Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out

Yeah,
Yes
I'mma call this one, rap
this 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 them on us
we slangin', but we just got beepers on us
Grindin' all day we got sleep insomnia
Livin' like the write a treatment on us
Stuck in the like they poured cement on us
Ghetto birds shittin' on us, government still quittin' on us
Lost a few homies and the still sittin' on us
So we got their writtin' on us
White still spittin' on us
And them ass police canines, teeth still grittin' on us
But we smoke, ashes gettin' on us
All the bitches still on us
I well, Beezy roll a L
Beezy ain't here. Beezy at? Beezy got killed
And that was my nigga, I go way wit my nigga
But I that's how it happened my nigga
Shit is much deeper this rappin' my nigga
But now all rappin', my niggas, so now I must 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
time we seen him was when Katrina hated
Found his body a month later, rest in peace boy
He was a East boy, and so was 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 goin', and I swear I got a lump in my throat
But I'mma on pumpin' the flow
So if I cry stop the beat
I feel like my heart just 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 of mine
I think about it all the
I drink about it all the
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 of being the man

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

And you can put that on my late
Or my grandmother, Ms. Mercedes Carter
Or my Larry Bosock
The old man hustle 'till his heart
And all I know my real pops is that he had money
No bank account, brown paper bag money
he might 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 he glad for me
But that's why I see him I acts mad funny,
'Cause he's a to me
message, don't call, don't talk to me
It's just me and my how it's suppose to be
And I make sure she paid she rode for me
And I she gets all hope for me
And I don't ever to see her mope for me
Hopefully, but truthfully there is a day due for me
But we gone it's as far as the future sees
You are listenin' to the Weezy F. Baby