Luyện nghe bài hát Crybaby

I was in 71' in Kansas City, MO
my momma was a heavenly one, so the fam was slow
when it came to rap and R&B and more
check it, if it on gospel, apostle
or in the Bible, then it go
So when they tell the baby don't do something I end up doing it anyway
like, don't listen to rap, the evil music of today
but, I really in love with the sound that was coming out form the East Coast
So we got it and twisted it up a bit, now the industry's a heatstroke
say that rap is dead, but when I get the white, black, and red
and jump on the tour bus, do 58 shows, I'm back with a big black sack of bread
Can't believe that that was said, cause I'm with a stack of fed
and I got it rap/hip-hop or whatever and I did not have to beg
So, here I stand, the mic in hand my rap attire
and I like my fans spending cause we got the fire
I like 5 G's every half an hour
and you cry like a baby so your mic be your pacifier

When I read the magazine, them rapper's like
WAH WAH WAH (Crybaby)
I see them on the TV, them rapper's sounding like
WAH WAH WAH (Whatcha bout?)

If it's negative, I wanna hear it
eliminating player with their evil spirits

I em talkin, they mad at Smurf and Souljah Boy
They hating big in the magazine, and dont even the boys
I know the ploy, washed up wanna attack people
Run up to the car, out the mac lethal
Man that's a problem with the people now
ya need to know is that, in the world there's a lot of dough to stack
And the ones that hold us back ain't been outside they cul-de-sac
Every nigga I know is strapped, rip that'll blow ya back
But notice that, I can put it down to where the shoulders at
Hating on the south? Why? Trippin off chips they got
You don't like that it's screwed and
but you get off in they pot
Wanna be MC you talk a lot, up in the and you hot
Cause 84's be poking out
the hell is you cryin bout?
Everybody wanna be but not for reala
bout the method of making you gotta get the milla
by doin it I do it do the work and believe in it
when you do it to the fullest no problem achieving it
When I was broke, homie I went for
Got on the mic the intent to kill
Stronger ever, and you a gimp for real
I drink caribou lou, and you drink CHUMP

I read the magazine, them rapper's sounding like
WAH WAH WAH (Crybaby)
When I see them on the TV, them rapper's like
WAH WAH WAH (Whatcha bout?)

You should be clapping folk make it up outta the ghetto
or trailer park, it don't matter even if he black or if he
but, you don't how to be male
of a Timberland, you probably in a stilletto
better yet in a baby shoe, or maybe you
of me cause I'm making dinero
and you wanna get clapped at
you want a standing I thought not!
you say you better than rappers on radio, man that's false
try to run up on me, cause a benzo never be in your car slot
try to step up on the scene, my infra-red beam's right at your spot
if you was on TV and balling you groan and trip
he'd hatred, envy, and bloodshed on his lip
Tech got long cream chrome things on his whip
?? with a thing on his hip
but just know hip will not stop the hop
cause when you look at the big picture, my block alot daily
so keep on thinking my clock the shots
and I can quickly bury you in your Osh B'Gosh, baby

When I the magazine, them rapper's sounding like
WAH WAH WAH (Crybaby)
When I see them on the TV, them rapper's like
WAH WAH WAH (Whatcha bout?)