don trip trapped inn lyrics

"Trap'd In The trap" lyrics

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• Don Trip Lyrics
• Guerrilla (Mixtape) Album
• Trap'd In The Trap Lyrics

Don Trip - Trap'd In The Trap Lyrics

Artist: Don Trip

Album: Guerrilla (Mixtape)

No job, in the trap Got my kids and my broad in the trap (in the trap) Can’t leave (can’t leave) It’s a trap and I feel trapped in In the trap, say I’m trapped No job, in the trap (it’s a trap) Got my kids and my broad in the trap (in the trap) Can’t leave (can’t leave) It’s a trap and I feel trapped in In the trap, say I’m trapped in the trap Said he graduated, he got his diploma Got three kids, two baby mamas Got a part-time job at MacDonald’s There ought to be reality, chauffer’s drama He owed child support so he got warrants Got locked up, released the next morning Post bail, lost his job same morning Saving for a rainy day, it’s ‘bout to start pouring Now he on a job hunt for a new employer Gotta feed his son and his two daughters No, he don’t sell dope cuz he got morals And his kids future’s what he looking forward to And he got a girlfriend he’d want to give more to And she got a broken list of shit he can’t afford to do He’s got a job interview ‘s got court too Let’s wish you luck and I hope you find a horseshoe He trapped in the trap No job, in the trap Got my kids and my broad in the trap (in the trap) Can’t leave (can’t leave) It’s a trap and I feel trapped in In the trap, say I’m trapped No job, in the trap (it’s a trap) Got my kids and my broad in the trap (in the trap) Can’t leave (can’t leave) It’s a trap and I feel trapped in In the trap, say I’m trapped in the trap Okay he got a new job but it’s still part time The bills passed due, got caught crossing fines Rental center coming for the washer and the dryer Every time he hear a car passing he looking at the blinds Got a second job, he know that he gotta grind Can’t feed his kids with the sings that he tryin’ But daddy’s strong so why daddy cryin’? Found out mama’s fucking niggers on the side And he had hopes of making her a bride But she fucking dope buds in the mean time Niggers like us plan to see why For the money and the jewels and the riots We give addict and we kick her to the side And she can go home if she want quality time And she make it home every morning ‘round five He can only look at her at the corner of his eyes But he trapped in a trap No job, in the trap Got my kids and my broad in the trap (in the trap) Can’t leave (can’t leave) It’s a trap and I feel trapped in In the trap, say I’m trapped No job, in the trap (it’s a trap) Got my kids and my broad in the trap (in the trap) Can’t leave (can’t leave) It’s a trap and I feel trapped in In the trap, say I’m trapped in the trap Now he trip over jobs, sayin’ fuck it Met a nigger that his girl been fucking He in pain cuz he really did love ‘er But it all fall down when you strugglin’ Now watch it home boy why you hustlin’? Feeling like his living situation need adjusting Went and bought a bag and a strap from his cousin He’s trip fuck out tryin’ not to start buggin’ Still watch it home boy can’t believe she fucked him Can’t believe that’s the woman that he put his trust in Staked out at home boy house ain’t stalking To the day see his girlfriend walking And that set him off disregard all caution Got in his head he gon’ kill him when he caught him Di them, turned around and did his self Guess he really did love that dirty bitch to death Now you’re trapped in a trap No job, in the trap Got my kids and my broad in the trap (in the trap) Can’t leave (can’t leave) It’s a trap and I feel trapped in In the trap, say I’m trapped No job, in the trap (it’s a trap) Got my kids and my broad in the trap (in the trap) Can’t leave (can’t leave) It’s a trap and I feel trapped in In the trap, say I’m trapped in the trap

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Guerrilla (mixtape) tracklist.

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Now this is a knotty one... No intention to intrude on the copyright of blah blah, non-profit making site yadda-yadda... you've heard it all before. So, what we're going to do is this: post a few MP3s and a few of the lyrics. Any objections, please contact us and we'll remedy the situation ASAP, and think of something else to go here.

written by Indians in Moscow, © 1983/1984 Kennick Music Ltd

thanks be to Matt Kinska

Is That What I Said?

The fly in the soapdish On his back, legs a-flailing A spectacular last performance For the slob in the bath It's been a long long long long summer Every second older Dreams we had of leaving Will be best left till next year Is that what I said? Is that the time already my dear? We'll have to move on Some other time maybe Move on Me in a soapdish You in a soapdish Trapped here in a sticky mess Remarkably we'll both get out But lose a second skin Habit has a dignity Useful to its users Dreams we had of taking stock Will soon be left behind Is that what I said? Is that the time already my dear? We'll have to move on Some other time maybe Is that what I said? We'll have to move on Is that what I said? I take it all back

Hoo! Hah! Hoo! Hah! It could be a piece of cake It could be easy to take Could give you a run for cash Could tell you things you never have had told to you It could jerk your arms akimbo Or grip you by the heel Bruise you black and blue And make the bruises bleed Hoo! Hah! Hoo! Hah! Don't show me an iron skirt Skin a smooth thigh - no bruise hurt It could be an officer in drag Could tell you things you never have had told to you It could jerk your arms akimbo Or grip you by the heel Bruise you black and blue And make the bruises bleed To you, a message inscribe So after he, these words survive She was under when you weren't there Could get to like this feeling It's fresher It could jerk your arms akimbo Or grip you by the heel Bruise you black and blue And make the bruises bleed It could pull the rug from underfoot To catch you as you fall Or not be there at all Or not be there at all It could kiss you in the crowd Or kick you when we're home But it's not salt It'll never be salt

Indians in Moscow

Read all the papers There's nothing to say The last issue Won't be out today This is normal, they say Clue on the black chequered paper? Indians in Moscow News will read you All shining out News will read you All shining out Russian dolls in blackened wood And generations question Prints or repetition? Tribes over-run No order of this kind Picture the chaos here Squares dissolve to another design Of the present Safety here! No light! Sand in the glass Sinking basic colours into grey Tribes over-run Cataclysmic spires Are overdone today You have to write an essay But your pen is running For president Indians in Moscow

lyrics by Adele Nozedar, © 1983 Kennick Music Ltd

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