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 you know you ain't never too live to die

I grew up where people called them people on us
we slangin', but we just got beepers on us
Grindin' all day like we got sleep
Livin' like the write a treatment on us
in the hood like they poured cement on us
Ghetto birds still on us, government still quittin' on us
a few homies and the grief still sittin' on us
So we got names writtin' on us
folks still spittin' on us
And them bitch ass police canines, still grittin' on us
But we smoke, ashes gettin' on us
All the bitches hittin' on us
I remember well, Beezy a L
Beezy ain't here. 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 much deeper than this 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 Lil'
'Cause even though we couldn't, The Lord him
Last time we seen him was Katrina hated
Found his body like a 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 daughter is a
This shit is harder than a bench
But keep goin', and I swear I got a lump in my throat
But I'mma keep on the flow
So if I cry stop the beat
I feel like my heart stopped the beat
My nigga Derrick is quick to cop a key
that or load the gat and go pop a G
And because of that he's just a name in a of mine
I pray his family and his fine
So much shit just sit on mind of mine
I think about it all the
I drink it all the time
I back to back
if my thoughts got to me I'd be in this rap
Or I'd be in the can, thank God I had dreams of the man

And a man with a badge
'Cause he ain't to a man on the edge
The five-o killed Naughty, good boy
Man you woulda thought they killed Bread
Shot 'em up face down on the
Not to with his handcuffs on
Not to mention they had clothes on
And the goes on
But do nothin' 'bout it
The and the morgue is too fuckin' crowded
And at an all time high
Everybody hate, just like a fuckin' iPod
Shit and they 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 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 grandmother, Ms. Mercedes Carter
Or my grandfather Bosock
The old man hustle 'till his stopped
And all I know my real pops is that he had money
No bank account, brown paper bag money
Yeah he hit me off wit a little brag money
But the still wouldn't be a dad for me
But look how I turned out I hope he for me
But that's why I see him I acts mad funny,
'Cause he's a to me
Don't message, call, don't talk to me
It's just me and my mama how 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 pray it's as far as the sees
You are listenin' to the Weezy F. Baby