Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out

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

I grew up where them people called them on us
Think we slangin', but we just got on us
Grindin' all day like we got insomnia
Livin' like the write a treatment on us
in the hood like they poured cement on us
Ghetto birds still shittin' on us, government quittin' on us
a few homies and the grief still sittin' on us
So we got their names on us
White still spittin' on us
And them bitch ass police canines, teeth grittin' on us
But we smoke, still gettin' on us
All the bitches still on us
I remember well, Beezy 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 know that's how it happened my
Shit is much deeper than rappin' my nigga
But now they all rappin', my niggas, so now I must make it
So I'mma play the captain, boat flappin' my nigga
No I'm snappin', happy for my nigga Lil' Tiggas
'Cause even we couldn't, The Lord saved him
Last time we seen him was Katrina hated
his body like a month later, rest in peace boy
He was a boy, and so was Wesy West
He was a nigga, so I know he blessed
And his daughter is a
This is harder than a bench press
But keep goin', and I swear I got a lump in my throat
But I'mma on pumpin' the flow
So if I cry don't the beat
I like my heart just stopped the beat
My nigga Lil' is quick to cop a key
Either that or 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 shit just sit on mind of mine
I think about it all the
I drink about it all the
I back to back
'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
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 they had clothes on
And the goes on
But nobody do 'bout it
The jailhouse and the is too fuckin' crowded
And at an all time high
Everybody gotta hate, just like a fuckin'
Shit and tried to burn my Phantom 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 don't kill me, I'mma kill this summer

And you can put that on my late
Or my late grandmother, Ms. Mercedes
Or my Larry Bosock
The old man hustle his heart stopped
And all I know 'bout my real is that he had money
No account, that brown paper bag money
Yeah he might hit me off wit a little 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 he's a to me
Don't message, don't call, don't to me
just me and my mama how it's suppose to be
And I make sure she paid like she for me
And I she gets all hope for me
And I ever want to see her mope for me
Hopefully, but truthfully there is a day due for me
But we gone pray as far as the future sees
You are listenin' to the Weezy F. Baby