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