Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out

Yeah,
Yes
I'mma call one, real rap
this 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 grew up where people called them people on us
Think we slangin', but we got beepers on us
Grindin' all day like we got sleep
Livin' the videos write a treatment on us
Stuck in the hood like they poured on us
Ghetto birds 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
folks still spittin' on us
And them bitch ass police canines, teeth grittin' on us
But we smoke, still gettin' on us
All the still hittin' on us
I remember well, Beezy a L
Beezy ain't here. Where's Beezy at? got killed
And was my nigga, I go way back wit my nigga
But I know how it happened my nigga
Shit is much deeper than this rappin' my
But now they all rappin', my niggas, so now I must it happen
So play the captain, sail boat flappin' my nigga
No I'm snappin', happy for my nigga Lil' Tiggas
'Cause even though we couldn't, The Lord him
Last time we seen him was when Katrina
his body like a month later, rest in peace boy
He was a East boy, and so was West
He was a nigga, so I know he blessed
And his is a princess
This shit is than a bench press
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 the beat
I like my heart just stopped 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 a name in a rhyme of mine
I his family and his mama's fine
So much shit just sit on this mind of
I think about it all the
I drink about it all the
I smoke back to
'Cause if my thoughts got to me I'd be in rap
Or I'd be in the can, thank God I had dreams of the man

And a man with a badge
he ain't shit to a man on the edge
The killed Naughty, good boy dead
Man you thought they killed Corn Bread
Shot 'em up face down on the
Not to with his handcuffs on
Not to mention they had plain on
And the goes on
But nobody do nothin' it
The and the morgue is too fuckin' crowded
And haters at an all high
Everybody gotta hate, just like a iPod
Shit and tried to burn my Phantom up
But I got my gun license, I got my up
I'm ready to shoot like a
Stay still mothafucka I'mma have to write my will this
'Cause if they kill me, I'mma kill this summer

And you can put that on my late
Or my late grandmother, Ms. Carter
Or my Larry Bosock
The old man hustle 'till his heart
And all I know 'bout my real pops is that he had
No bank account, brown paper bag money
Yeah he hit me off wit a little brag money
But the nigga still be a dad for me
But look how I turned out I he glad for me
But that's why when I see him I mad funny,
'Cause a joke to me
message, don't call, don't talk to me
It's just me and my mama how suppose to be
And I make she paid like 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 there is a day that's due for me
But we gone it's as far as the future sees
You are to the future Weezy F. Baby