FIZER

My name is Dionte Fizer, born July 22, 1994. I plan on using my music to represent every young black man being raised in public housing going through hardship.

I know a lot of people got incredible life stories, and of course everyone has had their source of pain, but the things I’ve been through in life is just unreal. But then again, we are living in a sick ass world so I guess not. Here’s a quick rundown on the traumatizing events that made me who I am today.

I remember like it was yesterday. I was 5 years old when two men entered our home with guns. They tied my step-father up, and lined us up against the wall—me, my momma and my brother. They grabbed me because I’m my momma’s youngest, put the gun up to my head, and demanded money or they would blow my brains out. All I remember after that was being thrown in a closet with my momma and brother as they planned to execute my step-father. I remember my momma praying out loud damn near screaming speaking in tongues. God saved us that day. It felt like my momma’s prayer saved us because they ended up just leaving. They got what they came for, though, of course. I had nightmares damn near everyday after that. My childhood was ruined.

I remember my biological father coming home from prison about a year later. It was really like my first time meeting him. He physically abused my mother. I remember him causing her eyeball to literally hang out of her socket.

By the age of 8, my stepfather and my biological father was beefing real hard. I remember my momma & my step-father having an argument/fight and the police ended up coming to arrest my stepfather because when they arrived for the domestic dispute they found a pistol; so he went to prison for two years. Shortly after, all I remember is my momma literally leaving everything behind, running away from my biological father because she was in fear. So we skipped town and lived in a homeless shelter. I ended up staying in four homeless shelters during my childhood, and that’s where I found a passion for music.

We ended up living in Florida until I reached middle school, then we ended up moving back to Michigan into another homeless shelter. I remember being embarrassed not allowing my homeboy mother to drop me off at home. (I said my momma don’t like when I bring people to my home.)

Now, let’s fast forward to when I was 16…

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FIZER

My name is Dionte Fizer, born July 22 1994. I plan on using my music to represent every young black man being raised in public housing going through hardship.

I know a lot of people got incredible life stories, and of course everyone has had their source of pain, but the things I’ve been through in life is just unreal. But then again, we are living in a sick ass world so I guess not. Here’s a quick rundown on the traumatizing events that made me who I am today.

I remember like it was yesterday. I was 5 years old when two men entered our home with guns. They tied my step-father up, and lined us up against the wall—me, my momma and my brother. They grabbed me because I’m my momma’s youngest, put the gun up to my head, and demanded money or they would blow my brains out. All I remember after that was being thrown in a closet with my momma and brother as they planned to execute my step-father. I remember my momma praying out loud damn near screaming speaking in tongues. God saved us that day. It felt like my momma’s prayer saved us because they ended up just leaving. They got what they came for, though, of course. I had nightmares damn near everyday after that. My childhood was ruined.

I remember my biological father coming home from prison about a year later. It was really like my first time meeting him. He physically abused my mother. I remember him causing her eyeball to literally hang out of her socket.

By the age of 8, my stepfather and my biological father was beefing real hard. I remember my momma & my step-father having an argument/fight and the police ended up coming to arrest my stepfather because when they arrived for the domestic dispute they found a pistol; so he went to prison for two years. Shortly after, all I remember is my momma literally leaving everything behind, running away from my biological father because she was in fear. So we skipped town and lived in a homeless shelter. I ended up staying in four homeless shelters during my childhood, and that’s where I found a passion for music.

We ended up living in Florida until I reached middle school, then we ended up moving back to Michigan into another homeless shelter. I remember being embarrassed not allowing my homeboy mother to drop me off at home. (I said my momma don’t like when I bring people to my home.)

Now, let’s fast forward to when I was 16. I was doing great in school and had dreams of becoming an astronaut. But the summer before my senior year, my step-father was shot to death. I watched his dead body lie in the street for four hours, I couldn’t believe it. I hadn’t felt any pain like that before. I truly loved him just as much as I love my mother. I couldn’t even cry at the funeral because he didn’t even look the same because he was shot like 11 times and had multiple bullets to the head.

Believe it or not, my momma kicked me out her house during my senior year because I got into an argument with her new husband, and he said either she put me out or he was leaving. So I remember sleeping in my car and still going to school. Eventually, I went to stay with my biological father. I think I only lived with him for about two months before he got intoxicated and attempted to molest me. I was driving him home because he was too drunk to drive; he was in the passenger seat, and all I remember was him touching on my thigh trying to touch my private area. I slapped his hand away like WTF. He reached again and I slapped his hand away again. Then he had the nerve to attempt to suck on my arm that I was steering with, literally put his tongue on my arm. I started screaming, I remember him yelling “Dionte you my muthafuckin son, I can touch you!” I started crying and racing home because I was only like 5 minutes away. I ran in the house, packed my belongings and told my step mother what happened. Meanwhile, my father was so drunk he was still in the car uncertain of where he was. I went outside to look for my money I thought I dropped in the grass and he spit on me. All I remember was exploding. I was able to beat him up because of how drunk he was. My momma came and picked me up that night.

I ended up dropping out of high school my senior year, and I had tattoos on my face before I turned 18. I ended up catching my first dope cases at the age of 19. My first charges was possession of crack with intent and possession of heroin with intent. I bonded out and never went back to court. I ended up getting caught a few months later as I was set up and ended up catching new charges: prostitution and pandering and another possession with intent. The prostitution and pandering was dismissed at the prelim and I was sentenced to a year in Washtenaw County Jail with HYTA probation.

When I was 22 I caught another dope case and ended up being on house arrest as a bond condition. I got a job at a plant while I fought the case. But one day while I was at work my momma called me crying from a hospital saying a man put his hands on her. I ended up getting hit with 19 felony charges behind that and five attempt murders. I went to trial and the jury said not guilty 19 times; I got lucky. But I still ended up going to prison for 30 months. I took psych meds the first year in prison because I was diagnosed with PTSD, impulse disorder, anxiety disorder, and mild depression. I ended up overcoming the mental disease; I stopped taking the medicine on my own because it was affecting my workout in the weight pit.

Upon my release, I had 93 days of house arrest. I paroled to my mothers apartment, and of course I got right back to doing what I do. I hustled harder and smarter then I ever did in my life. By time I made it off house arrest I was ready to move into my first house and I started my own family. My daughter is my heartbeat. I truly needed her.

Everything seemed to be going good. I purchased a hair salon for my baby momma and we lived in a very nice home. I ended up discharging from parole in July of 2020, only to get in a police chase about two weeks later because somebody put the feds on me. So I spent the weekend in jail and bonded out with a new case to fight.

In November, I drove down to Lil Boosie house and paid him for five features because he my favorite rapper. I ended up releasing one song.
But then in November of 2020 my cousin was shot in the head, which made me suffer from the thought of revenge and pain. So I moved my family to ATL in December of 2020.

I ended up getting a distribution deal through Authentic Empire in January 2021. Then in June, my other cousin was murdered along with his fiancée. It feels like I just went to two funerals back-to-back burying two of my biggest supporters. Both my cousins.

So that brings us to today. I plan on writing a book detailing the events better. The name of the book will be called “All I Remember.” I have a plan in which I feel will make me successful with my music. This is my story and that’s all I remember.