Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out

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

I grew up where them people called them on us
Think we slangin', but we got beepers on us
Grindin' all day we got sleep insomnia
Livin' like the videos write a on us
Stuck in the like they poured cement on us
Ghetto birds shittin' on us, government still quittin' on us
Lost a few and the grief still sittin' on us
So we got their writtin' on us
White folks spittin' on us
And them bitch ass police canines, teeth grittin' on us
But we smoke, still gettin' on us
All the still hittin' on us
I remember well, Beezy 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 that's how it happened my nigga
Shit is deeper than this rappin' my nigga
But now they all rappin', my niggas, so now I make it happen
So I'mma play the captain, sail boat my nigga
No fingas I'm snappin', happy for my nigga Lil'
'Cause even though we couldn't, The Lord him
Last time we him was when Katrina hated
Found his body like a month later, in peace boy
He was a East boy, and so was West
He was a nigga, so I know he blessed
And his is a princess
shit is harder than a bench press
But I'mma keep goin', and I swear I got a lump in my
But keep on pumpin' the flow
So if I cry don't stop the
I feel like my heart just the beat
My nigga Lil' Derrick is to cop a key
Either that or the gat and go pop a G
And because of that he's just a name in a rhyme of
I pray his family and his mama's
So much just sit on this mind of mine
I think it all the time
I drink about it all the
I back to back
'Cause if my thoughts got to me I'd be in 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 to a man on the edge
The five-o killed Naughty, boy dead
Man you woulda thought they killed Corn
'em up face down on the lawn
Not to with his handcuffs on
Not to mention had plain clothes on
And the complaint on
But do nothin' 'bout it
The jailhouse and the morgue is too fuckin'
And haters at an all high
Everybody gotta hate, just a fuckin' iPod
and they 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 will this
'Cause if they don't me, I'mma kill this summer

And you can put that on my late
Or my grandmother, Ms. Mercedes Carter
Or my Larry Bosock
The old man hustle 'till his stopped
And all I 'bout my real pops is that he had money
No bank account, brown paper bag money
he might 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 when I see him I 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 suppose to be
And I make sure she like she rode for me
And I know she 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 pray it's as far as the future sees
You are to the future Weezy F. Baby