(Instrumental)
Come on let's go down Everybody's waiting for us down at the ghost town Bill Bailey said he'd be around If Mrs. G. Robinson would just put that bad Havana
down the shades and we turn out the lights There's a ghost in the jukebox And it don't come out 'til everybody goes home There's a ghost in the jukebox
Instrumental
real niggas Some real niggas, you'll never see what I've seen When I sleep, I dream of bodies in streams of blood Naked bitches, dead nigga's ghost,
Soap box preacher standing on the corner And all the people they would gather round You speak of faith with a blaze of glory But those that fear they
ve stolen all the magic Took my melody Little By Little Turned so nasty now The dark's there The pillar of my soul The last one out of the box The one
dark's living down in my heart And if I wanted to die before I got old I should've started some years ago digging that hole Well, I'll carry this box
they ass a big blast, instead of turnin' The other cheek, I get dead up in this bitch ass 'Cause yo, this shit is real life I'd rather be piped up in a box
in madrid And you decked some fucking blackshirt who was screaming at all the yids At the sick bed of cuchulainn we'll kneel and say a prayer And the ghosts
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
madden with a flow Jag chillin' in the back with girls holla at a chump Who you know gotta sea with a 3 in double beat I write my own stuff never will I need a ghost
afraid to advance. Today I walked through the snow and found a field of headstones. They were in rows like the weeks on calendars where each box is
ashamed to advance Today I walked through the snow And found a field of headstones They were in rows like the weeks on calendars Where each box is a
A motorcade of flatbed trucks Made off with quite a haul And that's when I heard someone shout In with the new, out with the old A dusty box of letters
hat If you wanna come and see This is what we?ll be This is what we?ll be I got shackles on my wrists Soon I?ll slip and I?ll be gone Chain me in a box
is alive tonight But nobody's kiddin' nobody about where it goes I'm sittin' down here in the campfire light Searchin' for the ghost of Tom Joad
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
