Introducing MC Criesalot
This is MC Criesalot, a fictional drill-grime-hiphoper. He’s not just another rapper—he’s an emotional hurricane with a mic in one hand and a therapy bill in the other. Hailing from the softest corners of the hard streets, Criesalot became a legend not by flexing cash or cars, but by sobbing into designer hoodies and weaponizing vulnerability.
His style? A gritty cocktail of raw emotion, tongue-in-cheek bars, and enough existential dread to fill a group chat at 2 AM. Known for tracks that hit like therapy sessions in a mosh pit, MC Criesalot doesn’t hide his feelings—he samples them, autotunes the pain, and drops them over tear-stained beats.
His crew? Big Tissue, Lil Softboy, and of course Dr. Delulu—his producer-slash-therapist who makes sure the bass hits just as hard as the heartbreak. He’s the kind of artist who’ll pull up in a Prius, spill his soul in a freestyle, then Venmo his ex for the hoodie she never gave back.
From failed relationships to awkward brunches, his lyrics paint a picture of modern masculinity in a post-therapy world—where trauma is currency, and vibes get overdrafted like a debit card at brunch. Whether he’s ghosted or emotionally ghosting, MC Criesalot is proof that real gangsters cry in the booth… with a cup of chamomile.
You know you rockin’ wit’ MC Cries-a-lot… and unresolved trauma. You know you rockin’ wit’ Dr. Delulu… and his therapist.
Yeah… huh… huh… emotional damage on the beat!
You know you rockin’ wit’ Dr. Delulu… and his therapist.I texted “u up?”—you left me on read, now I’m wildin’, woah
Told my jeweler, “make my necklace cry”, I want diamonds, woah
Huh, yeah, said you was loyal to me—then you liked his post
Yeah, I gotta know (is it real though?), huh
I got bros—they all got bros too, bro
Yeah, countin’ vibes, but I count my dough slow (math ain’t my thing)
She say I’m toxic—I said “okay, that’s facts”
I’m in the trap… of my own emotional past
Hit from the back—then apologized fast
I want respect—not just financial stacks
I got the strap—emotionally strapped
7.62 self-doubts in the mag
What you gon’ do when I send a long paragraph?
Hit from the back—while discussing our past
Yeah, huh huh, turned her around—she asked for my sign
Don’t wanna argue, let’s realign
She not in love—she just liked my grind
Told my ex, “return my hoodie this time”
Got outta jail, bought a rice cooker
I’m goin’ up, but I still use UberNo need to rush…
Unless it’s brunch.Yeah she bad—she also invests
I’m with Big Tissue and Lil Softboy, emotionally repressed
We ain’t duckin’ no smoke, unless it’s a vape
Talkin’ green—but I still overdraft the bank
Feel like Giannis—on a dating app
Swipe so much, I got carpal tunnel (facts)
They don’t want smoke—we show up in Priuses
We been them guys—like, since middle school musicals
Yeah, we hard—like unpaid rent
I freestyle pain—I call it thera-bentI got plenty poles—for my curtain rod set
Built my empire… in my momma’s basement
He was talkin’ down—so I muted the chat
Brought shawty home—she met my cat
Told that ho, “respect my art“
Run up on me, I panic and fart
I’m cuffin’ his ho—emotionally, tho
Green light… to finally let go
I run up some racks—but spend it on snacks
He pourin’ a line—I sip chamomile back
She irkin’ my nerves—like group project slacks
I blacked out once—from emotional cracksFake Player but Clearly Sensitive!
You lovin’ that girl—I was just readin’ her blog
I’m sippin’ on tea—and I’m petting her dog
Racks in my jeans—well, store receipts
You say I’m broke? Emotionally, maybe
They want me to fall? I already did—into love
Walk in the room—they judge my Crocs
Girls be spyin’—I’m watchin’ Bridgerton
She wanna leave? Girl, I’ll run
He cry on the ‘net—me too, let’s heal
Talk on my twin? That’s a big red flag, for real
Ricky my jeans? Nah, these from Shein
I’m way too fly—on Spirit Airlines, aye(You know you rockin’ wit’ MC Cries-a-lot… and unresolved trauma)
(You know you rockin’ wit’ Dr. Delulu… and his therapist.)
(You know you rockin’ wit’ Dr. Delulu… and his therapist.)
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