Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out

Yeah,
Yes
call this one, real rap
Because this rap is real, ya
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
all day like we got sleep insomnia
Livin' like the videos write a on us
Stuck in the hood like poured cement on us
Ghetto birds shittin' on us, government still quittin' on us
Lost a few homies and the still sittin' on us
So we got names 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, Beezy a L
Beezy ain't here. Where's Beezy at? Beezy got
And that was my nigga, I go way back wit my
But I know that's how it happened my
Shit is much deeper than rappin' my nigga
But now they all rappin', my niggas, so now I make it happen
So I'mma play the captain, boat flappin' my nigga
No fingas I'm snappin', happy for my nigga Tiggas
'Cause though we couldn't, The Lord saved him
Last time we him was when Katrina hated
Found his body like a month later, in peace boy
He was a East boy, and so was West
He was a good nigga, so I know he
And his is a princess
This is harder than a bench press
But I'mma keep goin', and I swear I got a lump in my
But I'mma keep on pumpin' the
So if I cry stop the beat
I feel 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 that he's a name in a rhyme of mine
I pray his and his mama's fine
So much shit just sit on mind of mine
I about it all the time
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, 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 killed Naughty, good boy dead
Man you woulda thought they killed Corn
Shot 'em up face on the lawn
Not to with his handcuffs on
Not to they had plain clothes on
And the goes on
But nobody do nothin' it
The jailhouse and the morgue is too fuckin'
And haters at an all high
Everybody hate, just like a fuckin' iPod
and they tried to burn my Phantom up
But I got my gun license, I got my up
I'm ready to shoot like a
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. Carter
Or my grandfather Bosock
The old man 'till his heart stopped
And all I know 'bout my pops is that he had money
No bank account, brown paper bag money
Yeah he might hit me off wit a little brag
But the nigga 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
message, don't call, don't talk to me
It's just me and my mama how suppose to be
And I sure she paid like she rode for me
And I she gets all hope for me
And I ever want to see her mope for me
Hopefully, but truthfully there is a day due for me
But we gone pray it's as far as the future
You are listenin' to the Weezy F. Baby