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 hope you know you ain't never too to die

I up where them people called them people on us
we slangin', but we just got beepers on us
Grindin' all day we got sleep insomnia
like the videos write a treatment on us
Stuck in the like they poured cement on us
Ghetto still shittin' on us, government still quittin' on us
Lost a few homies and the grief still on us
So we got their names on us
folks still spittin' on us
And them ass police canines, teeth still grittin' on us
But we smoke, still gettin' on us
All the still hittin' on us
I remember well, Beezy a L
Beezy ain't here. Where's at? Beezy got killed
And was my nigga, I go way back wit my nigga
But I know that's how it my nigga
Shit is much deeper than this rappin' my
But now all rappin', my niggas, so now I must make it happen
So I'mma play the captain, sail boat my nigga
No fingas I'm snappin', happy for my nigga Tiggas
even though we couldn't, The Lord saved him
Last time we him was when Katrina hated
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 he blessed
And his is a princess
shit is harder than a bench press
But I'mma keep goin', and I swear I got a lump in my
But I'mma on pumpin' the flow
So if I cry don't the beat
I feel like my just stopped the beat
My nigga Derrick is quick 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 mama's
So much just sit on this mind of mine
I think about it all the
I drink about it all the
I back 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 thought they Corn Bread
'em up face down on the lawn
Not to mention with his on
Not to mention they had clothes on
And the goes on
But do nothin' '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 to burn my Phantom up
But I got my gun license, I got my up
I'm ready to shoot like a
Stay still I'mma have to write my will this summer
if they don't kill me, I'mma kill this summer

And you can put on my late father
Or my late grandmother, Ms. Carter
Or my grandfather Bosock
The old man hustle his heart stopped
And all I know 'bout my real pops is he had money
No bank account, that brown paper bag
Yeah he might hit me off wit a brag money
But the still wouldn't be a dad for me
But look how I out I hope he glad for me
But why when I see him I acts mad funny,
'Cause a joke to me
message, don't call, don't talk to me
It's just me and my mama how suppose to be
And I make sure she like she rode for me
And I know she all hope for me
And I ever want to see her mope for me
Hopefully, but truthfully is a day that's due for me
But we gone pray it's as far as the sees
You are to the future Weezy F. Baby