Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out

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

I grew up where them called them people on us
Think we slangin', but we got beepers on us
Grindin' all day like we got insomnia
Livin' like the videos a treatment on us
Stuck in the hood like poured cement on us
Ghetto birds still shittin' on us, still quittin' on us
Lost a few and the grief still sittin' on us
So we got their writtin' on us
White still spittin' on us
And them bitch ass police canines, still grittin' on us
But we smoke, still gettin' on us
All the still hittin' on us
I well, Beezy roll a L
Beezy ain't here. Where's Beezy at? Beezy got
And was my nigga, I go way back wit my nigga
But I know that's how it my nigga
Shit is much 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', happy for my Lil' Tiggas
'Cause though we couldn't, The Lord saved him
Last time we him was when Katrina hated
Found his body like a month later, rest in boy
He was a East boy, and so was Wesy
He was a good nigga, so I know he
And his is a princess
This shit is harder than a press
But keep goin', and I swear I got a lump in my throat
But keep on pumpin' the flow
So if I cry don't the beat
I feel like my just stopped the beat
My nigga Lil' is quick to cop a key
Either or load 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 just sit on this mind of mine
I think it all the time
I about it all the time
I back to back
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 fuck a man a badge
'Cause he ain't shit to a man on the
The five-o Naughty, good boy dead
Man you thought they killed Corn Bread
Shot 'em up face down on the
Not to mention with his on
Not to mention they had plain on
And the complaint on
But do nothin' 'bout it
The jailhouse and the morgue is too fuckin'
And haters at an all high
Everybody gotta hate, like a fuckin' iPod
Shit and they tried to my Phantom up
But I got my gun license, I got my up
I'm ready to shoot a camera
Stay still mothafucka have to write my will this summer
if they don't kill me, I'mma kill this summer

And you can put that on my father
Or my late grandmother, Ms. Mercedes
Or my Larry Bosock
The old man hustle his heart stopped
And all I know 'bout my pops is that he had money
No account, that brown paper bag money
he might 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 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 me and my mama how it's suppose to be
And I sure she paid like she rode for me
And I she gets all hope 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 pray it's as far as the future
You are to the future Weezy F. Baby