Lyrics Land of the Lost - X-Raided

Land of the Lost

Many muthafuckas didn’t make it
Other niggas locced up cuz they couldn’t take it
The ghetto got it’s claws in my back tryin' to keep a nigga down
I’m cryin' out for help, but help ain’t nowhere to be found
So what can I do?
Pursue other avenues to get revenues
Tryin' not to be the next boy on the Channel 3 ten o' clock news
Facin' interrogation, fuck an explaination
It’s time for declarations with exclaimations
I’m sick and tired of muthafuckas in my business
All up in my mix like sugary Kool-Aid worried about who I paid
And who I didn’t, I’m tired of spittin' happy raps
I’m ready for representin'
My fifty collar clips spit happy caps
It’s gettin' hard to be a G, P.D.
wanna see me rot
In the penetenairy doin' centuries OH MY GOD!
What do I do?
Where can I go?
What can I say?
I’m in the Land, of the Lost, with no escape
Stuck in a whirlpool gettin' drug down
We was four deep but I’m the only one now
How long will I last before I fall off?
Runnin', for my life, in the land of the lost
Stuck in a whirlpool gettin' drug down
We was four deep but I’m the only one now
How long will I last before I fall off?
Runnin', for my life, in the land of the lost
Second Verse:
Christmas missed us again
Poppa robbed 7−11 so now he sittin' in the pen
Ain’t no presents up under the tree for me
No toys to enjoy, cuz Mama’s unemployed
Your boy had to face reality at an early age
StepDad beatin' on Mama cuz he had a bad day
The drama was thicker than Hill Street Blues
Wanted to get a .22 and buck him, so you can see it on the news
Now my shoes was holey, pants was old
Birthdays was fucked up, all I got was clothes
A lil' Bebe kid, young Pro-Wing sporter boy
Wearin' turtlenecks, and thick-ass corduroys
Never got along in Junior High, got bagged on, beat down
Hoes laughed at me
But I tried to be cool, I tried to fit in
But then I said «Fuck it!»
And started comin' to school with a Mack-10
Got a nigga for his Nikes and his Starter coat
I got another for his bike, got another for his loccs
Robbed the same 7−11 as Poppa
I went and bought a coat down, and some khaki suits, now I’m proper
Blocc ah-, filliated at only fourteen
I’m doin' what I want and can’t nobody say a thing
And it seems like I’m out of control
I don’t know where I’m headed, the Land of the Lost got my soul
Third Verse:
My Mama said there would be days like these
The Ghetto on my back beatin' me down to my knees
Disease, infected
Children, neglected
Everywhere I look, I don’t see nothin' but crooks
I rejected, the knowledge that my Mama tried to give
I told her «It's my life and I’m the one that’s gotta live»
Mistaken prone, thinkin' I’m grown, doin' whatever I wanna
Nigga’s on his own, all alone, no one in my corner
I got a job at Dairy Queen servin' double burgers
Moonlightin' as a Bloccer servin' double murders
My first check was only fifty bucks
So fuck Dairy Queen, I got back on my the scene
And stacked some real green
But opportunies is limited, it’s either sell drugs or fast food
And you know which one I choose
Cuz it’s win, lose, or draw, in sickness, in health
It’s represent the turf
Cuz don’t nobody else give a fuck
The only love I ever felt, came from the homies and myself
I want wealth, and power, no matter what the cost
That’s all that’s on my mind, in the Land, of the Lost
Stuck in the whirlpool…