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 you ain't never too live to die

I grew up where them people called people on us
Think we slangin', but we just got on us
all day like we got sleep insomnia
Livin' like the write a treatment on us
Stuck in the hood like they poured on us
birds still shittin' on us, government still quittin' on us
Lost a few homies and the grief still on us
So we got their writtin' on us
White folks still on us
And them bitch ass police canines, still grittin' on us
But we smoke, ashes still on us
All the bitches hittin' on us
I remember well, roll a L
Beezy ain't here. Beezy at? Beezy got killed
And that was my nigga, I go way back wit my
But I that's how it happened my nigga
Shit is much deeper than rappin' my nigga
But now all rappin', my niggas, so now I must make it happen
So I'mma play the captain, sail boat flappin' my
No I'm snappin', happy for my nigga Lil' Tiggas
'Cause though we couldn't, The Lord saved him
Last time we seen him was when Katrina
Found his like a month later, rest in peace boy
He was a East boy, and so was Wesy
He was a good nigga, so I he blessed
And his daughter is a
This shit is harder a bench press
But keep goin', and I swear I got a lump in my throat
But I'mma keep on the flow
So if I cry stop the beat
I feel like my just stopped the beat
My nigga 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 shit just sit on this of mine
I think about it all the
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, God I had dreams of being the man

And a man with a badge
'Cause he shit to a man on the edge
The five-o killed Naughty, boy dead
Man you thought they killed Corn Bread
Shot 'em up down on the lawn
Not to mention with his on
Not to mention they had plain on
And the complaint on
But nobody do 'bout it
The and the morgue is too fuckin' crowded
And haters at an all time
Everybody gotta hate, just like a fuckin'
Shit and tried to burn my Phantom up
But I got my gun license, I got my up
I'm ready to like a camera
Stay mothafucka I'mma 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 'till his stopped
And all I know my real pops is that he had money
No bank account, that brown 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 turned out I hope he 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 me and my mama how it's suppose to be
And I make sure she paid she rode for me
And I she gets all hope for me
And I don't ever want to see her 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.