Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out

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

I grew up where them people called people on us
we slangin', but we just got beepers on us
Grindin' all day like we got sleep
Livin' like the write a treatment on us
Stuck in the hood they poured cement on us
birds still shittin' on us, government still quittin' on us
Lost a few homies and the still sittin' on us
So we got their names on us
White still 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, Beezy a L
Beezy 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 my nigga
Shit is much than this rappin' my nigga
But now they all rappin', my niggas, so now I make it happen
So I'mma play the captain, sail boat flappin' my
No fingas I'm snappin', happy for my Lil' Tiggas
even though we couldn't, The Lord saved him
Last we seen him was when Katrina hated
Found his body like a month later, rest in boy
He was a East boy, and so was Wesy
He was a nigga, so I know he blessed
And his is a princess
This shit is harder than a bench
But I'mma goin', and I swear 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 the beat
My Lil' Derrick is quick to cop a key
that or load the gat and go pop a G
And because of he's just a name in a rhyme of mine
I pray his and his mama's fine
So much shit just sit on this mind of
I think about it all the
I drink it all the time
I smoke to back
if my thoughts got to me I'd be in this rap
Or I'd be in the can, thank God I had dreams of the man

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

And you can put that on my father
Or my late grandmother, Ms. Carter
Or my grandfather Larry
The old man 'till his heart stopped
And all I know 'bout my real is that he had money
No bank account, that paper bag money
Yeah he might hit me off wit a brag money
But the nigga still be a dad for me
But look how I turned out I hope he for me
But that's why when I see him I mad funny,
'Cause he's a to me
Don't message, don't call, talk 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 know she gets all for me
And I don't ever to see her mope for me
Hopefully, but truthfully is a day that's due for me
But we gone it's as far as the future sees
You are listenin' to the future Weezy F.