack\nOr sent back, meaning whole life fade to black\nI'm looking in the half of right and roll tight\nfool me once but can't fool me twice, I'm 25\nTo life on this mic device ain't nothing nice\na mixture of long wild rice and no spice\nInflicted, rap addicted, track I stick it, flip it\ndaddy long dick-ed, slide\nA little bit beyond twisted, mind in stitches\nYou thought weak but meant wicked\nNiggas choke off my second hand smoke lifted\neveryday is like my birthday I'm mad gifted, dead calm\nHit me with the eighteen bronze, buddah palm\nAbout to blow like Napalm, before your arm\nPrepare for the warfare, or buy a share\nOh what the fuck we dealing with, yeah\nJohnny about to go there\nneed another year\nBust a shot for my sons that didn't make it here\n\nChorus","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Box in Hand\n  artist: Ghostface Killah feat. Method Man & Street Life\n  album: Go In\n  duration_ms: 208000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Verse One: Ghostface Killah\n\n  Yeah, assorted flavor Clarks\n  No doubt\n  The beer champ\n  Yeah, curly head kid\n  Yo, yo, yo\n\n  From Gators to blazers, low fades and razors\n  Big dick saloon, I contact the womb; the black asian\n  Which location keeps circulating\n  I want the twin power after day shit on his mason\n  A God steam represent the gummy with the green\n  who walk fiend stand up on your block and burn a bean\n  Sir Ballentine, lookin at this bitch walk behind\n  The thing that's fucked up appeal us that's wine\n  They turn around take my last pull off the L\n  these niggas on the block keep looking at me well\n  But they want the jewel it ain't hard to tell\n  I'm recognize his face, he actin like Denzel\n  But fuck him, I went to check low for chop\n  on a ball gone the size like faith up top\n  Now it's a whole new ball game, strategic mind frame\n  My dialogue's rebellious raid and razor fame\n  Glass out a red light, see Killah get on a ninja bike\n  Show my love to the God he peeled out and made a right\n  **Sound of speeding motorcycle**\n\n  Chorus:\n\n  When you walking down the street with your - Box in your hand\n  and you bringing the music of the - Wu-Tang Clan\n  And you hear Ironman on your - radio rapping\n  Your feet start the dancing and your - hands start the clapping\n\n  Verse Two: Street\n\n  Street's running through your dancehall gunning\n  like Lee Harvey Oswald stunning slapping MC's with summons\n  for pumping - that watered down substance\n  Beef there's slugs finger creeping\n  making moves like Crying Freeman\n  Prince of thieves, earth's third seed\n  Heavyweight like golden fleeces homicides stroll the street\n  If Luther preached it, look at the thugs holding heat\n  In the city beef got me plotting trilogy\n  To the smoke enemies sneak attacks I'm beyond and above that\n  Seen that done that, respect black\n  I catch a slug to your hardhat\n  lounging in the everglades, surfing the airwave\n  Catch a buck fifty where the razorblades swiftly\n  Shaolin cats be shiesty, strictly\n  drunk off the Irish whiskey\n\n  Chorus\n\n  Verse Three: Method Man\n\n  Rest your headpiece on this one sun\n  cough up a lung\n  Sleeping on my murderous type ones I get you done\n  I'm looking at these cuthroat kids and how they live\n  It's like we was partners in spades and you renege\n  Can't fuck with no nigga like that he get me jack\n  Or sent back, meaning whole life fade to black\n  I'm looking in the half of right and roll tight\n  fool me once but can't fool me twice, I'm 25\n  To life on this mic device ain't nothing nice\n  a mixture of long wild rice and no spice\n  Inflicted, rap addicted, track I stick it, flip it\n  daddy long dick-ed, slide\n  A little bit beyond twisted, mind in stitches\n  You thought weak but meant wicked\n  Niggas choke off my second hand smoke lifted\n  everyday is like my birthday I'm mad gifted, dead calm\n  Hit me with the eighteen bronze, buddah palm\n  About to blow like Napalm, before your arm\n  Prepare for the warfare, or buy a share\n  Oh what the fuck we dealing with, yeah\n  Johnny about to go there\n  need another year\n  Bust a shot for my sons that didn't make it here\n\n  Chorus\n"},{"id":16425032,"name":"Box in Hand feat. Method Man & Street Life","trackName":"Box in Hand feat. Method Man & Street Life","artistName":"Ghostface Killah","albumName":"Ironman","duration":194.773333,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Verse One: Ghostface Killah\n\nYeah, assorted flavor Clarks\nNo doubt\nThe beer champ\nYeah, curly head kid\nYo, yo, yo\n\nFrom Gators to blazers, low fades and razors\nBig dick saloon, I contact the womb; the black asian\nWhich location keeps circulating\nI want the twin power after day shit on his mason\nA God steam represent the gummy with the green\nwho walk fiend stand up on your block and burn a bean\nSir Ballentine, lookin at this bitch walk behind\nThe thing that's fucked up appeal us that's wine\nThey turn around take my last pull off the L\nthese niggas on the block keep looking at me well\nBut they want the jewel it ain't hard to tell\nI'm recognize his face, he actin like Denzel\nBut fuck him, I went to check low for chop\non a ball gone the size like faith up top\nNow it's a whole new ball game, strategic mind frame\nMy dialogue's rebellious raid and razor fame\nGlass out a red light, see Killah get on a ninja bike\nShow my love to the God he peeled out and made a right\n**Sound of speeding motorcycle**\n\nChorus:\n\nWhen you walking down the street with your - Box in your hand\nand you bringing the music of the - Wu-Tang Clan\nAnd you hear Ironman on your - radio rapping\nYour feet start the dancing and your - hands start the clapping\n\nVerse Two: Street\n\nStreet's running through your dancehall gunning\nlike Lee Harvey Oswald stunning slapping MC's with summons\nfor pumping - that watered down substance\nBeef there's slugs finger creeping\nmaking moves like Crying Freeman\nPrince of thieves, earth's third seed\nHeavyweight like golden fleeces homicides stroll the street\nIf Luther preached it, look at the thugs holding heat\nIn the city beef got me plotting trilogy\nTo the smoke enemies sneak attacks I'm beyond and above that\nSeen that done that, respect black\nI catch a slug to your hardhat\nlounging in the everglades, surfing the airwave\nCatch a buck fifty where the razorblades swiftly\nShaolin cats be shiesty, strictly\ndrunk off the Irish whiskey\n\nChorus\n\nVerse Three: Method Man\n\nRest your headpiece on this one sun\ncough up a lung\nSleeping on my murderous type ones I get you done\nI'm looking at these cuthroat kids and how they live\nIt's like we was partners in spades and you renege\nCan't fuck with no nigga like that he get me jack\nOr sent back, meaning whole life fade to black\nI'm looking in the half of right and roll tight\nfool me once but can't fool me twice, I'm 25\nTo life on this mic device ain't nothing nice\na mixture of long wild rice and no spice\nInflicted, rap addicted, track I stick it, flip it\ndaddy long dick-ed, slide\nA little bit beyond twisted, mind in stitches\nYou thought weak but meant wicked\nNiggas choke off my second hand smoke lifted\neveryday is like my birthday I'm mad gifted, dead calm\nHit me with the eighteen bronze, buddah palm\nAbout to blow like Napalm, before your arm\nPrepare for the warfare, or buy a share\nOh what the fuck we dealing with, yeah\nJohnny about to go there\nneed another year\nBust a shot for my sons that didn't make it here\n\nChorus","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Box in Hand feat. Method Man & Street Life\n  artist: Ghostface Killah\n  album: Ironman\n  duration_ms: 194773\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Verse One: Ghostface Killah\n\n  Yeah, assorted flavor Clarks\n  No doubt\n  The beer champ\n  Yeah, curly head kid\n  Yo, yo, yo\n\n  From Gators to blazers, low fades and razors\n  Big dick saloon, I contact the womb; the black asian\n  Which location keeps circulating\n  I want the twin power after day shit on his mason\n  A God steam represent the gummy with the green\n  who walk fiend stand up on your block and burn a bean\n  Sir Ballentine, lookin at this bitch walk behind\n  The thing that's fucked up appeal us that's wine\n  They turn around take my last pull off the L\n  these niggas on the block keep looking at me well\n  But they want the jewel it ain't hard to tell\n  I'm recognize his face, he actin like Denzel\n  But fuck him, I went to check low for chop\n  on a ball gone the size like faith up top\n  Now it's a whole new ball game, strategic mind frame\n  My dialogue's rebellious raid and razor fame\n  Glass out a red light, see Killah get on a ninja bike\n  Show my love to the God he peeled out and made a right\n  **Sound of speeding motorcycle**\n\n  Chorus:\n\n  When you walking down the street with your - Box in your hand\n  and you bringing the music of the - Wu-Tang Clan\n  And you hear Ironman on your - radio rapping\n  Your feet start the dancing and your - hands start the clapping\n\n  Verse Two: Street\n\n  Street's running through your dancehall gunning\n  like Lee Harvey Oswald stunning slapping MC's with summons\n  for pumping - that watered down substance\n  Beef there's slugs finger creeping\n  making moves like Crying Freeman\n  Prince of thieves, earth's third seed\n  Heavyweight like golden fleeces homicides stroll the street\n  If Luther preached it, look at the thugs holding heat\n  In the city beef got me plotting trilogy\n  To the smoke enemies sneak attacks I'm beyond and above that\n  Seen that done that, respect black\n  I catch a slug to your hardhat\n  lounging in the everglades, surfing the airwave\n  Catch a buck fifty where the razorblades swiftly\n  Shaolin cats be shiesty, strictly\n  drunk off the Irish whiskey\n\n  Chorus\n\n  Verse Three: Method Man\n\n  Rest your headpiece on this one sun\n  cough up a lung\n  Sleeping on my murderous type ones I get you done\n  I'm looking at these cuthroat kids and how they live\n  It's like we was partners in spades and you renege\n  Can't fuck with no nigga like that he get me jack\n  Or sent back, meaning whole life fade to black\n  I'm looking in the half of right and roll tight\n  fool me once but can't fool me twice, I'm 25\n  To life on this mic device ain't nothing nice\n  a mixture of long wild rice and no spice\n  Inflicted, rap addicted, track I stick it, flip it\n  daddy long dick-ed, slide\n  A little bit beyond twisted, mind in stitches\n  You thought weak but meant wicked\n  Niggas choke off my second hand smoke lifted\n  everyday is like my birthday I'm mad gifted, dead calm\n  Hit me with the eighteen bronze, buddah palm\n  About to blow like Napalm, before your arm\n  Prepare for the warfare, or buy a share\n  Oh what the fuck we dealing with, yeah\n  Johnny about to go there\n  need another year\n  Bust a shot for my sons that didn't make it here\n\n  Chorus\n"},{"id":2242701,"name":"Box in Hand","trackName":"Box in Hand","artistName":"Ghostface Killah feat. Method Man & Street","albumName":"Ironman","duration":195.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Verse One: Ghostface Killah\n\nYeah, assorted flavor Clarks\nNo doubt\nThe beer champ\nYeah, curly head kid\nYo, yo, yo\n\nFrom Gators to blazers, low fades and razors\nBig dick saloon, I contact the womb; the black asian\nWhich location keeps circulating\nI want the twin power after day shit on his mason\nA God steam represent the gummy with the green\nWho walk fiend stand up on your block and burn a bean\nSir Ballentine, lookin at this bitch walk behind\nThe thing that's fucked up appeal us that's wine\nThey turn around take my last pull off the L\nThese niggas on the block keep looking at me well\nBut they want the jewel it ain't hard to tell\nI'm recognize his face, he actin like Denzel\nBut fuck him, I went to check low for chop\nOn a ball gone the size like faith up top\nNow it's a whole new ball game, strategic mind frame\nMy dialogue's rebellious raid and razor fame\nGlass out a red light, see Killah get on a ninja bike\nShow my love to the God he peeled out and made a right\n**Sound of speeding motorcycle**\n\nChorus:\n\nWhen you walking down the street with your - Box in your hand\nAnd you bringing the music of the - Wu-Tang Clan\nAnd you hear Ironman on your - radio rapping\nYour feet start the dancing and your - hands start the clapping\n\nVerse Two: Street\n\nStreet's running through your dancehall gunning\nLike Lee Harvey Oswald stunning slapping MC's with summons\nFor pumping - that watered down substance\nBeef there's slugs finger creeping\nMaking moves like Crying Freeman\nPrince of thieves, earth's third seed\nHeavyweight like golden fleeces homicides stroll the street\nIf Luther preached it, look at the thugs holding heat\nIn the city beef got me plotting trilogy\nTo the smoke enemies sneak attacks I'm beyond and above that\nSeen that done that, respect black\nI catch a slug to your hardhat\nLounging in the everglades, surfing the airwave\nCatch a buck fifty where the razorblades swiftly\nShaolin cats be shiesty, strictly\nDrunk off the Irish whiskey\n\nChorus\n\nVerse Three: Method Man\n\nRest your headpiece on this one sun\nCough up a lung\nSleeping on my murderous type ones I get you done\nI'm looking at these cuthroat kids and how they live\nIt's like we was partners in spades and you renege\nCan't fuck with no nigga like that he get me jack\nOr sent back, meaning whole life fade to black\nI'm looking in the half of right and roll tight\nFool me once but can't fool me twice, I'm 25\nTo life on this mic device ain't nothing nice\nA mixture of long wild rice and no spice\nInflicted, rap addicted, track I stick it, flip it\nDaddy long dick-ed, slide\nA little bit beyond twisted, mind in stitches\nYou thought weak but meant wicked\nNiggas choke off my second hand smoke lifted\nEveryday is like my birthday I'm mad gifted, dead calm\nHit me with the eighteen bronze, buddah palm\nAbout to blow like Napalm, before your arm\nPrepare for the warfare, or buy a share\nOh what the fuck we dealing with, yeah\nJohnny about to go there\nNeed another year\nBust a shot for my sons that didn't make it here\n\nChorus","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Box in Hand\n  artist: Ghostface Killah feat. Method Man & Street\n  album: Ironman\n  duration_ms: 195000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Verse One: Ghostface Killah\n\n  Yeah, assorted flavor Clarks\n  No doubt\n  The beer champ\n  Yeah, curly head kid\n  Yo, yo, yo\n\n  From Gators to blazers, low fades and razors\n  Big dick saloon, I contact the womb; the black asian\n  Which location keeps circulating\n  I want the twin power after day shit on his mason\n  A God steam represent the gummy with the green\n  Who walk fiend stand up on your block and burn a bean\n  Sir Ballentine, lookin at this bitch walk behind\n  The thing that's fucked up appeal us that's wine\n  They turn around take my last pull off the L\n  These niggas on the block keep looking at me well\n  But they want the jewel it ain't hard to tell\n  I'm recognize his face, he actin like Denzel\n  But fuck him, I went to check low for chop\n  On a ball gone the size like faith up top\n  Now it's a whole new ball game, strategic mind frame\n  My dialogue's rebellious raid and razor fame\n  Glass out a red light, see Killah get on a ninja bike\n  Show my love to the God he peeled out and made a right\n  **Sound of speeding motorcycle**\n\n  Chorus:\n\n  When you walking down the street with your - Box in your hand\n  And you bringing the music of the - Wu-Tang Clan\n  And you hear Ironman on your - radio rapping\n  Your feet start the dancing and your - hands start the clapping\n\n  Verse Two: Street\n\n  Street's running through your dancehall gunning\n  Like Lee Harvey Oswald stunning slapping MC's with summons\n  For pumping - that watered down substance\n  Beef there's slugs finger creeping\n  Making moves like Crying Freeman\n  Prince of thieves, earth's third seed\n  Heavyweight like golden fleeces homicides stroll the street\n  If Luther preached it, look at the thugs holding heat\n  In the city beef got me plotting trilogy\n  To the smoke enemies sneak attacks I'm beyond and above that\n  Seen that done that, respect black\n  I catch a slug to your hardhat\n  Lounging in the everglades, surfing the airwave\n  Catch a buck fifty where the razorblades swiftly\n  Shaolin cats be shiesty, strictly\n  Drunk off the Irish whiskey\n\n  Chorus\n\n  Verse Three: Method Man\n\n  Rest your headpiece on this one sun\n  Cough up a lung\n  Sleeping on my murderous type ones I get you done\n  I'm looking at these cuthroat kids and how they live\n  It's like we was partners in spades and you renege\n  Can't fuck with no nigga like that he get me jack\n  Or sent back, meaning whole life fade to black\n  I'm looking in the half of right and roll tight\n  Fool me once but can't fool me twice, I'm 25\n  To life on this mic device ain't nothing nice\n  A mixture of long wild rice and no spice\n  Inflicted, rap addicted, track I stick it, flip it\n  Daddy long dick-ed, slide\n  A little bit beyond twisted, mind in stitches\n  You thought weak but meant wicked\n  Niggas choke off my second hand smoke lifted\n  Everyday is like my birthday I'm mad gifted, dead calm\n  Hit me with the eighteen bronze, buddah palm\n  About to blow like Napalm, before your arm\n  Prepare for the warfare, or buy a share\n  Oh what the fuck we dealing with, yeah\n  Johnny about to go there\n  Need another year\n  Bust a shot for my sons that didn't make it here\n\n  Chorus\n"},{"id":17701198,"name":"Box In Hand","trackName":"Box In Hand","artistName":"Ghostface Killah feat. Method Man & Street Life","albumName":"Ironman (25th Anniversary)","duration":195.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Verse One: Ghostface Killah\n\nYeah, assorted flavor Clarks\nNo doubt\nThe beer champ\nYeah, curly head kid\nYo, yo, yo\n\nFrom Gators to blazers, low fades and razors\nBig dick saloon, I contact the womb; the black asian\nWhich location keeps circulating\nI want the twin power after day shit on his mason\nA God steam represent the gummy with the green\nwho walk fiend stand up on your block and burn a bean\nSir Ballentine, lookin at this bitch walk behind\nThe thing that's fucked up appeal us that's wine\nThey turn around take my last pull off the L\nthese niggas on the block keep looking at me well\nBut they want the jewel it ain't hard to tell\nI'm recognize his face, he actin like Denzel\nBut fuck him, I went to check low for chop\non a ball gone the size like faith up top\nNow it's a whole new ball game, strategic mind frame\nMy dialogue's rebellious raid and razor fame\nGlass out a red light, see Killah get on a ninja bike\nShow my love to the God he peeled out and made a right\n**Sound of speeding motorcycle**\n\nChorus:\n\nWhen you walking down the street with your - Box in your hand\nand you bringing the music of the - Wu-Tang Clan\nAnd you hear Ironman on your - radio rapping\nYour feet start the dancing and your - hands start the clapping\n\nVerse Two: Street\n\nStreet's running through your dancehall gunning\nlike Lee Harvey Oswald stunning slapping MC's with summons\nfor pumping - that watered down substance\nBeef there's slugs finger creeping\nmaking moves like Crying Freeman\nPrince of thieves, earth's third seed\nHeavyweight like golden fleeces homicides stroll the street\nIf Luther preached it, look at the thugs holding heat\nIn the city beef got me plotting trilogy\nTo the smoke enemies sneak attacks I'm beyond and above that\nSeen that done that, respect black\nI catch a slug to your hardhat\nlounging in the everglades, surfing the airwave\nCatch a buck fifty where the razorblades swiftly\nShaolin cats be shiesty, strictly\ndrunk off the Irish whiskey\n\nChorus\n\nVerse Three: Method Man\n\nRest your headpiece on this one sun\ncough up a lung\nSleeping on my murderous type ones I get you done\nI'm looking at these cuthroat kids and how they live\nIt's like we was partners in spades and you renege\nCan't fuck with no nigga like that he get me jack\nOr sent back, meaning whole life fade to black\nI'm looking in the half of right and roll tight\nfool me once but can't fool me twice, I'm 25\nTo life on this mic device ain't nothing nice\na mixture of long wild rice and no spice\nInflicted, rap addicted, track I stick it, flip it\ndaddy long dick-ed, slide\nA little bit beyond twisted, mind in stitches\nYou thought weak but meant wicked\nNiggas choke off my second hand smoke lifted\neveryday is like my birthday I'm mad gifted, dead calm\nHit me with the eighteen bronze, buddah palm\nAbout to blow like Napalm, before your arm\nPrepare for the warfare, or buy a share\nOh what the fuck we dealing with, yeah\nJohnny about to go there\nneed another year\nBust a shot for my sons that didn't make it here\n\nChorus","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Box In Hand\n  artist: Ghostface Killah feat. Method Man & Street Life\n  album: Ironman (25th Anniversary)\n  duration_ms: 195000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Verse One: Ghostface Killah\n\n  Yeah, assorted flavor Clarks\n  No doubt\n  The beer champ\n  Yeah, curly head kid\n  Yo, yo, yo\n\n  From Gators to blazers, low fades and razors\n  Big dick saloon, I contact the womb; the black asian\n  Which location keeps circulating\n  I want the twin power after day shit on his mason\n  A God steam represent the gummy with the green\n  who walk fiend stand up on your block and burn a bean\n  Sir Ballentine, lookin at this bitch walk behind\n  The thing that's fucked up appeal us that's wine\n  They turn around take my last pull off the L\n  these niggas on the block keep looking at me well\n  But they want the jewel it ain't hard to tell\n  I'm recognize his face, he actin like Denzel\n  But fuck him, I went to check low for chop\n  on a ball gone the size like faith up top\n  Now it's a whole new ball game, strategic mind frame\n  My dialogue's rebellious raid and razor fame\n  Glass out a red light, see Killah get on a ninja bike\n  Show my love to the God he peeled out and made a right\n  **Sound of speeding motorcycle**\n\n  Chorus:\n\n  When you walking down the street with your - Box in your hand\n  and you bringing the music of the - Wu-Tang Clan\n  And you hear Ironman on your - radio rapping\n  Your feet start the dancing and your - hands start the clapping\n\n  Verse Two: Street\n\n  Street's running through your dancehall gunning\n  like Lee Harvey Oswald stunning slapping MC's with summons\n  for pumping - that watered down substance\n  Beef there's slugs finger creeping\n  making moves like Crying Freeman\n  Prince of thieves, earth's third seed\n  Heavyweight like golden fleeces homicides stroll the street\n  If Luther preached it, look at the thugs holding heat\n  In the city beef got me plotting trilogy\n  To the smoke enemies sneak attacks I'm beyond and above that\n  Seen that done that, respect black\n  I catch a slug to your hardhat\n  lounging in the everglades, surfing the airwave\n  Catch a buck fifty where the razorblades swiftly\n  Shaolin cats be shiesty, strictly\n  drunk off the Irish whiskey\n\n  Chorus\n\n  Verse Three: Method Man\n\n  Rest your headpiece on this one sun\n  cough up a lung\n  Sleeping on my murderous type ones I get you done\n  I'm looking at these cuthroat kids and how they live\n  It's like we was partners in spades and you renege\n  Can't fuck with no nigga like that he get me jack\n  Or sent back, meaning whole life fade to black\n  I'm looking in the half of right and roll tight\n  fool me once but can't fool me twice, I'm 25\n  To life on this mic device ain't nothing nice\n  a mixture of long wild rice and no spice\n  Inflicted, rap addicted, track I stick it, flip it\n  daddy long dick-ed, slide\n  A little bit beyond twisted, mind in stitches\n  You thought weak but meant wicked\n  Niggas choke off my second hand smoke lifted\n  everyday is like my birthday I'm mad gifted, dead calm\n  Hit me with the eighteen bronze, buddah palm\n  About to blow like Napalm, before your arm\n  Prepare for the warfare, or buy a share\n  Oh what the fuck we dealing with, yeah\n  Johnny about to go there\n  need another year\n  Bust a shot for my sons that didn't make it here\n\n  Chorus\n"},{"id":9986627,"name":"Box in Hand","trackName":"Box in Hand","artistName":"Ghostface Killah feat. Method Man & Street Life","albumName":"Ironman","duration":195.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Verse One: Ghostface Killah\n\nYeah, assorted flavor Clarks\nNo doubt\nThe beer champ\nYeah, curly head kid\nYo, yo, yo\n\nFrom Gators to blazers, low fades and razors\nBig dick saloon, I contact the womb; the black asian\nWhich location keeps circulating\nI want the twin power after day shit on his mason\nA God steam represent the gummy with the green\nwho walk fiend stand up on your block and burn a bean\nSir Ballentine, lookin at this bitch walk behind\nThe thing that's fucked up appeal us that's wine\nThey turn around take my last pull off the L\nthese niggas on the block keep looking at me well\nBut they want the jewel it ain't hard to tell\nI'm recognize his face, he actin like Denzel\nBut fuck him, I went to check low for chop\non a ball gone the size like faith up top\nNow it's a whole new ball game, strategic mind frame\nMy dialogue's rebellious raid and razor fame\nGlass out a red light, see Killah get on a ninja bike\nShow my love to the God he peeled out and made a right\n**Sound of speeding motorcycle**\n\nChorus:\n\nWhen you walking down the street with your - Box in your hand\nand you bringing the music of the - Wu-Tang Clan\nAnd you hear Ironman on your - radio rapping\nYour feet start the dancing and your - hands start the clapping\n\nVerse Two: Street\n\nStreet's running through your dancehall gunning\nlike Lee Harvey Oswald stunning slapping MC's with summons\nfor pumping - that watered down substance\nBeef there's slugs finger creeping\nmaking moves like Crying Freeman\nPrince of thieves, earth's third seed\nHeavyweight like golden fleeces homicides stroll the street\nIf Luther preached it, look at the thugs holding heat\nIn the city beef got me plotting trilogy\nTo the smoke enemies sneak attacks I'm beyond and above that\nSeen that done that, respect black\nI catch a slug to your hardhat\nlounging in the everglades, surfing the airwave\nCatch a buck fifty where the razorblades swiftly\nShaolin cats be shiesty, strictly\ndrunk off the Irish whiskey\n\nChorus\n\nVerse Three: Method Man\n\nRest your headpiece on this one sun\ncough up a lung\nSleeping on my murderous type ones I get you done\nI'm looking at these cuthroat kids and how they live\nIt's like we was partners in spades and you renege\nCan't fuck with no nigga like that he get me jack\nOr sent back, meaning whole life fade to black\nI'm looking in the half of right and roll tight\nfool me once but can't fool me twice, I'm 25\nTo life on this mic device ain't nothing nice\na mixture of long wild rice and no spice\nInflicted, rap addicted, track I stick it, flip it\ndaddy long dick-ed, slide\nA little bit beyond twisted, mind in stitches\nYou thought weak but meant wicked\nNiggas choke off my second hand smoke lifted\neveryday is like my birthday I'm mad gifted, dead calm\nHit me with the eighteen bronze, buddah palm\nAbout to blow like Napalm, before your arm\nPrepare for the warfare, or buy a share\nOh what the fuck we dealing with, yeah\nJohnny about to go there\nneed another year\nBust a shot for my sons that didn't make it here\n\nChorus","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Box in Hand\n  artist: Ghostface Killah feat. Method Man & Street Life\n  album: Ironman\n  duration_ms: 195000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Verse One: Ghostface Killah\n\n  Yeah, assorted flavor Clarks\n  No doubt\n  The beer champ\n  Yeah, curly head kid\n  Yo, yo, yo\n\n  From Gators to blazers, low fades and razors\n  Big dick saloon, I contact the womb; the black asian\n  Which location keeps circulating\n  I want the twin power after day shit on his mason\n  A God steam represent the gummy with the green\n  who walk fiend stand up on your block and burn a bean\n  Sir Ballentine, lookin at this bitch walk behind\n  The thing that's fucked up appeal us that's wine\n  They turn around take my last pull off the L\n  these niggas on the block keep looking at me well\n  But they want the jewel it ain't hard to tell\n  I'm recognize his face, he actin like Denzel\n  But fuck him, I went to check low for chop\n  on a ball gone the size like faith up top\n  Now it's a whole new ball game, strategic mind frame\n  My dialogue's rebellious raid and razor fame\n  Glass out a red light, see Killah get on a ninja bike\n  Show my love to the God he peeled out and made a right\n  **Sound of speeding motorcycle**\n\n  Chorus:\n\n  When you walking down the street with your - Box in your hand\n  and you bringing the music of the - Wu-Tang Clan\n  And you hear Ironman on your - radio rapping\n  Your feet start the dancing and your - hands start the clapping\n\n  Verse Two: Street\n\n  Street's running through your dancehall gunning\n  like Lee Harvey Oswald stunning slapping MC's with summons\n  for pumping - that watered down substance\n  Beef there's slugs finger creeping\n  making moves like Crying Freeman\n  Prince of thieves, earth's third seed\n  Heavyweight like golden fleeces homicides stroll the street\n  If Luther preached it, look at the thugs holding heat\n  In the city beef got me plotting trilogy\n  To the smoke enemies sneak attacks I'm beyond and above that\n  Seen that done that, respect black\n  I catch a slug to your hardhat\n  lounging in the everglades, surfing the airwave\n  Catch a buck fifty where the razorblades swiftly\n  Shaolin cats be shiesty, strictly\n  drunk off the Irish whiskey\n\n  Chorus\n\n  Verse Three: Method Man\n\n  Rest your headpiece on this one sun\n  cough up a lung\n  Sleeping on my murderous type ones I get you done\n  I'm looking at these cuthroat kids and how they live\n  It's like we was partners in spades and you renege\n  Can't fuck with no nigga like that he get me jack\n  Or sent back, meaning whole life fade to black\n  I'm looking in the half of right and roll tight\n  fool me once but can't fool me twice, I'm 25\n  To life on this mic device ain't nothing nice\n  a mixture of long wild rice and no spice\n  Inflicted, rap addicted, track I stick it, flip it\n  daddy long dick-ed, slide\n  A little bit beyond twisted, mind in stitches\n  You thought weak but meant wicked\n  Niggas choke off my second hand smoke lifted\n  everyday is like my birthday I'm mad gifted, dead calm\n  Hit me with the eighteen bronze, buddah palm\n  About to blow like Napalm, before your arm\n  Prepare for the warfare, or buy a share\n  Oh what the fuck we dealing with, yeah\n  Johnny about to go there\n  need another year\n  Bust a shot for my sons that didn't make it here\n\n  Chorus\n"},{"id":39839488,"name":"Box in Hand","trackName":"Box in Hand","artistName":"Ghostface Killah feat․ Method Man & Street Life","albumName":"Ironman","duration":195.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Wu-Tang will survive\nNo, no, you know now\nThe Wu-Tang will survive\n'Cause every time they flip a party\nYou know the party screams and shout\n'Cause you're\nDamn, TC, that was the bomb\n\nGet all my peoples, get all my peoples headphones, all of 'em\nYou can lay up a death warrant\n\nYo, show me again, show me\nWhat, what?\n\nBustin'\n\nAyo, ayo\nBlend wine, who wanna win mine?\nShorty get a ten line, we floatin' with the riches, huh\n\nFlexed out, Flintstones style, you criminal\nBent foul, kidnapped loud, jet at the\nMosian, posin' for them niggas up in Poland\nRollin', waxed out museum, jeer 'em\nThem richest niggas blessed this like Russian cut VVS's\nSlide the hatchback, black work finessin' this\nThem niggas over there know Cazal goggles and them models\n'88 Style throwin' bottles\nScenario rap imperial material\nYo, gun love murder, yes, like that, real\n\nYo, do me somethin' worth to make a low peep the Land Rover\nSleep a whole club faggot, slay your dome in the stove\nIt's like Spacek, the whole world is fish black granola rap\n\nDog, our smaller famous team walked up the photo mat\nBlacked down, numerous round, boots is brown\nGetaway driver, this white bitch from out of town\nWe love horse racin', shakin' jakes and high speed chasin'\n\nPorno stations, drinkin' violations, garlic nations\nNinety-minute Maxell tapes, instrumental breaks\nBangin' Air Raids, lay my verse down in two takes\nThe speaker pop, Winchester rifles in the kitchen\nMurder the DJ's eyes twitchin', woofer hits you\n\nYo, we screw 'em all, manipulatin' niggas, scrapin' niggas\nTake a plate from niggas, hate fakin' niggas\nYo, you hear me? The whole shit's like wrestling\nWhat, you dare me? Back the fuck up, kid, we flexin'\n\nThis rap shit bust your gums and leave you stunned\nPull your plug, now you can't function\nThere's no total or sum to this equation, you frozen\nMany may come but few are chosen\nPretty niggas wanna play the role posin'\n\nWhen the ruckus come, they be the first to get they shine stolen\nDo or die, FBI, metaphysical man\nHoldin' court for my Wu Indivisible Clan\nI see your thoughts and your hand reachin'\nIt's gettin' deep in this mud, cats heat-seekin'\nFor one blood, nameless thugs with aimless slugs\nShootin' at these stink bitches, messy but brainless above\nI make switches, rub the lamp, I grant three wishes\nJohnny be polyin', I play britches\n\nThen I roll, one hundred percent mind\nOne hundred percent body, one hundred percent soul\n\nIndividual assholes from the runt\nFrom this PLO extortion, do the one\nThe next chamber, you're fuckin' with the star spangler\nTo the dawn, early light with this headbanger\nBoogie, represent this shit fully\nLike I'm constantly at war with the town bully\nWho want that pressure? About to get smacked silly\nLike a fat bitch in spandex, free Willy\nWe on some milli', check the joint, engine number on the nine\n\nNiggas wastin' time worryin' 'bout me and mine\n\nGet your own shit","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Box in Hand\n  artist: Ghostface Killah feat․ Method Man & Street Life\n  album: Ironman\n  duration_ms: 194855\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Wu-Tang will survive\n  No, no, you know now\n  The Wu-Tang will survive\n  'Cause every time they flip a party\n  You know the party screams and shout\n  'Cause you're\n  Damn, TC, that was the bomb\n\n  Get all my peoples, get all my peoples headphones, all of 'em\n  You can lay up a death warrant\n\n  Yo, show me again, show me\n  What, what?\n\n  Bustin'\n\n  Ayo, ayo\n  Blend wine, who wanna win mine?\n  Shorty get a ten line, we floatin' with the riches, huh\n\n  Flexed out, Flintstones style, you criminal\n  Bent foul, kidnapped loud, jet at the\n  Mosian, posin' for them niggas up in Poland\n  Rollin', waxed out museum, jeer 'em\n  Them richest niggas blessed this like Russian cut VVS's\n  Slide the hatchback, black work finessin' this\n  Them niggas over there know Cazal goggles and them models\n  '88 Style throwin' bottles\n  Scenario rap imperial material\n  Yo, gun love murder, yes, like that, real\n\n  Yo, do me somethin' worth to make a low peep the Land Rover\n  Sleep a whole club faggot, slay your dome in the stove\n  It's like Spacek, the whole world is fish black granola rap\n\n  Dog, our smaller famous team walked up the photo mat\n  Blacked down, numerous round, boots is brown\n  Getaway driver, this white bitch from out of town\n  We love horse racin', shakin' jakes and high speed chasin'\n\n  Porno stations, drinkin' violations, garlic nations\n  Ninety-minute Maxell tapes, instrumental breaks\n  Bangin' Air Raids, lay my verse down in two takes\n  The speaker pop, Winchester rifles in the kitchen\n  Murder the DJ's eyes twitchin', woofer hits you\n\n  Yo, we screw 'em all, manipulatin' niggas, scrapin' niggas\n  Take a plate from niggas, hate fakin' niggas\n  Yo, you hear me? The whole shit's like wrestling\n  What, you dare me? Back the fuck up, kid, we flexin'\n\n  This rap shit bust your gums and leave you stunned\n  Pull your plug, now you can't function\n  There's no total or sum to this equation, you frozen\n  Many may come but few are chosen\n  Pretty niggas wanna play the role posin'\n\n  When the ruckus come, they be the first to get they shine stolen\n  Do or die, FBI, metaphysical man\n  Holdin' court for my Wu Indivisible Clan\n  I see your thoughts and your hand reachin'\n  It's gettin' deep in this mud, cats heat-seekin'\n  For one blood, nameless thugs with aimless slugs\n  Shootin' at these stink bitches, messy but brainless above\n  I make switches, rub the lamp, I grant three wishes\n  Johnny be polyin', I play britches\n\n  Then I roll, one hundred percent mind\n  One hundred percent body, one hundred percent soul\n\n  Individual assholes from the runt\n  From this PLO extortion, do the one\n  The next chamber, you're fuckin' with the star spangler\n  To the dawn, early light with this headbanger\n  Boogie, represent this shit fully\n  Like I'm constantly at war with the town bully\n  Who want that pressure? About to get smacked silly\n  Like a fat bitch in spandex, free Willy\n  We on some milli', check the joint, engine number on the nine\n\n  Niggas wastin' time worryin' 'bout me and mine\n\n  Get your own shit\n"},{"id":27246575,"name":"Box In Hand (feat Method Man & Street Life) (Prod. RZA)","trackName":"Box In Hand (feat Method Man & Street Life) (Prod. RZA)","artistName":"Ghostface Killah","albumName":"Ironman","duration":194.773333,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Verse One: Ghostface Killah\n\nYeah, assorted flavor Clarks\nNo doubt\nThe beer champ\nYeah, curly head kid\nYo, yo, yo\n\nFrom Gators to blazers, low fades and razors\nBig dick saloon, I contact the womb; the black asian\nWhich location keeps circulating\nI want the twin power after day shit on his mason\nA God steam represent the gummy with the green\nwho walk fiend stand up on your block and burn a bean\nSir Ballentine, lookin at this bitch walk behind\nThe thing that's fucked up appeal us that's wine\nThey turn around take my last pull off the L\nthese niggas on the block keep looking at me well\nBut they want the jewel it ain't hard to tell\nI'm recognize his face, he actin like Denzel\nBut fuck him, I went to check low for chop\non a ball gone the size like faith up top\nNow it's a whole new ball game, strategic mind frame\nMy dialogue's rebellious raid and razor fame\nGlass out a red light, see Killah get on a ninja bike\nShow my love to the God he peeled out and made a right\n**Sound of speeding motorcycle**\n\nChorus:\n\nWhen you walking down the street with your - Box in your hand\nand you bringing the music of the - Wu-Tang Clan\nAnd you hear Ironman on your - radio rapping\nYour feet start the dancing and your - hands start the clapping\n\nVerse Two: Street\n\nStreet's running through your dancehall gunning\nlike Lee Harvey Oswald stunning slapping MC's with summons\nfor pumping - that watered down substance\nBeef there's slugs finger creeping\nmaking moves like Crying Freeman\nPrince of thieves, earth's third seed\nHeavyweight like golden fleeces homicides stroll the street\nIf Luther preached it, look at the thugs holding heat\nIn the city beef got me plotting trilogy\nTo the smoke enemies sneak attacks I'm beyond and above that\nSeen that done that, respect black\nI catch a slug to your hardhat\nlounging in the everglades, surfing the airwave\nCatch a buck fifty where the razorblades swiftly\nShaolin cats be shiesty, strictly\ndrunk off the Irish whiskey\n\nChorus\n\nVerse Three: Method Man\n\nRest your headpiece on this one sun\ncough up a lung\nSleeping on my murderous type ones I get you done\nI'm looking at these cuthroat kids and how they live\nIt's like we was partners in spades and you renege\nCan't fuck with no nigga like that he get me jack\nOr sent back, meaning whole life fade to black\nI'm looking in the half of right and roll tight\nfool me once but can't fool me twice, I'm 25\nTo life on this mic device ain't nothing nice\na mixture of long wild rice and no spice\nInflicted, rap addicted, track I stick it, flip it\ndaddy long dick-ed, slide\nA little bit beyond twisted, mind in stitches\nYou thought weak but meant wicked\nNiggas choke off my second hand smoke lifted\neveryday is like my birthday I'm mad gifted, dead calm\nHit me with the eighteen bronze, buddah palm\nAbout to blow like Napalm, before your arm\nPrepare for the warfare, or buy a share\nOh what the fuck we dealing with, yeah\nJohnny about to go there\nneed another year\nBust a shot for my sons that didn't make it here\n\nChorus","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Box In Hand (feat Method Man & Street Life) (Prod. RZA)\n  artist: Ghostface Killah\n  album: Ironman\n  duration_ms: 194773\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Verse One: Ghostface Killah\n\n  Yeah, assorted flavor Clarks\n  No doubt\n  The beer champ\n  Yeah, curly head kid\n  Yo, yo, yo\n\n  From Gators to blazers, low fades and razors\n  Big dick saloon, I contact the womb; the black asian\n  Which location keeps circulating\n  I want the twin power after day shit on his mason\n  A God steam represent the gummy with the green\n  who walk fiend stand up on your block and burn a bean\n  Sir Ballentine, lookin at this bitch walk behind\n  The thing that's fucked up appeal us that's wine\n  They turn around take my last pull off the L\n  these niggas on the block keep looking at me well\n  But they want the jewel it ain't hard to tell\n  I'm recognize his face, he actin like Denzel\n  But fuck him, I went to check low for chop\n  on a ball gone the size like faith up top\n  Now it's a whole new ball game, strategic mind frame\n  My dialogue's rebellious raid and razor fame\n  Glass out a red light, see Killah get on a ninja bike\n  Show my love to the God he peeled out and made a right\n  **Sound of speeding motorcycle**\n\n  Chorus:\n\n  When you walking down the street with your - Box in your hand\n  and you bringing the music of the - Wu-Tang Clan\n  And you hear Ironman on your - radio rapping\n  Your feet start the dancing and your - hands start the clapping\n\n  Verse Two: Street\n\n  Street's running through your dancehall gunning\n  like Lee Harvey Oswald stunning slapping MC's with summons\n  for pumping - that watered down substance\n  Beef there's slugs finger creeping\n  making moves like Crying Freeman\n  Prince of thieves, earth's third seed\n  Heavyweight like golden fleeces homicides stroll the street\n  If Luther preached it, look at the thugs holding heat\n  In the city beef got me plotting trilogy\n  To the smoke enemies sneak attacks I'm beyond and above that\n  Seen that done that, respect black\n  I catch a slug to your hardhat\n  lounging in the everglades, surfing the airwave\n  Catch a buck fifty where the razorblades swiftly\n  Shaolin cats be shiesty, strictly\n  drunk off the Irish whiskey\n\n  Chorus\n\n  Verse Three: Method Man\n\n  Rest your headpiece on this one sun\n  cough up a lung\n  Sleeping on my murderous type ones I get you done\n  I'm looking at these cuthroat kids and how they live\n  It's like we was partners in spades and you renege\n  Can't fuck with no nigga like that he get me jack\n  Or sent back, meaning whole life fade to black\n  I'm looking in the half of right and roll tight\n  fool me once but can't fool me twice, I'm 25\n  To life on this mic device ain't nothing nice\n  a mixture of long wild rice and no spice\n  Inflicted, rap addicted, track I stick it, flip it\n  daddy long dick-ed, slide\n  A little bit beyond twisted, mind in stitches\n  You thought weak but meant wicked\n  Niggas choke off my second hand smoke lifted\n  everyday is like my birthday I'm mad gifted, dead calm\n  Hit me with the eighteen bronze, buddah palm\n  About to blow like Napalm, before your arm\n  Prepare for the warfare, or buy a share\n  Oh what the fuck we dealing with, yeah\n  Johnny about to go there\n  need another year\n  Bust a shot for my sons that didn't make it here\n\n  Chorus\n"},{"id":14570551,"name":"Box In Hand feat Method Man & Street","trackName":"Box In Hand feat Method Man & Street","artistName":"Ghostface Killah (Wu-Tang Clan)","albumName":"Ironman","duration":194.824425,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"featuring Raekwon, Method Man\n\n*sung*\n\nWu Tang will survive, no no no-no no no\nWu Tang will survive\nCause every time they flip a party\nYou know the party screams and shouts\nCause you... DAMN! Aw, TC that was the bomb...\n\n(Ghostface)\nGet all my peoples, get all my peoples headphones\nAll of em\nLay em a death warrant\nAaaah, yo, show it off, kid, show em, what, what\nLet em have it, bust it, hey yo, hey yo\n\nOne: Raekwon\n\nBlend wine, who want to win mine\nShorty get a ten-round for floatin\nWith the richest, huh\nFlexed out, Flinstone style\nYour criminal pen pal kidnapped Loud, jetted the\nMoseying, posing for them niggaz up in Poland\nRollin wax style museum, G 'em\nThem richest niggaz bless this like Russian cut VVS's\nSlide the hatchback, black were finessing this\nThem niggaz over there know, Gazelle goggles\nAnd them Lottos, 88 style, throwing bottles (bottles)\nScenario rap, rap imperial, material (uh, yo yo, yo, yo)\nMurdering cats is like that real\n\nTwo: Ghostface\n\nYo come do me something word to Michelob peep the Land Rov'\nSleeper hold club faggots lay your dome on a stove\nIt's like space kid, the whole world is pitch black, granola rap\nDough got smaller famous team, walked up in Photomat\nBlack down, numerous rounds, boots is brown\nGetaway driver, this white bitch from out of town\nWe love horse races shaking Jakes and high-speed chases\nPorno stations, drinking violations, God relations\n90 minute Maxwell tapes, instrumental breaks\nBanging earaches, lay my verse down in two takes\nThe speaker pops, the Winchester rifle's in the kitchen\nMurder the DJ's eyes twitching, woofer hissing\n\nInterlude: Raekwon\n\nYo, he's strong arming, manipulating niggaz, scraping niggaz\nTaking play from niggaz, hate faking niggaz, yo you hear me?\nThe whole shit's like wrestling\nWhat you dare me? Back the fuck up kid, we flexing\n\nThree: Method Man\n\nThis rap shit bust yo' gums, and leave you stunned\nPull your plug, now you can't function\nThere's no total or sum to this equation, you frozen\nMany may come but few are chosen\nPretty niggaz want to play the war posing\nWhen the ruckus come, they be the first to get their shine stolen\nDo or die, it be I, Meta-physical Man\nHolding court from my Wu, indivisible Clan\nI see your thoughts and your hand reaching\nIt's getting deep in this mud\nCats heat seeking, for one blood\nNameless thugs with aimless slugs, shooting at these stank bitches\nLess he gon' bring this above, I make switches\nFrom the lamp I grant three wishes\nJohnny be parleying, I Blaze britches, then I roll\nOne hundred percent mind, one hundred percent body\nOne hundred percent soul, individual\nAssholes tend to run\nFrom this PLO extortion to the one\nThe next chamber, you fucking with the star spangler\nTo the dawn's early light with this head-banger\nBoogie, represent this shit fully\nLike I'm constantly at war with the town bully\nWho want that pressure, about to get smacked silly\nLike a fat bitch in Spandex, 'Free Willy'!\nWe on some milli, check the joint, engine number nine\nNiggaz wasting time worrying about me and mine\nGet your own shit","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Box In Hand feat Method Man & Street\n  artist: Ghostface Killah (Wu-Tang Clan)\n  album: Ironman\n  duration_ms: 194824\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  featuring Raekwon, Method Man\n\n  *sung*\n\n  Wu Tang will survive, no no no-no no no\n  Wu Tang will survive\n  Cause every time they flip a party\n  You know the party screams and shouts\n  Cause you... DAMN! Aw, TC that was the bomb...\n\n  (Ghostface)\n  Get all my peoples, get all my peoples headphones\n  All of em\n  Lay em a death warrant\n  Aaaah, yo, show it off, kid, show em, what, what\n  Let em have it, bust it, hey yo, hey yo\n\n  One: Raekwon\n\n  Blend wine, who want to win mine\n  Shorty get a ten-round for floatin\n  With the richest, huh\n  Flexed out, Flinstone style\n  Your criminal pen pal kidnapped Loud, jetted the\n  Moseying, posing for them niggaz up in Poland\n  Rollin wax style museum, G 'em\n  Them richest niggaz bless this like Russian cut VVS's\n  Slide the hatchback, black were finessing this\n  Them niggaz over there know, Gazelle goggles\n  And them Lottos, 88 style, throwing bottles (bottles)\n  Scenario rap, rap imperial, material (uh, yo yo, yo, yo)\n  Murdering cats is like that real\n\n  Two: Ghostface\n\n  Yo come do me something word to Michelob peep the Land Rov'\n  Sleeper hold club faggots lay your dome on a stove\n  It's like space kid, the whole world is pitch black, granola rap\n  Dough got smaller famous team, walked up in Photomat\n  Black down, numerous rounds, boots is brown\n  Getaway driver, this white bitch from out of town\n  We love horse races shaking Jakes and high-speed chases\n  Porno stations, drinking violations, God relations\n  90 minute Maxwell tapes, instrumental breaks\n  Banging earaches, lay my verse down in two takes\n  The speaker pops, the Winchester rifle's in the kitchen\n  Murder the DJ's eyes twitching, woofer hissing\n\n  Interlude: Raekwon\n\n  Yo, he's strong arming, manipulating niggaz, scraping niggaz\n  Taking play from niggaz, hate faking niggaz, yo you hear me?\n  The whole shit's like wrestling\n  What you dare me? Back the fuck up kid, we flexing\n\n  Three: Method Man\n\n  This rap shit bust yo' gums, and leave you stunned\n  Pull your plug, now you can't function\n  There's no total or sum to this equation, you frozen\n  Many may come but few are chosen\n  Pretty niggaz want to play the war posing\n  When the ruckus come, they be the first to get their shine stolen\n  Do or die, it be I, Meta-physical Man\n  Holding court from my Wu, indivisible Clan\n  I see your thoughts and your hand reaching\n  It's getting deep in this mud\n  Cats heat seeking, for one blood\n  Nameless thugs with aimless slugs, shooting at these stank bitches\n  Less he gon' bring this above, I make switches\n  From the lamp I grant three wishes\n  Johnny be parleying, I Blaze britches, then I roll\n  One hundred percent mind, one hundred percent body\n  One hundred percent soul, individual\n  Assholes tend to run\n  From this PLO extortion to the one\n  The next chamber, you fucking with the star spangler\n  To the dawn's early light with this head-banger\n  Boogie, represent this shit fully\n  Like I'm constantly at war with the town bully\n  Who want that pressure, about to get smacked silly\n  Like a fat bitch in Spandex, 'Free Willy'!\n  We on some milli, check the joint, engine number nine\n  Niggaz wasting time worrying about me and mine\n  Get your own shit\n"},{"id":17464858,"name":"Box In Hand (feat. Method Man, Street, Raekwon & The Force MD's)","trackName":"Box In Hand (feat. Method Man, Street, Raekwon & The Force MD's)","artistName":"Ghostface Killah","albumName":"Ironman [Epic/Razor Sharp, 485389 2, EU]","duration":194.773333,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Verse One: Ghostface Killah\n\nYeah, assorted flavor Clarks\nNo doubt\nThe beer champ\nYeah, curly head kid\nYo, yo, yo\n\nFrom Gators to blazers, low fades and razors\nBig dick saloon, I contact the womb; the black asian\nWhich location keeps circulating\nI want the twin power after day shit on his mason\nA God steam represent the gummy with the green\nwho walk fiend stand up on your block and burn a bean\nSir Ballentine, lookin at this bitch walk behind\nThe thing that's fucked up appeal us that's wine\nThey turn around take my last pull off the L\nthese niggas on the block keep looking at me well\nBut they want the jewel it ain't hard to tell\nI'm recognize his face, he actin like Denzel\nBut fuck him, I went to check low for chop\non a ball gone the size like faith up top\nNow it's a whole new ball game, strategic mind frame\nMy dialogue's rebellious raid and razor fame\nGlass out a red light, see Killah get on a ninja bike\nShow my love to the God he peeled out and made a right\n**Sound of speeding motorcycle**\n\nChorus:\n\nWhen you walking down the street with your - Box in your hand\nand you bringing the music of the - Wu-Tang Clan\nAnd you hear Ironman on your - radio rapping\nYour feet start the dancing and your - hands start the clapping\n\nVerse Two: Street\n\nStreet's running through your dancehall gunning\nlike Lee Harvey Oswald stunning slapping MC's with summons\nfor pumping - that watered down substance\nBeef there's slugs finger creeping\nmaking moves like Crying Freeman\nPrince of thieves, earth's third seed\nHeavyweight like golden fleeces homicides stroll the street\nIf Luther preached it, look at the thugs holding heat\nIn the city beef got me plotting trilogy\nTo the smoke enemies sneak attacks I'm beyond and above that\nSeen that done that, respect black\nI catch a slug to your hardhat\nlounging in the everglades, surfing the airwave\nCatch a buck fifty where the razorblades swiftly\nShaolin cats be shiesty, strictly\ndrunk off the Irish whiskey\n\nChorus\n\nVerse Three: Method Man\n\nRest your headpiece on this one sun\ncough up a lung\nSleeping on my murderous type ones I get you done\nI'm looking at these cuthroat kids and how they live\nIt's like we was partners in spades and you renege\nCan't fuck with no nigga like that he get me jack\nOr sent back, meaning whole life fade to black\nI'm looking in the half of right and roll tight\nfool me once but can't fool me twice, I'm 25\nTo life on this mic device ain't nothing nice\na mixture of long wild rice and no spice\nInflicted, rap addicted, track I stick it, flip it\ndaddy long dick-ed, slide\nA little bit beyond twisted, mind in stitches\nYou thought weak but meant wicked\nNiggas choke off my second hand smoke lifted\neveryday is like my birthday I'm mad gifted, dead calm\nHit me with the eighteen bronze, buddah palm\nAbout to blow like Napalm, before your arm\nPrepare for the warfare, or buy a share\nOh what the fuck we dealing with, yeah\nJohnny about to go there\nneed another year\nBust a shot for my sons that didn't make it here\n\nChorus","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Box In Hand (feat. Method Man, Street, Raekwon & The Force MD's)\n  artist: Ghostface Killah\n  album: Ironman [Epic/Razor Sharp, 485389 2, EU]\n  duration_ms: 194773\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Verse One: Ghostface Killah\n\n  Yeah, assorted flavor Clarks\n  No doubt\n  The beer champ\n  Yeah, curly head kid\n  Yo, yo, yo\n\n  From Gators to blazers, low fades and razors\n  Big dick saloon, I contact the womb; the black asian\n  Which location keeps circulating\n  I want the twin power after day shit on his mason\n  A God steam represent the gummy with the green\n  who walk fiend stand up on your block and burn a bean\n  Sir Ballentine, lookin at this bitch walk behind\n  The thing that's fucked up appeal us that's wine\n  They turn around take my last pull off the L\n  these niggas on the block keep looking at me well\n  But they want the jewel it ain't hard to tell\n  I'm recognize his face, he actin like Denzel\n  But fuck him, I went to check low for chop\n  on a ball gone the size like faith up top\n  Now it's a whole new ball game, strategic mind frame\n  My dialogue's rebellious raid and razor fame\n  Glass out a red light, see Killah get on a ninja bike\n  Show my love to the God he peeled out and made a right\n  **Sound of speeding motorcycle**\n\n  Chorus:\n\n  When you walking down the street with your - Box in your hand\n  and you bringing the music of the - Wu-Tang Clan\n  And you hear Ironman on your - radio rapping\n  Your feet start the dancing and your - hands start the clapping\n\n  Verse Two: Street\n\n  Street's running through your dancehall gunning\n  like Lee Harvey Oswald stunning slapping MC's with summons\n  for pumping - that watered down substance\n  Beef there's slugs finger creeping\n  making moves like Crying Freeman\n  Prince of thieves, earth's third seed\n  Heavyweight like golden fleeces homicides stroll the street\n  If Luther preached it, look at the thugs holding heat\n  In the city beef got me plotting trilogy\n  To the smoke enemies sneak attacks I'm beyond and above that\n  Seen that done that, respect black\n  I catch a slug to your hardhat\n  lounging in the everglades, surfing the airwave\n  Catch a buck fifty where the razorblades swiftly\n  Shaolin cats be shiesty, strictly\n  drunk off the Irish whiskey\n\n  Chorus\n\n  Verse Three: Method Man\n\n  Rest your headpiece on this one sun\n  cough up a lung\n  Sleeping on my murderous type ones I get you done\n  I'm looking at these cuthroat kids and how they live\n  It's like we was partners in spades and you renege\n  Can't fuck with no nigga like that he get me jack\n  Or sent back, meaning whole life fade to black\n  I'm looking in the half of right and roll tight\n  fool me once but can't fool me twice, I'm 25\n  To life on this mic device ain't nothing nice\n  a mixture of long wild rice and no spice\n  Inflicted, rap addicted, track I stick it, flip it\n  daddy long dick-ed, slide\n  A little bit beyond twisted, mind in stitches\n  You thought weak but meant wicked\n  Niggas choke off my second hand smoke lifted\n  everyday is like my birthday I'm mad gifted, dead calm\n  Hit me with the eighteen bronze, buddah palm\n  About to blow like Napalm, before your arm\n  Prepare for the warfare, or buy a share\n  Oh what the fuck we dealing with, yeah\n  Johnny about to go there\n  need another year\n  Bust a shot for my sons that didn't make it here\n\n  Chorus\n"},{"id":16442475,"name":"Box In Hand (feat. Method Man, Street, Raekwon & The Force MD's)","trackName":"Box In Hand (feat. Method Man, Street, Raekwon & The Force MD's)","artistName":"Ghostface Killah","albumName":"Ironman","duration":194.821224,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Verse One: Ghostface Killah\n\nYeah, assorted flavor Clarks\nNo doubt\nThe beer champ\nYeah, curly head kid\nYo, yo, yo\n\nFrom Gators to blazers, low fades and razors\nBig dick saloon, I contact the womb; the black asian\nWhich location keeps circulating\nI want the twin power after day shit on his mason\nA God steam represent the gummy with the green\nwho walk fiend stand up on your block and burn a bean\nSir Ballentine, lookin at this bitch walk behind\nThe thing that's fucked up appeal us that's wine\nThey turn around take my last pull off the L\nthese niggas on the block keep looking at me well\nBut they want the jewel it ain't hard to tell\nI'm recognize his face, he actin like Denzel\nBut fuck him, I went to check low for chop\non a ball gone the size like faith up top\nNow it's a whole new ball game, strategic mind frame\nMy dialogue's rebellious raid and razor fame\nGlass out a red light, see Killah get on a ninja bike\nShow my love to the God he peeled out and made a right\n**Sound of speeding motorcycle**\n\nChorus:\n\nWhen you walking down the street with your - Box in your hand\nand you bringing the music of the - Wu-Tang Clan\nAnd you hear Ironman on your - radio rapping\nYour feet start the dancing and your - hands start the clapping\n\nVerse Two: Street\n\nStreet's running through your dancehall gunning\nlike Lee Harvey Oswald stunning slapping MC's with summons\nfor pumping - that watered down substance\nBeef there's slugs finger creeping\nmaking moves like Crying Freeman\nPrince of thieves, earth's third seed\nHeavyweight like golden fleeces homicides stroll the street\nIf Luther preached it, look at the thugs holding heat\nIn the city beef got me plotting trilogy\nTo the smoke enemies sneak attacks I'm beyond and above that\nSeen that done that, respect black\nI catch a slug to your hardhat\nlounging in the everglades, surfing the airwave\nCatch a buck fifty where the razorblades swiftly\nShaolin cats be shiesty, strictly\ndrunk off the Irish whiskey\n\nChorus\n\nVerse Three: Method Man\n\nRest your headpiece on this one sun\ncough up a lung\nSleeping on my murderous type ones I get you done\nI'm looking at these cuthroat kids and how they live\nIt's like we was partners in spades and you renege\nCan't fuck with no nigga like that he get me jack\nOr sent back, meaning whole life fade to black\nI'm looking in the half of right and roll tight\nfool me once but can't fool me twice, I'm 25\nTo life on this mic device ain't nothing nice\na mixture of long wild rice and no spice\nInflicted, rap addicted, track I stick it, flip it\ndaddy long dick-ed, slide\nA little bit beyond twisted, mind in stitches\nYou thought weak but meant wicked\nNiggas choke off my second hand smoke lifted\neveryday is like my birthday I'm mad gifted, dead calm\nHit me with the eighteen bronze, buddah palm\nAbout to blow like Napalm, before your arm\nPrepare for the warfare, or buy a share\nOh what the fuck we dealing with, yeah\nJohnny about to go there\nneed another year\nBust a shot for my sons that didn't make it here\n\nChorus","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Box In Hand (feat. Method Man, Street, Raekwon & The Force MD's)\n  artist: Ghostface Killah\n  album: Ironman\n  duration_ms: 194821\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Verse One: Ghostface Killah\n\n  Yeah, assorted flavor Clarks\n  No doubt\n  The beer champ\n  Yeah, curly head kid\n  Yo, yo, yo\n\n  From Gators to blazers, low fades and razors\n  Big dick saloon, I contact the womb; the black asian\n  Which location keeps circulating\n  I want the twin power after day shit on his mason\n  A God steam represent the gummy with the green\n  who walk fiend stand up on your block and burn a bean\n  Sir Ballentine, lookin at this bitch walk behind\n  The thing that's fucked up appeal us that's wine\n  They turn around take my last pull off the L\n  these niggas on the block keep looking at me well\n  But they want the jewel it ain't hard to tell\n  I'm recognize his face, he actin like Denzel\n  But fuck him, I went to check low for chop\n  on a ball gone the size like faith up top\n  Now it's a whole new ball game, strategic mind frame\n  My dialogue's rebellious raid and razor fame\n  Glass out a red light, see Killah get on a ninja bike\n  Show my love to the God he peeled out and made a right\n  **Sound of speeding motorcycle**\n\n  Chorus:\n\n  When you walking down the street with your - Box in your hand\n  and you bringing the music of the - Wu-Tang Clan\n  And you hear Ironman on your - radio rapping\n  Your feet start the dancing and your - hands start the clapping\n\n  Verse Two: Street\n\n  Street's running through your dancehall gunning\n  like Lee Harvey Oswald stunning slapping MC's with summons\n  for pumping - that watered down substance\n  Beef there's slugs finger creeping\n  making moves like Crying Freeman\n  Prince of thieves, earth's third seed\n  Heavyweight like golden fleeces homicides stroll the street\n  If Luther preached it, look at the thugs holding heat\n  In the city beef got me plotting trilogy\n  To the smoke enemies sneak attacks I'm beyond and above that\n  Seen that done that, respect black\n  I catch a slug to your hardhat\n  lounging in the everglades, surfing the airwave\n  Catch a buck fifty where the razorblades swiftly\n  Shaolin cats be shiesty, strictly\n  drunk off the Irish whiskey\n\n  Chorus\n\n  Verse Three: Method Man\n\n  Rest your headpiece on this one sun\n  cough up a lung\n  Sleeping on my murderous type ones I get you done\n  I'm looking at these cuthroat kids and how they live\n  It's like we was partners in spades and you renege\n  Can't fuck with no nigga like that he get me jack\n  Or sent back, meaning whole life fade to black\n  I'm looking in the half of right and roll tight\n  fool me once but can't fool me twice, I'm 25\n  To life on this mic device ain't nothing nice\n  a mixture of long wild rice and no spice\n  Inflicted, rap addicted, track I stick it, flip it\n  daddy long dick-ed, slide\n  A little bit beyond twisted, mind in stitches\n  You thought weak but meant wicked\n  Niggas choke off my second hand smoke lifted\n  everyday is like my birthday I'm mad gifted, dead calm\n  Hit me with the eighteen bronze, buddah palm\n  About to blow like Napalm, before your arm\n  Prepare for the warfare, or buy a share\n  Oh what the fuck we dealing with, yeah\n  Johnny about to go there\n  need another year\n  Bust a shot for my sons that didn't make it here\n\n  Chorus\n"}]