Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out

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

I grew up where people called them people on us
Think we slangin', but we 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
birds 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
folks still spittin' on us
And them bitch ass canines, teeth still grittin' on us
But we smoke, ashes still on us
All the bitches hittin' on us
I well, Beezy roll a L
Beezy ain't here. Where's Beezy at? got killed
And that was my nigga, I go way wit my nigga
But I know that's how it my nigga
Shit is much deeper than rappin' my nigga
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
Last time we seen him was Katrina hated
Found his like a month later, rest in peace boy
He was a East boy, and so was Wesy
He was a nigga, so I know he blessed
And his is a princess
This shit is harder a bench press
But I'mma keep goin', and I swear I got a lump in my
But I'mma keep on pumpin' the
So if I cry don't stop the
I feel my heart just stopped the beat
My nigga Lil' is quick to cop a key
Either or load 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 fine
So shit just sit on this mind of mine
I think about it all the
I drink it all the time
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 dreams of the man

And a man with a badge
'Cause he ain't shit to a man on the
The five-o Naughty, good boy dead
Man you woulda they killed Corn Bread
'em up face down on the lawn
Not to mention with his on
Not to mention they had plain on
And the goes on
But nobody do nothin' it
The and the morgue is too fuckin' crowded
And haters at an all time
Everybody gotta hate, just like a fuckin'
Shit and they tried to burn my up
But I got my gun license, I got my up
I'm ready to shoot like a
Stay still mothafucka have to write my will this summer
'Cause if they don't kill me, I'mma this summer

And you can put that on my late
Or my grandmother, Ms. Mercedes Carter
Or my Larry Bosock
The old man hustle his heart stopped
And all I know 'bout my real pops is that he had
No account, that brown paper bag money
Yeah he might hit me off wit a little brag
But the still wouldn't be a dad for me
But look how I turned out I 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
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 all hope for me
And I don't ever to see her mope for me
Hopefully, but truthfully is a day that's due for me
But we gone pray it's as far as the future
You are listenin' to the future F. Baby