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 too live to die

I grew up where people called them people on us
we slangin', but we just got beepers on us
Grindin' all day like we got sleep
Livin' the videos 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 grief still on us
So we got names writtin' on us
White still spittin' on us
And them bitch ass police canines, still grittin' on us
But we smoke, ashes 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 that was my nigga, I go way wit my nigga
But I know that's how it my nigga
is much deeper than this rappin' my nigga
But now they all rappin', my niggas, so now I make it happen
So play the captain, sail 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
Found his body like a 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 daughter is a
This shit is harder a bench press
But I'mma keep goin', and I swear I got a in my throat
But I'mma keep on the flow
So if I cry don't the beat
I feel like my just stopped the beat
My nigga Lil' is quick to cop a key
Either that or 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 sit on this mind of mine
I think about it all the
I about it all the time
I smoke back to
'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 a man with a badge
he ain't shit to a man on the edge
The killed Naughty, good boy dead
Man you thought they killed Corn Bread
'em up face down on the lawn
Not to mention with his on
Not to mention they had clothes on
And the complaint on
But nobody do nothin' it
The jailhouse and the morgue is too 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 a camera
Stay still I'mma have to write my will this summer
'Cause if don't kill me, I'mma kill this summer

And you can put on my late father
Or my grandmother, Ms. Mercedes Carter
Or my grandfather Bosock
The old man 'till his heart stopped
And all I know 'bout my real is that he had money
No bank account, that brown paper bag
Yeah he might hit me off wit a little brag
But the still wouldn't be a dad for me
But how I turned out I hope he glad for me
But why when 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 mama how it's 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 there is a day that's due for me
But we gone pray it's as far as the future
You are listenin' to the Weezy F. Baby