Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out

Yeah,
Yes
I'mma call 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 up where them people called them people on us
Think we slangin', but we got beepers on us
Grindin' all day we got sleep insomnia
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
White still spittin' on us
And them bitch ass canines, teeth still grittin' on us
But we smoke, ashes still 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 was my nigga, I go way back wit my nigga
But I know how it happened my nigga
Shit is deeper than this rappin' my nigga
But now they all rappin', my niggas, so now I make it happen
So I'mma play the captain, sail flappin' my nigga
No fingas I'm snappin', happy for my nigga Tiggas
'Cause even though we couldn't, The saved him
Last we seen him was when Katrina hated
Found his body like a month later, in peace boy
He was a East boy, and so was Wesy
He was a good nigga, so I he blessed
And his daughter is a
This is harder than a bench press
But I'mma keep goin', and I I got a lump in my throat
But keep on pumpin' the flow
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 that or the gat and go pop a G
And because of that just a name in a rhyme of mine
I his family and his mama's fine
So much just sit on this mind of mine
I think it all the time
I drink it all the time
I smoke back to
if my thoughts 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
'Cause he ain't shit to a man on the
The five-o killed Naughty, boy dead
Man you woulda thought killed Corn Bread
Shot 'em up down on the lawn
Not to mention with his on
Not to mention they had plain on
And the complaint on
But do nothin' 'bout it
The jailhouse and the is too fuckin' crowded
And at an all time high
Everybody hate, just like a fuckin' iPod
Shit and tried to burn my Phantom up
But I got my gun license, I got my up
I'm ready to like a camera
Stay still mothafucka I'mma have to my will this summer
'Cause if they don't me, I'mma kill this summer

And you can put that on my father
Or my late grandmother, Ms. Mercedes
Or my grandfather Larry
The old man hustle his heart stopped
And all I know 'bout my real is that he had money
No account, that brown paper bag money
he might hit me off wit a little brag money
But the still wouldn't be a dad for me
But look how I 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, don't to me
just me and my mama how it's suppose to be
And I make sure she paid like she for me
And I she gets all hope for me
And I don't want to see her mope for me
Hopefully, but truthfully there is a day due for me
But we gone it's as far as the future sees
You are listenin' to the Weezy F. Baby