Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Land of the Lost, artist - X-Raided. Date of issue: 21.09.2009
Song language: English
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… |