Mistah FAB - Song Cry Freestyle lyrics

rate me

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

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.