For the Soul

[Intro: Mistah F.A.B.]
Rest in peace to the track
You already know
That's my nigga for live
Fella Fella, what's happenin'? Uh
Yeah, TT3
Thug Tears 3, uh

[Verse 1: Mistah F.A.B.]
My lil' nigga gotta pull twenty, he on his fifth hearse
They ain't seen a nigga get stabbed on the fifth tear
Lil' mama only 20 years old, she on her fifth kid
Brodie said he start sellin' stones so he could switch gear
Ain't no pork on my fork nowadays
But I was raised off bologna sandwiches
And Spam, that shit was scandalous
Mama used to get so high, she started panicking
When mama died, I went through depression, on some manic shit
When you don't got no mama and dad, it's hard to manage, kid
Even Stretch told the world it's hard to manage him
Flashin' on my bitch, she swear I need anger management
Ice City, yeah, North Pole, I'm from where Santa live
It's a red apple bottom on these yellow banana kicks
All my niggas got Dracos and kaydas with the banana clips
Power life goals, plus I'm tryna flip a Phantom whip
Dope like the J-A-C-K-A, and I'm rich

[Chorus: Mistah F.A.B.]
First off, salute high to all my niggas that died
Claim you a shooter, okay shooter, why you niggas ain't slide?
I wanna send a shout out to all my brodies inside
Locked down in the prison, keep your head up high
To all my niggas sheddin' tears as they sit on they bunk
Playin' this on the tier for the killers and punks
If you blessed with a date, see you when you get home
If you got life, this is thug therapy for the soul

[Verse 2: Mozzy]
Yeah, I know when the love real, I can feel it
Feel my nigga's spirit, shit got me in my feelings
Pull up to the churches just to check on Auntie Phyllis
She love the fact her nephew really went and got that million
Bokey on me, we don't post about it, we conceal it
Carry port is stolen, but I bought it, I ain't steal it
Get familiar with the killers while it's Gucci
That's when that bag double back back, bitch, I'm bougie
When that bag double back back, bitch, you bootsey
I need a pair of bardi's, we gon' thirty up the ruccis
Filipin' Barbie, pull a 'Rari out her booty
Calamari and sushi for the shooters who on duty
'member all them trips we was takin' in Auntie hoopty?
Hit the pen, turned the ski mask in, and snatched the coofy
I miss you, real nigga, the streets'll never forget you
My brother brother, PayPal number's never an issue
That's word to mine

[Chorus: Mistah F.A.B.]
First off, salute high to all my niggas that died
Claim you a shooter, okay shooter, why you niggas ain't slide?
I wanna send a shout out to all my brodies inside
Locked down in the prison, keep your head up high
To all my niggas sheddin' tears as they sit on they bunk
Playin' this on the tier for the killers and punks
If you blessed with a date, see you when you get home
If you got life, this is thug therapy for the soul

[Verse 3: OMB Peezy]
I'm starvin', ain't had a meal in a minute
Fifth time lookin' in 'frigerator, ain't nothin' in it
Still wore my clothes from yesterday, then I cocked back my semi
And hit the streets, I need to eat, so you can get robbed for a penny
I just can't get right, a couple charges that's pending
But I'd be damned if I let them crackers stop me from gettin' it
But before I go out sad, I'd rather be sittin'
At least I'll get three meals if I'm locked in a prison
I told myself I'd be done robbin' on my last lick
But I can't ask for help 'cause people be wantin' they ass kicked
Grippin' that plastic 'cause right now I'm on my dick
Even if I get a couple dollars, it's a hit
At night I pray to God every one of my niggas make it
Ridin' with that iron, 'cause my shine, they wanna take it
Really from the mud, this shit too real for me to fake it
Really from the mud, this shit too real for me to fake it, Peezy

[Chorus: Mistah F.A.B.]
First off, salute high to all my niggas that died
Claim you a shooter, okay shooter, why you niggas ain't slide?
I wanna send a shout out to all my brodies inside
Locked down in the prison, keep your head up high
To all my niggas sheddin' tears as they sit on they bunk
Playin' this on the tier for the killers and punks
If you blessed with a date, see you when you get home
If you got life, this is thug therapy for the soul

[Verse 4: Mistah F.A.B.]
Yeah, they'll never get over me
Hear the voice and you know it's me
At the function, you know we deep
She'll never say no to me
Thug Tears my diary, but I'll never be Jodeci
I make the thugs shed tears off this project poetry
These niggas sayin' that they thugs but they softer than flowetry
See I'm a player, not a thug, but the thugs adore G
This ain't Georgie Porgie, nah man, this a different tune
Daddy shootin' hot, the fire from the lighter bit the spoon
How I'm supposed to survive winter when clothes meant for June?
Mama gettin' high so she sent me to a different room
Mama on Whitney, daddy on Bobby
I wasn't 'posed to make it, my story was meant to doom
But this rose from the concrete had a different bloom
Blast off like a rocket until I hit the moon
Never take a bop to the house, we can get a room
I'm not them, I'm him we some different dudes