Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out

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

I grew up where them people called them on us
Think we slangin', but we just got on us
Grindin' all day we got sleep insomnia
Livin' like the write a treatment on us
in the hood like they 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 names writtin' on us
folks still spittin' on us
And them ass police canines, teeth still grittin' on us
But we smoke, still gettin' on us
All the bitches still on us
I remember well, Beezy a L
Beezy ain't here. Where's Beezy at? got killed
And that was my nigga, I go way wit my nigga
But I know that's how it happened my
Shit is 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 flappin' my nigga
No fingas I'm snappin', happy for my nigga Tiggas
'Cause even we couldn't, The Lord saved him
Last time we seen him was Katrina hated
Found his like a month later, rest 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 than a bench press
But I'mma keep goin', and I I got a lump in my throat
But I'mma keep on pumpin' the
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 or load the gat and go pop a G
And because of he's just a name in a rhyme of mine
I pray his family and his fine
So much shit sit on this mind of mine
I think about it all the
I about it all the time
I back to back
'Cause if my 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 with a
'Cause he shit to a man on the edge
The five-o killed Naughty, good boy
Man you woulda thought killed Corn Bread
Shot 'em up down on the lawn
Not to mention with his on
Not to mention had plain clothes on
And the complaint on
But nobody do nothin' it
The jailhouse and the is too fuckin' crowded
And at an all time high
gotta hate, just like a fuckin' iPod
Shit and they to burn 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
'Cause if they don't me, I'mma kill this summer

And you can put on my late father
Or my late grandmother, Ms. Carter
Or my grandfather Larry
The old man hustle his heart stopped
And all I know my real pops is that he had money
No bank account, that brown bag money
Yeah he might hit me off wit a brag money
But the still wouldn't be a dad for me
But look how I turned out I hope he for me
But that's why when I see him I mad funny,
'Cause he's a to me
Don't message, don't call, don't to me
It's just me and my how it's suppose to be
And I make sure she paid she rode for me
And I know she 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 it's as far as the future sees
You are listenin' to the future Weezy F.