Jordan Castro - Back to the Trap House lyrics

We pull into the driveway and I immediately get a feeling like we should leave but Jennifer says it's ok so I get out of the car and ask what's going on. Shake hands, say hi. James, Brian, Eric, Andrew and Alex are all standing in the garage, high, Alex smoking what looks like a Parliament, staring. Delonte and Raul walk through the door and into the garage. “They started some sh** they shouldn't have f**ing started,” says Delonte, looking at his cell phone. “Two zones and a f**ing track.” “What happened?” I ask, confused, ready to leave. “Are you f**ing serious?” says Eric. “Yeah,” says Delonte, still looking at his phone. What the f** is going on? “What happened?” I ask again, to no one specifically, noticing the blunt behind Brian's ear. “When he pulled that little squirt gun looking thing out I thought n***a was kidding. I was like, ‘f** n***a tryina do? n***a tryina super soak me or some sh**?' I thought n***a was f**in' kidding.” James. “That wasn't no f**ing strap.” “Should I leave?” I ask Andrew. “Can I still cop that quarter?” “No,” says Andrew then Delonte says “Just go downstairs” and I'm walking downstairs and I smell marijuana and I begin to realize what I think just happened. “Did... did Delonte just get robbed?” I ask Raul. “Yeah,” says Raul. “Some f**ing n******g pulled a gun on Delonte and ranaway like a b**h.” Raul reaches under Delonte's bed and retrieves a cardboard box, a gigantic bag of weed. “Holy sh**,” I say quietly. “How much did you want?” “Is a quarter for one-ten cool?” I ask, amazed at the amount of weed he's holding. “Delonte was going to hook me up with a quarter for one-ten.” “Yeah for sure. But just cause you're my dude Castro.” “Sweet,” I say, “Thanks.” Andrew comes downstairs with Greg and says something about “mucking” people. Greg says the name of the person who robbed Delonte and everyone starts saying that he's f**ed and for a brief moment I feel sorry for him but then quickly snap out of it as I remember Jennifer and ask Andrew if I should leave. “No.” “Where's that scale?” asks Raul, touching things on a desk, a bed, a bookshelf with bongs on it. “This is Friedman's bud,” says Greg, holding up a small plastic container containing a small amount of weed. He puts the weed into a bag then hands Raul the scale. “Is this good bud?” I ask. “I mean, I have other bud,” says Raul. “This is some fruit though, it's straight.” “It's fruit?” “Yeah.” “Okay, sweet,” I say, still feeling like I should just leave, forget the d**. God damn it, I'm thinking. I stand there and say “Sweet” five times before Delonte comes downstairs with Alex. He picks up a blanket and throws it. “f**,” he says. “Did they take one bag or two?”“They took two,” says Andrew. “I saw them run out and the kid had a bag in both hands.” “There was a bag here,” says Delonte, throwing another blanket off of his bed. “No there wasn't,” says Raul. “I put it in the box, they only took two.” “f**,” says Delonte. “Why didn't you just like, murk them?” I ask. Alex shrugs.“Because they had a gun.” “They weren't going to shoot anyone,” I say. “They weren't going to shoot anyone.” “Yeah but they had f**ing guns,” says Andrew. “It was like, a tiny a** gun but it was still a f**ing gun.” “Those kids don't know what the f** they started,” says Delonte. “Should I leave?” I ask. “Jennifer's here.” “No, it's fine,” someone says. “I'd get the f** out of here soon,” says Delonte. “Those kids are going to get f**ing shot.” “I know where he lives,” says Greg. Jesus, I think. I just want my weed so I can leave. “Should I leave?” I ask. “Jennifer's here.” “No, chill out bro, no.” says Raul while weighing the weed as I wait anxiously, hands in my pockets, feeling like a cop or a big black guy is going to run into the basement at any moment and k** me. “Can you weigh a gram separately?” I ask. Jesus. “You want... a gram... oh, yeah for sure.” “Just like, keep taking it... off or something until a gram is left...” “No man, this is 7.2, so that's straight. I'ma just...” Raul takes the weed off the scale, puts some of it back on the scale. “One gram, my man,” he says while handing me two Ziploc bags. I hand him the money and he thanks me. We stand around for a second then I say “Welp” then “I guess I'll see ya” or something stupid then shake everyone's hands and walk upstairs. I say bye to James and Brian who are standing there like statues, oddly calm given the situation, then hug Eric and say bye to Alex, Andrew, Greg. I say “Good luck” and “Be safe” then get into the car, pull out quickly. “Yeah bro, we're like, here. Ok.” I pull into Anthony's driveway and wait. He runs out of the garage,