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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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