Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out

Yeah,
Yes
I'mma call this one, rap
this rap is real, ya know?
I you ain't too tired to cry
And I you know you ain't never too live to die

I grew up where them people them people on us
Think we slangin', but we got beepers on us
all day like we got sleep insomnia
Livin' like the write a treatment on us
in the hood like they poured cement on us
Ghetto birds still on us, government still quittin' on us
a few homies and the grief still sittin' on us
So we got their writtin' 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 still hittin' 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 wit my nigga
But I know how it happened my nigga
Shit is much deeper than 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 Lil' Tiggas
'Cause even though we couldn't, The Lord him
time we seen him was when Katrina hated
Found his body like a later, rest in peace boy
He was a East boy, and so was Wesy
He was a nigga, so I know he blessed
And his daughter is a
This shit is harder a bench press
But I'mma keep goin', and I swear I got a lump in my
But I'mma keep on the flow
So if I cry stop the beat
I feel like my heart stopped the beat
My nigga Lil' is quick to cop a key
Either that or 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 mind of mine
I think it all the time
I drink it all the time
I back to back
'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 fuck a man a badge
'Cause he ain't to a man on the edge
The five-o killed Naughty, boy dead
Man you thought they killed Corn Bread
Shot 'em up down on the lawn
Not to mention his handcuffs on
Not to they had plain clothes on
And the complaint on
But nobody do nothin' it
The and the morgue is too fuckin' crowded
And haters at an all high
Everybody gotta hate, just like a iPod
Shit and 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 have to write my will this
'Cause if they don't kill me, I'mma kill summer

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