Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out

Yeah,
Yes
I'mma call one, real rap
Because this rap is real, ya
I hope you too tired 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 just got on us
Grindin' all day like we got sleep
like the videos write a treatment on us
Stuck in the hood like they cement on us
Ghetto birds still shittin' on us, still quittin' on us
Lost a few homies and the grief still on us
So we got names writtin' on us
White folks spittin' on us
And them ass police canines, teeth still grittin' on us
But we smoke, ashes still on us
All the bitches hittin' on us
I well, Beezy 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 that's how it happened my nigga
is much deeper 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 I'm snappin', happy for my nigga Lil' Tiggas
'Cause even though we couldn't, The Lord 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 than a bench 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 stop the
I like my heart just stopped the beat
My Lil' Derrick is quick to cop a key
Either that or the gat and go pop a G
And of that 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 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, thank God I had of being the man

And fuck a man a badge
'Cause he ain't shit to a man on the
The killed Naughty, good boy dead
Man you woulda thought they killed Corn
Shot 'em up down on the lawn
Not to mention with his on
Not to mention they had clothes on
And the goes on
But do nothin' 'bout it
The and the morgue is too fuckin' crowded
And haters at an all time
Everybody hate, just like a fuckin' iPod
and they tried to burn my Phantom 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 kill me, I'mma kill this summer

And you can put on my late father
Or my late grandmother, Ms. Mercedes
Or my grandfather Bosock
The old man hustle 'till his stopped
And all I know 'bout my real pops is that he had
No bank account, that paper 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 why when 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 it's to be
And I make sure she paid like she for me
And I know she gets all for me
And I don't 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 listenin' to the Weezy F. Baby