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ar-ab - mud freestyle lyrics

i’ve got a story that i’d like to tell
about young goon who spent half his life in jail
he got shot, he lost his mom, his life was h-ll
he got rich off a pot, b-tter knife and scale
this promethazine is giving me a toothache
the c0ke jumping out the pot, i need 2 plates
it’s a drought, i charge 12 for 2 eight
she gotta go if she don’t f-ck after 2 dates
they caught me at the light, like big and pac
now i can’t leave a crib, without 60 shots
you wanna try it before you buy it – lets hit the spot
but this a whole brick, you gonna need a bigger pot
i had 5 drug cases but i spanked 4
now watch me run through this brick like frank gore
i call my plug up, and tell him bring 4
then i kidnap his kids and tell him bring more
i was taught to look rich, but think poor
and never trust a b-tch, that ain’t yours
i learned, you don’t need a scale when you sell them whole
when the cops ask you questions you tell them no
it’s the facts of life, drought time tax the price
i have n-ggas land on your crib like a satellite
they say ab – you too violent, you ain’t rappin’ right
but i can re-rock a brick, and i can wrap it right
to get money, it’s a lot of sh-t you sacrifice
this popcorn will bring a dead block back to life
and i ain’t going back to jail, i put a hit on him
i tell k shoot him in his face, then spit on him
this pro meth got me stuck in first gear
i came home from jail, i was broke my first year
my mom gave me applications – work where?
man, i walked outside and put work there
i had a dream i had a red phantom
but in real life, trying to duck fed cameras
i know some broke n-ggas that k!ll for a bread sandwich
rape your girl then beat her with a sledgehammer
i’m in the strip club, a 100 bottles, bought them out
last time i made it rain, the b-tch bought a house
you get a work back, threw him if he short an ounce
so when you cook up, you never dupe the water out
i hope allah shine light on my mom grave
i wish i knew a way, i can take my mam place
remember when i left c0ke, on my mom plate
and then she kick me out, that was not eight (?)
i’ve got a lot of broke dreams, that i can’t fix
i know a lot of c0ke fiends, so i became rich
we sell the same drug, but we ain’t got the same flip
we got the same gun, but we ain’t got a same clip
i’ll pine a lean, and you sippin’ on the same zip
she ate the gun, then kiss you with the same lips
i’m down mexico, talkin’ bout distribution
i took a hundred gram loss, and i just be cupin’
they shot me ten times, they must be stupid
i hope their kids catch aids, and die from lupus
i’m the type to shoot my gun if i hear noise
this baked soda got my pockets on steroids
i’ve done some f-cked up sh-t, i got no regrets
what they sayin’ in their raps, they ain’t show me yet
heard they say i just rap, they don’t know me yet
i’m gonna make them pay homage, cause they owe me that!

- ar ab lyrics

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