Luyện nghe bài hát Crybaby

I was in 71' in Kansas City, MO
my momma was a heavenly one, so the fam was slow
it came to rap and R&B and plenty more
check it, if it on gospel, apostle
or written in the Bible, it go
So when they tell the don't do something then I end up doing it anyway
like, don't listen to rap, the evil music of today
but, I really in love with the sound that was coming out form the East Coast
So we got it and twisted it up a bit, now the industry's a heatstroke
Some say rap is dead, but when I get the white, black, and red
and on the tour bus, do 58 shows, then I'm back with a big black sack of bread
Can't believe that that was said, cause I'm here a stack of fed
and I got it from rap/hip-hop or whatever and I did not to beg
So, here I stand, the mic in hand my rap attire
and I like my fans spending cause we got the fire
I merchandise like 5 G's every an hour
and you cry like a baby so your mic must be pacifier

When I read the magazine, them rapper's like
WAH WAH WAH (Crybaby)
When I see them on the TV, them rapper's like
WAH WAH WAH (Whatcha bout?)

If it's negative, I wanna hear it
eliminating player haters with their evil

I hear em talkin, they mad at Smurf and Boy
They hating big in the magazine, and even know the boys
I know the ploy, up rappers wanna attack people
Run up to the car, pull out the mac
Man that's a problem with the black now
What ya need to know is that, in the world there's a lot of dough to
And the ones that wanna us back ain't been outside they cul-de-sac
Every nigga I know is strapped, rip shows blow ya back
But notice that, I can put it down to where the shoulders at
Hating on the south? Why? Trippin off chips they got
You like that it's screwed and chopped
but you get off in they pot
Wanna be MC you talk a lot, up in the and you hot
Cause they be poking out
the hell is you cryin bout?
Everybody wanna be killa but not for
bout the of making money you gotta get the milla
by doin it like I do it do the work and in it
when you do it to the fullest aint no problem it
I was broke, homie I went for mills
Got on the mic with the to kill
Stronger than ever, and you a gimp for
I caribou lou, and you drink enfamil CHUMP

When I read the magazine, them rapper's like
WAH WAH WAH (Crybaby)
I see them on the TV, them rapper's sounding like
WAH WAH WAH (Whatcha bout?)

You be clapping when folk make it up outta the ghetto
or trailer park, it don't matter if he black or if he guerro
but, you know how to be male
of a Timberland, you probably in a stilletto
better yet in a shoe, jealous or maybe you
sick of me cause I'm dinero
and you dont get clapped at
you want a standing ovation? I not!
you say you better than rappers on radio, man that's chop
try to run up on me, cause a benzo never be in your car slot
try to up on the scene, my infra-red beam's right at your soft spot
if you was on TV and balling you wouldn't groan and
keep hatred, envy, and bloodshed on his lip
Tech got long with chrome things on his whip
?? a chrome thing on his hip
but know your hip will not stop the hop
cause you look at the big picture, my block pops alot daily
so on thinking my clock stops the shots
and I can quickly bury you in your Osh B'Gosh, baby

When I the magazine, them rapper's sounding like
WAH WAH WAH (Crybaby)
When I see on the TV, them rapper's sounding like
WAH WAH WAH (Whatcha bout?)