Ghostface Killah is critically acclaimed for his loud, fast-paced flow, and his stream-of-consciousness narratives containing cryptic slang and non-sequiturs.
Ghostface Killah was raised in the Stapleton housing projects in Staten Island, New York. In his autobiographical song "All That I Got Is You", Ghost tells the story of his childhood. He raps about how he grew up in a three bedroom apartment without his father, who left him at the age of six. Apparently, his mother had nine children.
His stage name was taken from one of the characters in the 1979 kung fu film Mystery of Chessboxing.
He was also a close friend of the three founding members of Wu-tang clan
Box In Hand
Ghostface Killah Lyrics
Jump to: Overall Meaning ↴ Line by Line Meaning ↴
All of em
Lay em a death warrant
Ah, yo, show it off, kid, show em, what, what
Let em have it, bust it, hey yo, hey yo
Blend wine, who want to win mine
Shorty get a ten-round for floatin
Flexed out, Flinstone style
Your crimi-nal pen pal kidnapped Loud, jetted the
Mosyin, posin for them niggas up in Poland
Rollin wax style museum, G 'em
Them richest niggas bless this
Like Russian cut VVS's
Slide the hatchback, black were finessing this
Them niggas over there know, Gazelle goggles
And them Lottos, 88 style, throwin' bottles (bottles)
Scenario rap, rap imperial, material (uh, yo yo, yo, yo)
Murderin' cats is like that real
Yo come do me somethin word to Michelob peep the Land Rov'
Sleeper hold club faggots lay your dome on a stove
It's like space kid, the whole world is pitch black, granola rap
Dough got smaller famous team, walked up in Fotomat
Black down, numerous rounds, boots is brown
Getaway driver, this white bitch from out of town
We love horse races shakin Jakes and high-speed chases
Porno stations, drinkin violations, godly nations
90 minute Maxell tapes, instrumental breaks
Bangin earaches, lay my verse down in two takes
The speaker pops, the Winchester rifle's in the kitchen
Murder the DJ's eyes twitchin, woofer hissin
Yo, he's strong armin, manipulatin niggas, scrapin niggas
Takin play from niggas, hate fakin niggas, yo you hear me?
The whole shit's like wrestling
What you dare me? Back the fuck up kid, we flexin
This rap shit bust yo' gums, and leave you stunned
Pull your plug, now you can't function
There's no to-tal or sum to this equa-tion, you fro-zen
Many may come but few are cho-sen
Pretty niggas want to play the war po-sin
When the ruckus come, they be the first to get their shine stolen
Do or die, it be I, Meta-physical Man
Holding court from my Wu, indivisible clan
I see your thoughts and your hand reachin
It's getting deep in this mud
Cats heat seekin, for one blood
Nameless thugs with aimless slugs, shootin at these stank bitches
Less he gon' bring this above, I make switches
From the lamp I grant three wishes
Johnny be parlayin, I Blaze britches, then I roll
One hundred percent mind, one hundred percent body
One hundred percent soul, individual
Assholes tend to run
From this PLO extortion to the one
The next chamber, you fuckin with the star spangler
To the dawn's early light with this head-banger
Boogie, represent this shit fully
Like I'm constantly at war with the town bully
Who want that pressure, about to get smacked silly
Like a fat bitch in Spandex, free Willy!
We on some milli, check the joint, engine number nine
Niggas wastin time worryin about me and mine
Get your own shit
The first verse of "Box In Hand" by Ghostface Killah deals with the rapper's material and criminal aspirations. The lyrics are complex, intricate, and rhyming; however, they explore deep thoughts, warlike machinations, and criminal designs. Ghostface describes himself and his comrades in the battle, and he calls on his listeners to prepare for the fight by arming themselves with headphones and whatever else they need. The rapper then proceeds to paint an image of high-risk ventures, illegal activities, and luxurious celebrations with drinks flowing and expensive jewels flashing walls. The second verse of the song wanders into more personal and philosophical areas, with Ghostface Killah relating his experiences, fears, and desires through the wisdom of his lyrics. The intricacies and images in the lyrics of "Box In Hand" are a testament to Ghostface's talent and intellect as a rapper.
Line by Line Meaning
Get all my peoples, get all my peoples headphones
Gather everyone and make them listen closely to this song
Lay em a death warrant
Prepare for a battle
Ah, yo, show it off, kid, show em, what, what
Let's do this, show them what we've got
Blend wine, who want to win mine
I'm in the mood for competition, who can beat me?
Shorty get a ten-round for floatin
If you want to challenge me, you better be prepared for ten rounds
With the richest, huh
I'm surrounded by wealthy people
Flexed out, Flinstone style
Showing off like the Flintstones did
Your crimi-nal pen pal kidnapped Loud, jetted the
My criminal friend kidnapped someone named Loud and ran away before getting caught
Mosyin, posin for them niggas up in Poland
Moving slowly and posing for people in Poland
Rollin wax style museum, G em
Showing off my skills like a museum display
Them richest niggas bless this
The wealthy people around me approve of what I'm doing
Like Russian cut VVS's
Referring to a type of diamond called Russian cut VVS, which is valuable and high quality
Slide the hatchback, black were finessing this
Driving a black car and doing this smoothly
Them niggas over there know, Gazelle goggles
Those people over there know what's happening and are watching closely
And them Lottos, 88 style, throwin' bottles (bottles)
They're throwing bottles while wearing Lotto branded clothing in a style popular in 1988
Scenario rap, rap imperial, material (uh, yo yo, yo, yo)
I'm rapping about my situation using a powerful and impressive delivery
Murderin' cats is like that real
Killing people is a reality for me
Yo come do me somethin word to Michelob peep the Land Rov'
Come and do something to me if you dare, look at my luxury car
Sleeper hold club faggots lay your dome on a stove
I will attack those who are not as tough as me and make them suffer
It's like space kid, the whole world is pitch black, granola rap
The world can feel lonely and hopeless, affecting even the music I make
Dough got smaller famous team, walked up in Fotomat
My team is not as rich as we used to be but we still act like we are
Black down, numerous rounds, boots is brown
I'm dressed in black with many bullets and worn-out boots
Getaway driver, this white bitch from out of town
My driver is a white woman who is not from around here
We love horse races shakin Jakes and high-speed chases
We enjoy betting on horse races and thrilling car chases
Porno stations, drinkin violations, godly nations
We watch pornography, drink illegally, and think of ourselves as godly
90 minute Maxell tapes, instrumental breaks
We use Maxell tapes to record music, including instrumental breaks
Bangin earaches, lay my verse down in two takes
Making music can be exhausting and painful, but I got it done quickly
The speaker pops, the Winchester rifle's in the kitchen
There's a sound distortion and a rifle in the kitchen
Murder the DJ's eyes twitchin, woofer hissin
I attack the DJ and cause chaos
Yo, he's strong armin, manipulatin niggas, scrapin niggas
He's using his strength and power to control and hurt people
Takin play from niggas, hate fakin niggas, yo you hear me?
Taking advantage of people and hating those who pretend to be something they're not
The whole shit's like wrestling
Everything is like a staged wrestling match
What you dare me? Back the fuck up kid, we flexin
Do you want to challenge me? Stop and let's show off what we've got
This rap shit bust yo' gums, and leave you stunned
Rapping can be tough and leave you speechless
Pull your plug, now you can't function
Stopping someone from doing what they were able to do
There's no to-tal or sum to this equa-tion, you fro-zen
This situation has no clear answer or solution, making you feel stuck and confused
Many may come but few are cho-sen
A lot of people may try but only a few will succeed
Pretty niggas want to play the war po-sin
Good-looking guys want to act tough
When the ruckus come, they be the first to get their shine stolen
When things get chaotic, those who act tough are usually the first to lose their cool
Do or die, it be I, Meta-physical Man
I am the Meta-physical Man and I will do whatever it takes to survive
Holding court from my Wu, indivisible clan
Leading my Wu-Tang clan and making important decisions
I see your thoughts and your hand reachin
I know what you're thinking and I see what you're trying to do
It's getting deep in this mud
Things are getting complicated
Cats heat seekin, for one blood
People are looking for a fight
Nameless thugs with aimless slugs, shootin at these stank bitches
Unknown criminals are shooting at these unpleasant women
Less he gon' bring this above, I make switches
I will make sure the situation improves and change my approach to fix it
From the lamp I grant three wishes
I am like a genie that can grant three wishes
Johnny be parlayin, I Blaze britches, then I roll
My friend Johnny is gambling with his money, I'm showing off my fancy pants, then we leave
One hundred percent mind, one hundred percent body
I'm fully committed, mentally and physically
One hundred percent soul, individual
I'm unique and true to myself
Assholes tend to run
People who act like jerks usually avoid confrontations
From this PLO extortion to the one
From this threatening situation to another one
The next chamber, you fuckin with the star spangler
The next round will be against someone important like me
To the dawn's early light with this head-banger
I will continue making music all night long
Boogie, represent this shit fully
I will represent this whole thing completely
Like I'm constantly at war with the town bully
I feel like I am always fighting against someone bigger than me
Who want that pressure, about to get smacked silly
Whoever challenges me will regret it
Like a fat bitch in Spandex, free Willy!
Like something that doesn't look good or is uncomfortable, like a fat woman wearing Spandex, or a whale who is finally free
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Spirit Music Group
Written by: Clifford Smith, Dennis David Coles, Patrick Charles, Robert F. Diggs
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind