Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out

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

I grew up where them people them people on us
Think we slangin', but we got beepers on us
Grindin' all day like we got insomnia
Livin' the videos write a treatment on us
Stuck in the hood like they cement on us
Ghetto birds still shittin' on us, still quittin' on us
Lost a few homies and the grief still on us
So we got names writtin' on us
White folks spittin' on us
And them bitch ass police canines, teeth still on us
But we smoke, ashes gettin' on us
All the bitches hittin' on us
I remember well, 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 that's how it happened my nigga
Shit is much deeper this rappin' my nigga
But now they all rappin', my niggas, so now I must make it
So I'mma play the captain, sail boat flappin' my
No I'm snappin', happy for my nigga Lil' Tiggas
'Cause even though we couldn't, The Lord him
Last we seen him was when Katrina hated
Found his body like a month later, rest in 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 lump in my
But I'mma keep on pumpin' the
So if I cry stop the beat
I feel like my just stopped the beat
My nigga Derrick is quick to cop a key
Either or load the gat and go pop a G
And because of that he's just a name in a rhyme of
I his family and his mama's fine
So shit just sit on this mind of mine
I think it all the time
I about it all the time
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 dreams of the man

And fuck a man with a
he ain't shit to a man on the edge
The five-o killed Naughty, boy dead
Man you woulda thought they killed Bread
Shot 'em up face on the lawn
Not to with 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 high
Everybody gotta hate, just like a fuckin'
and they tried to burn my Phantom up
But I got my gun license, I got my up
I'm to shoot like a camera
Stay mothafucka I'mma have to write my will this summer
'Cause if they don't me, I'mma kill this summer

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