Song Boxing - Jim Jones

There’s no subliminals, I don’t be boxing in my songs

If I hate you, then I should put you in a box where you belong

But half you niggas pussy like you might be rockin' thongs

Any time when I get locked, even when cops was in the wrong

What I do?

Call my lawyer, up out of the box up in the morning

I was a young, dirty nigga with a Glock up in my palm

Now I’m a rich, dirty nigga with some rocks up in my charm

Snakes up in the grass, then we choppin' down the lawn

Fucker, big choppers in the foreign

I’m vicious in the game, ain’t no stoppin' me from scorin'

Ace of Spades championship, poppin' and pourin'

If they call, tell 'em call back, it’s really not that important

I’m speakin' right now, I need you, pay me attention

I used to cut class, I didn’t want no attention

So chill, little mama, you don’t need none of this

I’m ill, little mama, hundred G’s each wrist

So when I throw up gang signs, two hundred G’s in my flick

I been ready to die like B.I.G.

was in this bitch, nigga