Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out

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

I grew up them people called them people on us
Think we slangin', but we got beepers on us
all day like we got sleep insomnia
Livin' like the videos write a on us
Stuck in the hood they poured cement on us
Ghetto birds shittin' on us, government still quittin' on us
Lost a few homies and the still sittin' on us
So we got names writtin' on us
White folks still on us
And them bitch ass canines, teeth still grittin' on us
But we smoke, still gettin' on us
All the bitches still on us
I remember well, roll a L
Beezy here. Where's Beezy at? Beezy 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 this my nigga
But now they all rappin', my niggas, so now I must it happen
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
Last time we him was when Katrina hated
Found his body like a month later, in peace boy
He was a East boy, and so was Wesy
He was a good nigga, so I know he
And his is a princess
shit 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 just stopped the
My nigga Derrick is quick to cop a key
that or load the gat and go pop a G
And because of that just a name in a rhyme of mine
I pray his and his mama's fine
So shit just sit on this mind of mine
I think about it all the
I drink it all the time
I smoke to back
if my thoughts 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 with a
he ain't shit to a man on the edge
The five-o killed Naughty, good boy
Man you woulda thought they Corn Bread
'em up face down on the lawn
Not to mention with his on
Not to they had plain clothes on
And the goes on
But do nothin' 'bout it
The jailhouse and the is too fuckin' crowded
And haters at an all time
Everybody gotta hate, 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 a camera
still mothafucka I'mma have to write my will this summer
'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 grandfather Larry
The old man 'till his heart stopped
And all I know my real pops is that he had money
No bank account, that brown bag money
Yeah he hit me off wit a little brag money
But the nigga still be a dad for me
But look how I out I hope he glad for me
But that's why when I see him I mad funny,
'Cause 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 she rode for me
And I know she gets all for me
And I ever want to see her mope for me
Hopefully, but truthfully there is a day due for me
But we gone it's as far as the future sees
You are listenin' to the future F. Baby