Trade Places

Agu (AKA Mr. Voodoo) - “Trade Places”
[Emcee(s): Agu (AKA Mr. Voodoo)]
[Producer(s): Looie II]
[Sample (Multiple Elements): Kool & the Gang - “Winter Sadness” (0:06 and 4:37)]

[Intro: Agu (AKA Mr. Voodoo)]
Yeah, yeah. You’re ‘bout to bare witness to a phenomenal thing. Mr. Voo, Agu, Hemlock. Check it out. Looie II. Yeah

[Verse 1: Agu (AKA Mr. Voodoo)]
As I make my entrance
The theme to Scarface plays—is it sin or repentance?
Durags or kufis? Is it smoke through the magic, Sufi
Incense? Knowing I’m like a car, dual suspension, my
Mental engine fueled with cruel intentions of
Keying big ambition, a key in the ignition on a
Highway to Heaven or Hell? Can’t tell. In this endeavor
Will I fail or excel?

[Interlude 1: Agu (AKA Mr. Voodoo)]
Yo, man, I can’t call it though. Word up, man, but wife be like…

[Verse 2: Agu (AKA Mr. Voodoo)]
“You need to get off your ass and get some dough.” I’m thinking
“I need to quit your ass and get another ho.” Picture me
Making all these chips just to give her all my dough
The pimp-and-ho relationship all that I know
I’m a slave, so chains and whips all that I know. In beef
I’ma squeeze flame, empty the clips—that’s all that I know
Getting brain, pasting her lips. Man, you know how I go
Man, niggas know how I go. That’s my word, yo

[Hook 1: Agu (AKA Mr. Voodoo)]
All my life, I dreamed of
The good life, good food, warm bed
Shoes and clothes
Money rolls and hoes
Watches, chains, bracelets, ring, folds

[Verse 3: Agu (AKA Mr. Voodoo)]
When we lacked
Provisions, we hatched plots ‘til stacks in our vision, religiously
Sacrilegious, y’all catch shots and stitches if y’all
Actions suspicious. Mathematicians with biscuits performing
Multiplication and addition while y’all perform
Subtraction and division—yours and mine clash in a collision
Your faction is splitting like fractions. It’s the Brooklyn
Tradition

[Interlude 2: Agu (AKA Mr. Voodoo)]
That’s right, son. The BK way. It’s a tradition—you know how we do. Yo

[Verse 4: Agu (AKA Mr. Voodoo)]
You know, like cowboys
In Westerns, we come, disperse drugs and guns, take land, turn it
To slums, slugs for the ones that don’t learn to succumb. Like Wendy
We Got the Heat. When it spin, it burn and get numb. When we gotta
Eat, fiends hit the kitchen, return with drugs. Plot ourselves
On the street, get to pitching ‘til we earn some sums, squeezing
Junkies with rotten teeth—this dish be churning in their gums. Treat hoes
Like flunkies: get ‘em extensions, perms, stick ‘em, and run

[Interlude 3: Agu (AKA Mr. Voodoo)]
Yeah, you know how we do: find ‘em, fuck ‘em, and flee, you know?

[Verse 5: Agu (AKA Mr. Voodoo)]
I’m your worst dream, the scariest black face you’ve seen
Since Willie Horton’s face graced the screen. Y’all got
Nice homes? We got buildings like caverns, crime patterns
New York fried chicken spots, and y’all got restaurants and taverns
Y’all got nice jobs, mom and dad gets you what you want. My mom slaved
For all she had, we couldn’t get what we want. Y’all got
First-rate health insurance and medical aid
All I got is first aid and Medicaid. Y’all taking drugs
For fun and recreation. We got so much pain in the brain
We’re self-medicating, using drugs for sedation. Y’all teachers
Care about y’all. Our teachers fail us, they consider
Us failures, they just promote us to get rid of us. Cops
Is y’all friends, y’all donate to the policemen funds. Cops
Is our enemies, we loathe and hate policemen with guns ‘cause all
They do is evade and chase us, blast us, and raid and
Invade our spaces—y’all don’t want to trade places

[Hook 2: Agu (AKA Mr. Voodoo)]
If I could
Trade places, I’d trade the streets for a stage
I’d take freedom instead of a holding cage. If I could
Trade places, I’d take youth over age ‘cause the
Older I get, the harder it is to hold this rage. Wish I
Could trade faces like Travolta and Cage, trade
A semi for a Colt .45 and 12 Gauge, a gun
For a blade, rhyme instead of crime as a way to get paid
My life for yours, is that a fair enough trade?

[Verse 6: Agu (AKA Mr. Voodoo)]
Do they see the shells when the gun spit and spark? Do they see
Our hell on 106 & Park and TRL? I try to bring ‘em pain
But the pain we bring became an entertainment thing
‘Cause all they see is hoes, clothes, cars, chains, and rings. Y’all don’t
Know the evil and strange things we’ve seen and did to maintain blings
Are willing to do what we do to reign kings. Until
The burner stings, you lose your turn as king, but earn your wings. It come
To snitching? I’m tone-deaf, I never learned to sing
All the crimes we’re susceptible to y’all find acceptable
Y’all dine and eat this shit up like it’s delectable
Y’all having intellectual discussions and discourse
We say shit with burners if a crab diss yours
Preachers steady telling us we’re cursed, misinterpreting
Bible verse while he reaches for your purse. Why in
The hood, next to every liquor store, there’s a church?
This shit is the worst

[Hook 2: Agu (AKA Mr. Voodoo)]
If I could
Trade places, I’d trade the streets for a stage
I’d take freedom instead of a holding cage. If I could
Trade places, I’d take youth over age ‘cause the
Older I get, the harder it is to hold this rage. Wish I
Could trade faces like Travolta and Cage, trade
A semi for a Colt .45 and 12 Gauge, a gun
For a blade, rhyme instead of crime as a way to get paid
My life for yours, is that a fair enough trade?