Instrumental
Перевод: Черный ящик. Ghost Box.
me to take mines Pass my nickel plated nine, call me einstein Buck a shot two times and stick you for your rhyme Put you in a pine box You and your whole
get broke I done took blocks through war, took blocks for fall Took blocks to Wall for box of raw What you think 33 in the glock is for? Black fatigues
be a murder 'Cause I'm a fuckin' killer by nature It had to be a murder I looked him in the eye then I shot him in his face See, niggas make mistakes, black
Now you'll sing a song of liberty with blacks and paks and jocks And they'll take you from this dump you're in and stick you in a box Then they'll take
with the big dogs, don't fuck with the big dogs Don't fuck with the big dogs, don't fuck with the big dogs Johnny blaze the ghost rider, ghost stories
appear to be bored Plotting on a Kanye but screaming where's my award Ballin' out of control, never won an ESPY 'Bout to buy a black ghost and call
wake his ass up, he can't even move Cereal box is crack and ratchets, in the cocaine spot My fiends'll box filled with coke head classics Dope money,
it first on how I shitted on your turf At times, Cuban Link verse, yo Check out the rap kingpin, summertime fine jewelry drippin' Face in the box, I
swords, sour amputate Duck Savanna wait, we splashed the glass, ice rocks Our cash high right stock, our logo's on your rice box Plus your dice box,
' we came to rock the spot Like Ironman Starks, they be the illest MCs in the world today Cappa, Raekwon an' the R.Z.A., so listen to them clear An' put the box
with expensive bullets Ain't non of y'all better than lox Have all of y'all dressed up in a suit dead in a box Me and my niggas get redder than fox
I know what you mean) No matter what I do, they got a nigga Still runnin' from the police (Put them motherfuckin' Nike's on tight and get ghost, y'all
done took blocks to war, took blocks ruval Took blocks to Wall for box of raw What you think the 33 and the glock is for? Black fatigues, skullies
in a box with no feeling Informer type, that's what you get for squealing It's the money or the morgue son, ready to die Black Infinit-i, yo, papi, call
out the tissues they were covered with shit and the beer i had for breakfast was a box of cheap white wine and the boom box on my shoulder was a box
