Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out

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

I grew up where them called them people on us
Think we slangin', but we just got on us
all day like we got sleep insomnia
Livin' the videos write a treatment on us
Stuck in the hood like they poured on us
Ghetto birds still shittin' on us, government still on us
Lost a few homies and the grief sittin' on us
So we got their writtin' on us
folks still spittin' on us
And them ass police canines, teeth still grittin' on us
But we smoke, ashes gettin' on us
All the still hittin' on us
I remember well, roll a L
Beezy ain't here. Where's 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 deeper than this 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', for my nigga Lil' Tiggas
'Cause even though we couldn't, The Lord him
Last time we seen him was when Katrina
his body like a month later, rest in peace boy
He was a East boy, and so was West
He was a good nigga, so I he blessed
And his daughter is a
This shit is than a bench press
But I'mma keep goin', and I swear I got a lump in my
But keep on pumpin' the flow
So if I cry don't stop the
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 he's just a name in a rhyme of mine
I pray his and his mama's fine
So much just sit on this mind of mine
I about it all the time
I drink it all the time
I smoke back to
'Cause if my thoughts got to me I'd be in rap
Or I'd be in the can, thank God I had dreams of the man

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

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