| It’s still the same thang, once again
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| About’s to get the chain, headed back in
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| The concrete jungle, is my new home now
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| So I gotta get ready to rumble, cause I’m on lock down
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| How the fuck could they do it to my brother, busta judge got him locked in a
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| cell
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| Only means of communication, is a code through the mail
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| 24/7−3/65, for the rest of his life
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| Gotta be ready, just in case a ride break through the night
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| Keeping money on his books, so he can get his hustle on
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| I feel I’m headed to the gates, so he don’t have to be alone
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| And if I gotta catch the chain, thangs ain’t gon be the same
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| Shank on side of my hip, to go off in a nigga frame
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| Over chow or my kicks, or respect of the matter
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| Just mind your own and go on, nigga fuck if you badder
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| Daydreaming and plus I’m paranoid, missing my child
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| A good guy gone wild, with life read on his file
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| I can’t take it the thought of me leaving, this world forever
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| Never to see my fam, only wishing to get a letter
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| On lock, praying that this is only a dream
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| The ride that I thought I took, really ain’t what it seem
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| I’m on lock, and all I want is pictures and mail
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| To make my time fly by, while I’m stuck in a cell
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| I’m on lock, and don’t even know if I’m coming home
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| But I’ma take what I deserve, and go off when they in my zone — 2x
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| I’m on lock in my 6-by-8, straight from the streets
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| To the steal gates, they got a nigga eating on steal plates
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| I caught that chain, thinking my mama gon come and get me
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| It was only a matter of time, them bars close swiftly
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| Young nigga known to run the H, on across the jail gates
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| I’m contemplating, of running my shank into my cell mate
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| Reminiscing back, when I was hustling out attics
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| Now it’s only concrete walls, and banging on bowling alleys
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| Niggas’ll untwist your cap, for fresh bag of them chaps
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| Let me see what you look like, or get you more than some slaps
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| We was able to have cigarettes, but they took that and the weights away
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| Now I find myself shooting out kites, to pass my time away
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| Orange P’s and toothpaste, got me feeling a high
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| Stole off on the state guard, niggas was jumping fly
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| Two shishcabob sticks up, for my niggas that ride
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| I do everything from the left side, taking it to your chest high
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| I’m on lock, but I’m well connected
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| From the Clarke to the Brae', niggas respect it or check it
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| H-Town niggas stand up, Mack Biggers known to man up
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| Ice water, when it’s time to go on put my hands up
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| And can’t wait to, take it to the yard
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| My fiber glass sharpened game sick, I’ll take it to your squad
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| And fuck, what you niggas is thinking
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| Still repping the block, from the streets to the Penn I’m still repping the
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| block
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| Fuck the C.O.'s, and C.O.3's
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| I do my time on my dick head, eat on these
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| No meal and no flicks fuck it, I ain’t tripping
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| P.O.A. |
| got a nigga, staying focused on a million
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| It’s Guerilla Emmet, so I run with the Maab
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| You niggas is pussy cowards, y’all can’t run from the mob
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| It’s wreck time my nigga, won’t y’all come to the yard
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| And Y-Town to H-Town, nigga just get in your squad |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Lock Down, artist - Trae Tha Truth. Album song Plex, Vol. 4.5 (S.L.A.B.ed), in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп