Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out

Yeah,
Yes
I'mma call this one, rap
Because 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 up where them people called them people on us
Think we slangin', but we got beepers on us
Grindin' all day we got sleep insomnia
Livin' like the videos write a on us
Stuck in the hood like they poured on us
Ghetto birds still shittin' on us, still quittin' on us
a few homies and the grief still sittin' on us
So we got names writtin' on us
White still spittin' on us
And them bitch ass police canines, teeth still on us
But we smoke, ashes gettin' on us
All the still hittin' on us
I remember well, Beezy a L
Beezy ain't here. Where's Beezy at? Beezy got
And that was my nigga, I go way wit my nigga
But I know that's how it my nigga
Shit is much than this rappin' my nigga
But now they all rappin', my niggas, so now I make it happen
So I'mma play the captain, boat flappin' my nigga
No fingas I'm snappin', happy for my Lil' Tiggas
'Cause even though we couldn't, The saved him
Last time we him was when Katrina hated
Found his body like a month later, in peace boy
He was a boy, and so was Wesy 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 in my throat
But I'mma keep on pumpin' the
So if I cry stop the beat
I feel like my heart stopped the beat
My nigga Lil' is quick to cop a key
that or load the gat and go pop a G
And because of that he's just a name in a of mine
I pray his family and his mama's
So much shit just sit on this mind of
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 fuck a man a badge
'Cause he ain't to a man on the edge
The killed Naughty, good boy dead
Man you woulda thought they Corn Bread
Shot 'em up down on the lawn
Not to mention his handcuffs on
Not to mention they had clothes on
And the complaint on
But do nothin' 'bout it
The jailhouse and the morgue is too crowded
And haters at an all high
gotta hate, just like a fuckin' 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 I'mma have to write my will this summer
'Cause if they don't kill me, kill this summer

And you can put on my late father
Or my grandmother, Ms. Mercedes Carter
Or my grandfather Bosock
The old man hustle his heart stopped
And all I know 'bout my real pops is that he had
No bank account, that brown paper bag
Yeah he might hit me off wit a brag money
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, call, don't talk to me
It's just me and my mama how suppose to be
And I sure she paid like she rode for me
And I know she all hope for me
And I don't ever to see her mope for me
Hopefully, but truthfully there is a day due for me
But we pray it's as far as the future sees
You are listenin' to the Weezy F. Baby