Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out

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

I grew up where people called them people on us
Think we slangin', but we got beepers on us
Grindin' all day like we got sleep
Livin' the videos write a treatment on us
Stuck in the like they poured cement on us
Ghetto birds still shittin' on us, government quittin' on us
Lost a few homies and the still sittin' on us
So we got names writtin' on us
White still spittin' on us
And bitch ass police canines, teeth still grittin' on us
But we smoke, ashes still on us
All the still hittin' on us
I remember well, Beezy a L
Beezy ain't here. Beezy at? Beezy got killed
And was my nigga, I go way back wit my nigga
But I know that's how it my nigga
Shit is much deeper 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', happy for my Lil' Tiggas
even though we couldn't, The Lord saved him
Last we seen him was when Katrina hated
Found his like a month later, rest in peace boy
He was a East boy, and so was West
He was a good nigga, so I know he
And his daughter is a
This shit is harder than a press
But I'mma keep goin', and I swear I got a lump in my
But I'mma keep on pumpin' the
So if I cry don't stop the
I feel like my heart stopped the beat
My nigga Lil' Derrick is to cop a key
that or load the gat and go pop a G
And because of that he's a name in a rhyme of mine
I pray his family and his mama's
So much shit just sit on this of mine
I think it all the time
I drink about it all the
I smoke back to
if my thoughts 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 killed Naughty, boy dead
Man you woulda thought they killed Corn
Shot 'em up face on the lawn
Not to with his handcuffs on
Not to mention they had clothes on
And the complaint on
But nobody do nothin' it
The and the morgue is too fuckin' crowded
And at an all time high
Everybody gotta hate, just a fuckin' iPod
Shit and they to burn my Phantom up
But I got my gun license, I got my up
I'm ready to like a camera
still mothafucka I'mma have to write my will this summer
'Cause if they kill me, I'mma kill this summer

And you can put that on my late
Or my grandmother, Ms. Mercedes Carter
Or my grandfather Bosock
The old man hustle 'till his heart
And all I know 'bout my real pops is that he had
No bank account, that brown paper bag
Yeah he hit me off wit a little brag money
But the still 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 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 she paid like she rode for me
And I know she all hope for me
And I don't want to see her mope for me
Hopefully, but truthfully is a day that's due for me
But we gone pray it's as far as the future
You are listenin' to the future Weezy F.