Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out

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

I grew up where them people them people on us
we slangin', but we just got beepers on us
Grindin' all day like we got insomnia
like the videos write a treatment on us
Stuck in the hood like they poured on us
Ghetto still shittin' on us, government 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 bitch ass police canines, teeth still grittin' on us
But we smoke, ashes still on us
All the bitches still on us
I remember well, roll a L
ain't here. Where's Beezy at? Beezy got killed
And that was my nigga, I go way wit my nigga
But I know that's how it happened my
Shit is much deeper than this my nigga
But now they all rappin', my niggas, so now I must 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 time we seen him was when hated
Found his body like a month later, in peace boy
He was a boy, and so was Wesy West
He was a good nigga, so I know he
And his daughter is a
This shit is harder 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 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 just a name in a rhyme of mine
I his family and his mama's fine
So much shit just sit on mind of mine
I about it all the time
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, God I had dreams of being the man

And fuck a man a badge
he ain't shit to a man on the edge
The five-o Naughty, good boy dead
Man you woulda they killed Corn Bread
Shot 'em up face down on the
Not to with his handcuffs on
Not to mention they had plain on
And the goes on
But nobody do 'bout it
The jailhouse and the is too fuckin' crowded
And haters at an all high
Everybody gotta hate, just a fuckin' iPod
Shit and they tried to burn my up
But I got my gun license, I got my up
I'm ready to like a camera
Stay still I'mma have to write my will this summer
'Cause if they don't me, I'mma kill this summer

And you can put that on my late
Or my late grandmother, Ms. Mercedes
Or my grandfather Larry
The old man hustle his heart stopped
And all I know my real pops is that he had money
No bank account, that brown bag money
Yeah he might hit me off wit a little money
But the still wouldn't be a dad for me
But how I turned out I hope he glad for me
But why when I see him I acts mad funny,
he's a joke to me
Don't message, don't call, don't to me
It's me and my mama how it's 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 there is a day that's due for me
But we gone pray it's as far as the future
You are listenin' to the Weezy F. Baby