Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out

Yeah,
Yes
I'mma this one, real rap
this rap is real, ya know?
I you ain't too tired to cry
And I hope you know you ain't too live to die

I grew up where them people called people on us
Think we slangin', but we got beepers on us
Grindin' all day we got sleep insomnia
Livin' the videos write a treatment on us
Stuck in the hood like poured cement on us
Ghetto still shittin' on us, government still quittin' on us
Lost a few and the grief still sittin' on us
So we got their names on us
White folks still on us
And bitch ass police canines, teeth still grittin' on us
But we smoke, ashes gettin' on us
All the still hittin' on us
I well, Beezy roll a L
Beezy ain't here. Where's Beezy at? got killed
And that was my nigga, I go way wit my nigga
But I know that's how it my nigga
Shit is much deeper than rappin' my nigga
But now all rappin', my niggas, so now I must make it happen
So I'mma play the captain, sail boat my nigga
No fingas I'm snappin', happy for my nigga Lil'
'Cause though we couldn't, The Lord saved him
Last time we seen him was when Katrina
Found his body like a month later, rest in boy
He was a East boy, and so was West
He was a nigga, so I know he blessed
And his daughter is a
This shit is harder than a bench
But keep goin', and I swear I got a lump in my throat
But I'mma keep on the flow
So if I cry stop the beat
I feel like my heart just the beat
My Lil' Derrick is quick to cop a key
Either that or the gat and go pop a G
And because of that he's just a in a rhyme of mine
I his family and his mama's fine
So much shit just sit on this mind of
I about it all the time
I drink it all the time
I smoke back to
'Cause if my got to me I'd be in this rap
Or I'd be in the can, God I had dreams of being the man

And a man with a badge
he ain't shit to a man on the edge
The five-o Naughty, good boy dead
Man you thought they killed Corn Bread
'em up face down on the lawn
Not to mention with his on
Not to mention they had clothes on
And the complaint on
But nobody do 'bout it
The and the morgue is too fuckin' crowded
And haters at an all high
Everybody gotta hate, like a fuckin' iPod
and they tried to burn my Phantom up
But I got my gun license, I got my up
I'm ready to shoot like a
Stay still mothafucka I'mma to write my will this summer
'Cause if they don't kill me, kill this summer

And you can put on my late father
Or my late grandmother, Ms. Mercedes
Or my grandfather Larry
The old man 'till his heart stopped
And all I 'bout my real pops is that he had money
No bank account, that paper bag money
Yeah he might hit me off wit a little money
But the nigga wouldn't be a dad for me
But look how I turned out I hope he for me
But that's why when I see him I mad funny,
he's a joke to me
Don't message, don't call, don't to me
It's just me and my how it's suppose to be
And I make sure she paid she rode for me
And I she gets all hope for me
And I don't ever to see her mope for me
Hopefully, but truthfully is a day that's due for me
But we gone pray as far as the future sees
You are to the future Weezy F. Baby