Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out

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

I up where them people called them people on us
Think we slangin', but we just got on us
Grindin' all day like we got sleep
Livin' like the write a treatment on us
Stuck in the hood like they cement on us
Ghetto birds still shittin' on us, government still 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 canines, teeth 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. 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 this rappin' my
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 even we couldn't, The Lord saved him
Last time we seen him was when Katrina
Found his body a month later, rest in peace 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 is harder than a bench press
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 like my heart just stopped the beat
My nigga Lil' Derrick is 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 rhyme of
I pray his family and his mama's
So much shit sit on this mind of mine
I think about it all the
I drink it all the time
I smoke back to
'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 a badge
'Cause he shit to a man on the edge
The five-o Naughty, good boy dead
Man you woulda thought they killed Corn
'em up face down on the lawn
Not to mention his handcuffs on
Not to mention they had clothes on
And the complaint on
But nobody do nothin' it
The jailhouse and the morgue is too crowded
And haters at an all high
Everybody gotta hate, just like a 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
still mothafucka I'mma have to write my will this summer
'Cause if they don't kill me, kill this summer

And you can put on my late father
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 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 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 it's to be
And I make sure she paid 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 truthfully there is a day due for me
But we gone pray it's as far as the future
You are to the future Weezy F. Baby