Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out

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

I grew up them people called them people on us
Think we slangin', but we got beepers on us
Grindin' all day we got sleep insomnia
Livin' like the videos a treatment on us
in the hood like they poured cement on us
Ghetto birds still shittin' on us, government quittin' on us
Lost a few and the grief still sittin' on us
So we got names writtin' on us
White folks still on us
And bitch ass police canines, teeth still grittin' on us
But we smoke, ashes gettin' on us
All the bitches still on us
I well, Beezy roll a L
ain't here. Where's Beezy at? Beezy got killed
And that was my nigga, I go way back wit my
But I know that's how it happened my
Shit is much than this rappin' my nigga
But now they all rappin', my niggas, so now I must it happen
So I'mma play the captain, sail boat my nigga
No fingas I'm snappin', happy for my nigga Tiggas
'Cause even though we couldn't, The Lord him
Last time we him was when Katrina hated
Found his body 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 is a princess
This shit is harder than a bench
But I'mma keep goin', and I swear I got a in my throat
But I'mma on pumpin' the flow
So if I cry don't stop the
I feel like my heart just the beat
My nigga Lil' is quick 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 family and his fine
So much shit just sit on this mind of
I think it all the time
I about it all the time
I back to back
'Cause if my thoughts got to me I'd be in rap
Or I'd be in the can, thank God I had of being the man

And fuck a man with a
he ain't 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 had plain clothes on
And the complaint on
But nobody do nothin' it
The jailhouse and the morgue is too crowded
And haters at an all high
Everybody gotta hate, like a fuckin' iPod
Shit and they tried to burn my 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
'Cause if they don't kill me, I'mma kill summer

And you can put that on my late
Or my late grandmother, Ms. Carter
Or my Larry Bosock
The old man hustle his heart stopped
And all I know 'bout my real pops is that he had
No bank account, brown paper bag money
he might hit me off wit a little brag money
But the nigga still be a dad for me
But how I turned out I hope he glad 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, talk to me
It's me and my mama how it's suppose to be
And I make sure she like she rode for me
And I know she gets all for me
And I ever want to see her mope for me
Hopefully, but truthfully there is a day due for me
But we pray it's as far as the future sees
You are listenin' to the Weezy F. Baby