Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out

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

I up where them people called them people on us
we slangin', but we just got beepers on us
Grindin' all day like we got sleep
Livin' like the videos write a on us
Stuck in the hood like they poured on us
Ghetto still shittin' on us, government still quittin' on us
Lost a few and the grief still sittin' on us
So we got names writtin' on us
White still spittin' on us
And them ass police canines, teeth still grittin' on us
But we smoke, still gettin' on us
All the bitches still on us
I remember well, roll 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 how it happened my nigga
Shit is deeper than this rappin' my nigga
But now all rappin', my niggas, so now I must make it happen
So I'mma play the captain, sail boat flappin' my
No I'm snappin', happy for my nigga Lil' Tiggas
'Cause though we couldn't, The Lord saved him
Last time we seen him was when hated
Found his like a month 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 is a princess
shit is harder than a bench press
But I'mma keep goin', and I I got a lump in my throat
But keep on pumpin' the flow
So if I cry don't stop the
I feel like my heart stopped the beat
My nigga Derrick is quick to cop a key
that or load the gat and go pop a G
And because of that he's just a in a rhyme of mine
I pray his family and his fine
So shit just sit on this mind of mine
I think it all the time
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 fuck a man a badge
'Cause he ain't to a man on the edge
The killed Naughty, good boy dead
Man you woulda thought they killed Corn
Shot 'em up face down on the
Not to mention with his on
Not to they had plain clothes on
And the complaint on
But nobody do nothin' it
The jailhouse and the is too fuckin' crowded
And haters at an all time
Everybody gotta hate, just a fuckin' iPod
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
still mothafucka I'mma have to write my will this summer
'Cause if they don't kill me, I'mma kill this

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