Rec-Room Therapy
Ghostface Killah Lyrics


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Ight, now, this is how we gon' do this shit
Youknowhatimsaying? Niggaz wassn't out in the streets back then
When was doing this shit son, you knowhatimean?
Yeah, check the story

I done flushed bags of powder down project toilets
You could of found of me on the steps dusted, unable to call it
Jums in my pocket, the rental was stolen, tapping pockets
On the local drug dealers, just to see what they holding
I know, niggaz with crack viles stuck to they colon
The acid, done bubbled up, now they stomach's is swollen
That just, life in the hood, surrounded class, who we bag in our stash
The ultraviolet haze, we hit it and pass
We toast to the Ghost of old days, yeah, old ager hump
We rap renegades, must stay paid

Get money (get money), get money, Ghost (get money)
Get money (get money), get money, Ghost (get money)

Big fluffed out gooses on, Stan Smiths
The housing cops can suck our dicks, we jumping out
Of convertible matchbox shits, next drip inhaling
Chilling, my throat frozen, my orange brick
Bottles of Cru', bitches with Baby Phats, they swinging ax
They singing, you still blinging, daddy, now bring it back
The smokest rap nigga, honey, I'mma need a match
To bust the game wide open, I'mma need an ax
I juggle this, practice, smuggle heroin in the cactus
Keep a hood, I still go and fuck a fat bitch
Actress, slinging the backs of five Cleopatras
A cocaine Chef, I stretch money like elastic
My raps is bigger, dynamics with the muscle advantage
Jake Cutler on dust, when I blam shit

Get money (get money), get money, Ghost (get money)
Get money (get money), get money, Ghost (get money)

Yo, we been bagging since 18, kid, Polo Rugs on with gloves on
Rented cars, fronting on winning broads
Gum slow, half moon, leather pants, Avia' days
Keep your hands off my blunt and my waves
Beneton, Superman bomb, everybody in the lobby, we clapping
Hats on, protecting your moms, you know how we play
Spray something down if the team say
It's on, I dedicate my lines to the PJ's
Triple beams, Pyrex jars, smoking nickle weeds
All we did is look mad fly, icicle rings
Whatever homeboy, you want it? You could get your receipt
A little closer, you can sense we got heat, it's only me
Plus four other ill gangstas, we all anxious
To blow up your block and spank shit

Get money (get money), get money, Ghost (get money)
Get money (get money), get money, Ghost (get money)

Yo, I'm down for the get down, hit the town, sick the bloodhounds on 'em
I rip clowns, I flip pounds, I spit rounds
I'm on the prowl, my stomach growl, crushed by the crowd
Rush through Loud Records, drop mushroom clouds
I'm not a rapper, I'm spellbound, I melt down
Your G-Force, with heat walks
Free falling to a better money, bet he's hungry
Spread the honey, big head inside the Humvee
Mix lead inside my lungies, spend bread on my Dungarees
And such and such, Ghost plugged me with this slut
Don't hug me, bug me, I'm ugly when I fuck
I'm hard like a jungle hunter, bust off in Heather
Double cross me, lift your boss off your feet, 'course he's feather
Whatever, whatever, he cried indepence
Tennis players get fried, playing both sides of the ends
Keep your eyes on your friends, cuz they spy for the feds
Watch me rise from the dead, I got ties with the dreads





Get money (get money), get money, Ghost (get money)
Get money (get money), get money, Ghost (get money)

Overall Meaning

In the song "Rec-Room Therapy" by Ghostface Killah, he reminisces about the past, his experiences in the hood, and the struggles he faced as a drug dealer. He talks about flushing bags of powder down project toilets, being dusted on the steps unable to call it, and tapping pockets of drug dealers just to see what they’re holding. He paints a picture of life in the hood surrounded by people who are constantly involved in drugs and violence. He talks about how they toasted to the Ghost of old days, and how they are now rap renegades who must stay paid.


Ghostface Killah talks about getting money and how he will do anything and everything to make it. He talks about renting cars, bagging drugs since 18, wearing Polo rugs with gloves on, and fronting on winning broads. He talks about juggling and smuggling heroin and cocaine and stretching money like elastic. He reminisces about the icicle rings, Beneton, Superman bomb, and Avia days. He dedicates his lines to the PJ's and talks about triple beams, Pyrex jars, and smoking nickel weeds. Ghostface Killah is not shy about his past and how he had to do illegal things to make money.


Ghostface Killah also talks about his skills as a rapper and how he's not just an ordinary rapper, but he's spellbound and can melt down his opponents. He's not just hard, but he's hard like a jungle hunter who can bust off in Heather. He warns people to keep their eyes on their friends because they spy for feds, and how he's risen from the dead and has ties with the dreads. In essence, "Rec Room Therapy" is like a memoir of Ghostface Killah's past and how he had to do illegal things to make money and survive.


Line by Line Meaning

I done flushed bags of powder down project toilets
I've disposed of large amounts of drugs down public restrooms in the housing projects.


You could of found of me on the steps dusted, unable to call it
I would often be found heavily intoxicated passed out on the steps of buildings.


Jums in my pocket, the rental was stolen, tapping pockets
Car theft was a common practice for me to obtain transportation, while stealing from people on the street to acquire money.


On the local drug dealers, just to see what they holding
I would search the pockets of local drug dealers to see what drugs they had in their possession.


I know, niggaz with crack viles stuck to they colon
I know people who have hidden crack vials inside their body by inserting them into their rectum.


The acid, done bubbled up, now they stomach's is swollen
The LSD that was ingested had caused their stomachs to swell up and become bloated.


The ultraviolet haze, we hit it and pass
We smoke marijuana and pass it around to each other, enjoying the moment.


We toast to the Ghost of old days, yeah, old ager hump
We commemorate the memories of the past and raise a toast to them.


My raps is bigger, dynamics with the muscle advantage
My lyrics carry more weight and are more impactful than others, allowing me to have more power and control over the music industry.


Triple beams, Pyrex jars, smoking nickle weeds
Equipment used for drug dealing such as scales, heat-resistant glass containers, and low-quality marijuana.


All we did is look mad fly, icicle rings
All we cared about was looking cool and fashionable, often wearing expensive jewelry.


Whatever homeboy, you want it? You could get your receipt
If you really want to mess with me, I will give you a receipt which in this case refers to physical or verbal retaliation.


I'm hard like a jungle hunter, bust off in Heather
I'm tough and aggressive like a hunter in the jungle, and will engage in sexual activity with no hesitation.


Double cross me, lift your boss off your feet, 'course he's feather
Betray me, and I will physically lift you off the ground and perhaps even kill your boss who is weak and fragile.


Keep your eyes on your friends, cuz they spy for the feds
Be mindful of who you associate with, as they may be working undercover as an informant for law enforcement.


Watch me rise from the dead, I got ties with the dreads
Pay attention as I make a comeback, I have connections with the dreadlocks who operate in the drug trade.




Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Spirit Music Group
Written by: Corey Woods, Davey Chegwidden, Dennis Coles, L Hawkins, R Adair

Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
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