Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out

Yeah,
Yes
I'mma call this one, rap
this rap is real, ya know?
I you ain't too tired to cry
And I hope you know you ain't too live to die

I grew up where them people called them on us
we slangin', but we just got beepers on us
Grindin' all day like we got insomnia
like the videos write a treatment on us
Stuck in the hood like they poured on us
Ghetto birds still shittin' on us, government still on us
Lost a few homies and the grief sittin' on us
So we got their names 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 still hittin' on us
I well, Beezy roll a L
Beezy ain't here. Where's at? Beezy got killed
And was my nigga, I go way back wit my nigga
But I know that's how it happened my
Shit is much 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 flappin' my nigga
No fingas I'm snappin', for my nigga Lil' Tiggas
'Cause even we couldn't, The Lord saved him
Last time we seen him was when Katrina
Found his body like a later, rest in peace boy
He was a East boy, and so was West
He was a nigga, so I know he blessed
And his daughter is a
shit is harder than a bench press
But I'mma keep goin', and I swear I got a lump in my
But I'mma on pumpin' the flow
So if I cry stop the beat
I feel like my heart stopped the beat
My nigga Derrick is quick to cop a key
Either that or the gat and go pop a G
And because of that 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 about it all the time
I smoke back to
'Cause if my got to me I'd be in this rap
Or I'd be in the can, thank God I had of being the man

And a man with a badge
'Cause he ain't shit to a man on the
The five-o killed Naughty, boy dead
Man you woulda they killed Corn Bread
Shot 'em up face down on the
Not to mention his handcuffs on
Not to mention they had plain on
And the complaint on
But nobody do 'bout it
The and the morgue is too fuckin' crowded
And haters at an all time
gotta hate, just 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 have to write my this summer
'Cause if they don't kill me, kill this summer

And you can put that on my late
Or my late grandmother, Ms. Carter
Or my grandfather Bosock
The old man hustle 'till his stopped
And all I know 'bout my pops is that he had money
No bank account, that brown bag money
Yeah he might hit me off wit a little brag
But the nigga wouldn't be a dad for me
But look how I out I hope he glad for me
But that's why I see him I acts mad funny,
he's a joke to me
Don't message, call, don't talk to me
just me and my mama how it's 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 there is a day due for me
But we gone it's as far as the future sees
You are listenin' to the future F. Baby