Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out

Yeah,
Yes
I'mma this one, real rap
Because 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 them on us
we slangin', but we just got beepers on us
Grindin' all day we got sleep insomnia
Livin' like the videos a treatment on us
Stuck in the hood like poured cement on us
Ghetto birds still shittin' on us, government still on us
a few homies and the grief still sittin' on us
So we got their names on us
White folks still on us
And them bitch ass police canines, teeth grittin' on us
But we smoke, ashes gettin' on us
All the bitches still on us
I well, Beezy roll a L
Beezy ain't here. Beezy at? Beezy got killed
And that was my nigga, I go way back wit my
But I know how it happened my nigga
is much deeper than this rappin' my nigga
But now they all rappin', my niggas, so now I must make it
So I'mma play the captain, sail flappin' my nigga
No fingas I'm snappin', happy for my nigga Tiggas
'Cause even though we couldn't, The saved him
Last time we seen him was Katrina hated
Found his body like a later, rest in peace boy
He was a boy, and so was Wesy West
He was a nigga, so I know he blessed
And his daughter is a
This is harder than a bench press
But I'mma keep goin', and I I got a lump in my throat
But I'mma on pumpin' the flow
So if I cry don't the beat
I feel like my heart stopped the beat
My nigga Derrick is quick to cop a key
Either or load the gat and go pop a G
And because of that he's just a name in a rhyme of
I pray his and his mama's fine
So much shit just sit on this mind of
I about it all the time
I drink about it all the
I smoke back to
'Cause if my got to me I'd be in this rap
Or I'd be in the can, thank God I had of being the man

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

And you can put that on my father
Or my late grandmother, Ms. Mercedes
Or my Larry Bosock
The old man hustle his heart stopped
And all I know 'bout my pops is that he had money
No bank account, that brown bag money
he might hit me off wit a little brag money
But the nigga still be a dad for me
But how I turned out I hope he glad for me
But that's why I see him I acts mad funny,
he's a joke to me
Don't message, don't call, don't to me
It's just me and my mama how suppose to be
And I make sure she paid like she for me
And I she gets all hope for me
And I ever want to see her mope for me
Hopefully, but there is a day that's due for me
But we gone it's as far as the future sees
You are listenin' to the Weezy F. Baby