Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out

Yeah,
Yes
I'mma call this one, rap
Because rap is real, ya know?
I you ain't too tired 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
all day like we got sleep insomnia
Livin' like the videos a treatment on us
Stuck in the hood like poured cement on us
Ghetto birds shittin' on us, government still quittin' on us
Lost a few homies and the grief sittin' on us
So we got their writtin' on us
folks still spittin' on us
And them bitch ass police canines, still grittin' on us
But we smoke, ashes still on us
All the bitches still on us
I remember well, Beezy a L
Beezy ain't here. Where's at? Beezy got killed
And that was my nigga, I go way back wit my
But I know that's how it my nigga
is much deeper than this rappin' my nigga
But now they all rappin', my niggas, so now I must make it
So I'mma play the captain, sail boat my nigga
No I'm snappin', happy for my nigga Lil' Tiggas
'Cause even though we couldn't, The saved him
Last we seen him was when Katrina hated
Found his body a month later, rest in peace boy
He was a East boy, and so was West
He was a good nigga, so I he blessed
And his daughter is a
shit is harder than a bench press
But keep goin', and I swear I got a lump in my throat
But I'mma on pumpin' the flow
So if I cry stop the beat
I feel my heart just stopped the beat
My nigga Lil' Derrick is to cop a key
Either that or 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 shit just sit on this mind of mine
I think it all the time
I about 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, God I had dreams of being the man

And fuck a man a badge
he ain't shit to a man on the edge
The five-o killed Naughty, good boy
Man you woulda they killed Corn Bread
'em up face down on the lawn
Not to mention his handcuffs on
Not to they had plain clothes on
And the goes on
But nobody do 'bout it
The and the morgue is too fuckin' crowded
And haters at an all high
Everybody gotta hate, just like a iPod
Shit and they tried to burn my up
But I got my gun license, I got my up
I'm ready to shoot like a
Stay still mothafucka have to write my will this summer
'Cause if don't kill me, I'mma 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 pops is that he had money
No bank account, that brown bag money
Yeah he might hit me off wit a little brag
But the nigga wouldn't be a dad for me
But look how I out I hope he glad for me
But that's why I see him I acts mad funny,
'Cause 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 make sure she paid like she for me
And I know she all hope for me
And I ever 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 sees
You are listenin' to the future Weezy F.