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Mistah F.A.B.( Mistah FAB )
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Song Cry Freestyle
Hey yo, a good dude, yeah they love me like cooked food Even know a nigga have to move like Usain do Fast through the hood, cause it's dirty in the streets And it's hard for a nigga, 30 in the streets When you 30 and your career ain't blew up And erybody come around you like what you doing bra? Like damn, you ain't blow yet, And you looking back at him with a sad face But I don't know yet, like when are you gonna blow up Niggas see you in the streets like damn thangs just slowed up Stick your arms up, hold up Make you wanna roll up, make you wanna hit the kitchen and get some soda Cook it all up and sell it to the folks that you know bra Niggas sipping king cobra 30 years old feeling like the shit is over I couldn't see him coming down my eyes But when I looked at my baby mama I just seem to cry She like she wanna love me so bad I wanna love her so bad I wanna be with her but I know, that I am so bad And man she is so good She's so not me, so not from the hood But still understood, still how I am, how I did it I wish I could of just been the man that she needed The man that would have been there The man that cheer for when she completed She said I never listen to her, never respected her I told her I respected her, but I was listening to the voice in my head Saying get your bread Now you just a memory faded So even if I made it, I still feel like I never made it That memory's jaded I'm looking at my daughter 4 now She talking bout “daddy let's go to the store now” I'm like what's the more now I'm looking at my mama's picture I'm bout to frown, bout to shed a tear Like damn, can't believe she ain't here December 4th born on another year Decembert 4th is jay birthday December 4th is the day that pimp c died December 4th is the day that my mother died So it's kina hard to make this song cry Without seeing tears come from my eyes Cause I ain't less than a man Cause I let tears roll down my cheeks From my cheeks to my shirt messed up my kashmir When it fall down the shoes, hit me but still here How the bu loie slipped this on Glasses, can't even see the pain, but still I'm like rapping in the booth These niggas they be lying, they don't be rapping the truth See I gave you my life, I told you what it was like I couldn't panic my shit sunk like the titanic I set on atlantic for 4 or 5 years, hoping that an album come out Lying to my peers like fab when you fin to drop I was like next year, maybe february or december Try to get it clear Saying anything I felt they wanted hear Knowing damn well that album wasn't near Changed the album title so many times Changed the rhymes, so many times, tryina find me with so many styles Tryina do so many different things, rock show after show Get crowd after crowd, still feel like I ain't getting my respect East coast, west coast, they love me what the heck Got features from every top exec, got name got love from every top exec Got love in the hood from every nigga that rep Still posted in the hood nigga right on my set Still got a lot of jewels nigga right on my neck Still pull up in the benz nigga right on the set And bounce out, tell them niggas ride on the checks Still good, yeah I still got money But nothing to the potential what I could of made If I woulda played my cards better If I never wouldn't got into von, If I wouldn't got into her with pron I prolly had some radio hits Radio would be the bomb, prolly had it lockdown Probably wouldn't be disgusted at radio scene now Probably would have been laughing at these niggas talking ratchet When hify did it first but let me have it I let him have it, cause I had to do some soul music I had to really search, I had to find me Cause I was doing that in 04, and 05 So now they behind me Yeah, I was finding, I was doing this shit when eclipse was grinding I was doing this shit when eclipse was rhyming I was doing this shit when them clips was firing Still on the block in the back of the project On the steps, talking to youngsters that talking bout they got next On the basketball court shooting shots, on a 3 pointer But still felt like I didn't need the street corner Find more lyrics at ※ Mojim.com Never talk about drugs, only rap about thugs that I grew up with
Niggas caught slugs like they cell jail bound James town, in virginia, when they had us slaves The same things niggas in quinton, this all slavery It's 60, no 70's again It's like damn I never win, going to the gravesite Looking at my mother tombstone, like damn this isn't right Just about 20 steps up north, to the left, over yet, better yet Hit the circle to the right, by the tree It's my father's ashes, buried next with my grannies And they fucked up, they right close, next to each other Never thought they'd be close to each other Never thought that I would flex on my brother Always thought that I would love him but shit When you getting letters like damn fuck you, you don't love me I feel like he just frustrated though Stuck in this cell with nowhere to go And ain't nobody writing, cause ain't nobody you know Got no daddy, got no mama, got no granny, I'm all that he got, and I feel like he fucked up, right? And I feel like he was following the street code Or better yet wouldn't fall in the street code So now we don't speak though, it's been about a year so And I ain't even wrote him or sent him a letter back I ain't even sent him a picture to show him how big liv is I ain't even showed him a picture how big my crib is I ain't even showed him a picture of how I'm living All he do is see me in these magazines in prison Ah, some brother I am, damn, some lover I am Mama left me, some mother she is Some mother she was, she was the best mother ever bra Huh, but I'm still doing this rap, still in the studio Tryina get a check, me and zack all night in the studio write Nah, I ain't never write, this is just my life So I ain't have to drive it down While y'all niggas was riding round with broken sounds in neighbordhoods I was still posed in the hood where nigga where everybody around me Smoking on wobby brown Call it wobby cause they wobble off once they get it in they mind state Once they fire up they heart, or they snore up they soul And they ride around the hood and kill shit, ...and I thought that beeing grinding, beeing real nigga will finally pay off But only realizing, realizing what I realized that the pay off Is still beeing able to be alive Cause when I look at my wall see so many niggas that died ...danny, daddy, mommy, granny, doobie, ouie, price locked up So it's l's, damn feel like life is hell Life in the cell, doing life with a mail Type to fail, nesto did, 8 got out, right back in the cell Write right back in the jail, I thought he'd be the wl champion well Prolly hit the nfl, but it's hard in the hood, shit They selling hard in the hood, niggas going to jail We on yards in the hood It's like throw up tackle to be in front of the church... I went to the church the other day, the devil wouldn't let me stay And god was talkin to me, but I had to look the other way Felt like the shit got hot, now I'm looking at this preacher Like why you on lie for? So if I stand up and want to deny though Feel like I'm in denial, and these tears running down God damn jay, I thought you made the song cry Didn't know I would make my own cry Thinking bout the babies I aborted, Females I constorted, lies that I asorted Put females to ... talking bout I want the bentley Knowing damn well I can't afford it A day away from section 8, listening to kendrick section 8 Still in the hood, next to the niggas with section 8 Asking the bitch can I borrow her section 8 To make a grow house And if you from northern cali then you know what I'm talking bout My niggas got the lights, they got the function All they need is a couple dollars to get the shit pumping In october, they evolving so be ready, with the ball out Either that, I hit a tour But shows ain't paying what they used to pay So I rather get the money sure And I'm still in the sewer and I'm still in the ghetto And I'm still tryina make the song cry Hello, freestyle all off my brain acapello Never wrote one word down I'm a real deal fellow True shit Realest shit I never wrote, part 6 All off the brain man, one takes, no punches No stops, no pauses This what I do This is way I practice.
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