Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out

Yeah,
Yes
I'mma call one, real rap
Because rap is real, ya know?
I hope you too tired to cry
And I you know you ain't never too live to die

I grew up where them people called people on us
Think we slangin', but we just got on us
Grindin' all day like we got sleep
Livin' like the videos a treatment on us
Stuck in the hood they poured cement on us
Ghetto birds still shittin' on us, still quittin' on us
a few homies and the grief still sittin' on us
So we got their names on us
White folks spittin' on us
And them bitch ass canines, teeth still grittin' on us
But we smoke, ashes gettin' on us
All the bitches still on us
I remember well, Beezy a L
Beezy ain't here. Beezy at? Beezy got killed
And that was my nigga, I go way wit my nigga
But I know that's how it my nigga
Shit is much deeper than rappin' my nigga
But now they all rappin', my niggas, so now I must make it
So I'mma the captain, sail boat flappin' my nigga
No I'm snappin', happy for my nigga Lil' Tiggas
'Cause even though we couldn't, The saved him
time we seen him was when Katrina hated
Found his body like a month later, rest in boy
He was a boy, and so was Wesy West
He was a good nigga, so I know he
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 keep on pumpin' the flow
So if I cry stop the beat
I feel like my just stopped the beat
My nigga Lil' Derrick is to cop a key
that or load the gat and go pop a G
And of that he's just a name in a rhyme of mine
I pray his family and his fine
So much shit just sit on this mind of
I about it all the time
I about 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 of being the man

And fuck a man a badge
'Cause he shit to a man on the edge
The five-o Naughty, good boy dead
Man you woulda thought they Corn Bread
Shot 'em up down on the lawn
Not to mention with his on
Not to mention they had plain on
And the goes on
But do nothin' 'bout it
The jailhouse and the morgue is too crowded
And haters at an all high
Everybody gotta hate, just a fuckin' iPod
and they tried to burn my Phantom up
But I got my gun license, I got my up
I'm to shoot like a camera
still mothafucka I'mma have to write my will this summer
'Cause if they don't kill me, I'mma this summer

And you can put on my late father
Or my grandmother, Ms. Mercedes Carter
Or my Larry Bosock
The old man hustle 'till his stopped
And all I know 'bout my real is that he had money
No bank account, that paper bag money
he might hit me off wit a little brag money
But the nigga wouldn't 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,
he's a joke to me
Don't message, don't call, talk to me
It's just me and my how it's suppose to be
And I make sure she paid like she for me
And I know she all hope for me
And I don't ever want to see her for me
Hopefully, but truthfully there is a day due for me
But we pray it's as far as the future sees
You are to the future Weezy F. Baby