Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out

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

I grew up them people called them people on us
Think we slangin', but we just got on us
Grindin' all day we got sleep insomnia
like the videos write a treatment on us
Stuck in the hood they poured cement on us
Ghetto birds still shittin' on us, still quittin' on us
Lost a few and the grief still sittin' on us
So we got their names on us
folks still spittin' on us
And them bitch ass police canines, teeth grittin' on us
But we smoke, still gettin' on us
All the still hittin' 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 that's how it happened my nigga
Shit is much than this rappin' my nigga
But now they all rappin', my niggas, so now I must it happen
So I'mma the captain, sail 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 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 he blessed
And his is a princess
This shit is harder than a press
But I'mma keep goin', and I I got a lump in my throat
But I'mma keep on pumpin' the
So if I cry don't the beat
I feel like my heart just stopped the
My nigga Lil' is quick to cop a key
Either that or 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 shit just sit on this mind of mine
I think it all the time
I drink it all the time
I smoke to back
'Cause if my thoughts got to me I'd be in rap
Or I'd be in the can, thank God I had dreams of the man

And fuck a man a badge
he ain't shit to a man on the edge
The five-o killed Naughty, good boy
Man you woulda they killed Corn Bread
'em up face down on the lawn
Not to with his handcuffs on
Not to mention had plain clothes on
And the goes on
But do nothin' 'bout it
The jailhouse and the morgue is too crowded
And haters at an all time
Everybody gotta hate, just 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 have to write my will summer
'Cause if they don't me, I'mma kill this summer

And you can put that on my late
Or my grandmother, Ms. Mercedes Carter
Or my grandfather Larry
The old man hustle 'till his heart
And all I know my real pops is that he had money
No bank account, that paper bag money
Yeah he hit me off wit a little brag money
But the nigga still be a dad for me
But how I turned out I hope he glad for me
But that's why I see him I acts mad funny,
'Cause he's a 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 like she rode for me
And I know she gets all for me
And I don't ever to see her mope for me
Hopefully, but there is a day that's due for me
But we pray it's as far as the future sees
You are listenin' to the Weezy F. Baby