Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out

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

I grew up where them people called people on us
we slangin', but we just got beepers on us
Grindin' all day like we got sleep
like the videos write a treatment on us
Stuck in the like they poured cement on us
Ghetto birds still shittin' on us, government quittin' on us
Lost a few homies and the still sittin' on us
So we got their writtin' on us
White folks still on us
And them bitch ass police canines, still grittin' on us
But we smoke, ashes still on us
All the bitches still on us
I remember well, Beezy a L
ain't here. Where's Beezy 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 deeper than this rappin' my
But now all rappin', my niggas, so now I must make it happen
So I'mma the captain, sail boat flappin' my nigga
No fingas I'm snappin', happy for my nigga Tiggas
'Cause even though we couldn't, The Lord him
time we seen him was when Katrina hated
Found his like a month later, rest in peace boy
He was a East boy, and so was Wesy
He was a good nigga, so I know he
And his daughter is a
This is harder than a bench press
But I'mma goin', and I swear I got a lump in my throat
But I'mma keep on pumpin' the
So if I cry stop the beat
I feel like my heart just stopped the
My nigga Lil' is quick to cop a key
Either that or the gat and go pop a G
And because of he's just a name in a rhyme of mine
I pray his family and his mama's
So much shit just sit on mind of mine
I think it all the time
I drink about it all the
I smoke to back
if my thoughts 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 fuck a man a badge
he ain't shit to a man on the edge
The five-o Naughty, good boy dead
Man you woulda thought killed Corn Bread
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 do nothin' 'bout it
The jailhouse and the morgue is too fuckin'
And at an all time high
Everybody gotta hate, 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 to write my will this summer
'Cause if they don't kill me, I'mma this summer

And you can put that on my father
Or my late grandmother, Ms. Carter
Or my grandfather Larry
The old man 'till his heart stopped
And all I know 'bout my real is that he had money
No bank account, that brown bag money
Yeah he might hit me off wit a brag money
But the still wouldn't be a dad for me
But look how I out I hope he glad for me
But why when I see him I acts mad funny,
'Cause 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 she paid like she rode for me
And I know she all hope for me
And I ever want 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