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Artist: AK
Album:  Spice 1 - Tha Playa Rich Project 2 (2002)
Song:   Trapped
Typed by: qt@thalunatik.com *

* send corrections to the typist

You know it's hard, out here in the streets
A pity we gotta be in these streets
Haters, are everywhere
Cause shit and with somethin' deeper than you and me
It's hard, a cold, cold world
Sometimes can't even trust ya own girl
Gotta stand here and face my fears
Ain't gonna shed no more tears

I started younger than most, got turned out sellin' dope
Skippin' school to fuck bitches, carryin' guns in my coat
With dreams to sit on meal tickets, if I slang enough of this shit
Become a boss and be a made man, impossible to hit
Buy a mansion like Scarface, estate surrounded by gates
Cold killers on the payroll, 'case they come for the safe
Build a empire, they can't infiltrate
We all aspire to be kings but we could end up bein' inmates
See it ain't all peaches and cream, take a look at the game
Pour out some Hennessy and take a walk down memory lane
I lost so many homies
Chasin' this American dream for Cuban links and Lamborghinis
Talkin' ballin' supreme, look in my eyes
And you can see the pain I'm feelin' inside, look in the sky
And ask the Lord to be my strength and my guide, and wonder why?
He put us here, because the ghetto is hell, we hypnotized
It's like the Devil got us under a spell, under a spell..

[Hook: repeat 2X]
Trapped..
In this ghetto prison and I'm always
Strapped..
People are acting crazy and I can't
Relax..
I ain't gon' stress it anymore I won't shed no tears

For half my life cats been tryin' to have my life
I been, blasted twice by jealous bastards right
And I done banked more cats than niggaz done wrote raps
Done balled off dope sacks
Fell off and came back
I done knocked on niggaz' doors with straps
Split they wigs with lumberjacks
Beat they ass with baseball bats
Nigga how real is that?
I done seen a lotta sick ass shit
Quit fuckin' wit' some of my niggaz cuz they did a lot of trick ass shit
And all my best friend been gone for ten with no release, stay..
Caged like an animal 23 hours a day
They hit us up with secret indicments and three strikers
They send us everywhere from Pelican Bay to Rikers
I got, scars and stripes been scarred for life
Almost, lost my life fuckin' with faulters twice
Who can you trust? When ya best friend'll cross you up
And turn state's evidence for the deal that he cut

[Hook]

We used to stab out in my Chevy Impala, wit' no brakes
The whole crew packin' tre-five-sevens, and thirty-eights, like Doc Holiday
Bailin' from the Fifty, and barely got away
Baby G's... High speedin', sippin on Tanqueray
Tryin'a take the pain away, cuz we all in poverty
And ain't no way out but bank robberies or the lottery
I roam the block, swallowin' D, strapped with the ride low, (??)
Whatever it takes, to get the Expos and Tahoes
And only God knows, what they gon' hit us with next
They tryin'a scare us off the set, cuttin' off welfare checks
And tearin' down the projects, where niggaz grew up as Gs
And three strikes'll get ya life, in the land of the free
I often pray for paradise, for all my niggaz and me
We came a long way, we all seeds from a strong tree
But took the wrong way, the life of drug dealin' and crime
Niggaz' drugs spillin' and killin' with nines, killin' our kind

[Hook] - 2X