Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out

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

I grew up where them called them people on us
Think we slangin', but we got beepers on us
Grindin' all day like we got insomnia
Livin' like the write a treatment on us
Stuck in the hood like poured cement 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 names writtin' on us
White 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? Beezy got
And that was my nigga, I go way back wit my
But I know that's how it happened my
Shit is much deeper than this rappin' my
But now they all rappin', my niggas, so now I must make it
So I'mma play the captain, sail boat flappin' my
No fingas I'm snappin', for my nigga Lil' Tiggas
'Cause even though we couldn't, The saved him
Last we seen him was when Katrina hated
Found his body a month later, rest in peace boy
He was a East boy, and so was West
He was a good nigga, so I know he
And his daughter is a
This shit is than a bench press
But I'mma keep goin', and I I got a lump in my throat
But I'mma keep on the flow
So if I cry stop the beat
I feel like my heart stopped 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 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 about 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 fuck a man with a
he ain't shit to a man on the edge
The five-o killed Naughty, boy dead
Man you woulda thought they killed Bread
'em up face down on the lawn
Not to mention with his on
Not to mention had plain clothes on
And the goes on
But do nothin' 'bout it
The jailhouse and the morgue is too crowded
And haters at an all high
Everybody gotta hate, just a fuckin' iPod
Shit and they to burn my Phantom up
But I got my gun license, I got my up
I'm ready to like a camera
Stay still mothafucka I'mma to write my will this summer
'Cause if they don't kill me, I'mma kill summer

And you can put on my late father
Or my late grandmother, Ms. Mercedes
Or my grandfather Bosock
The old man hustle 'till his heart
And all I know 'bout my pops is that he had money
No bank account, brown paper bag money
Yeah he might hit me off wit a little money
But the nigga 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,
he's a joke to me
Don't message, call, don't talk to me
It's me and my mama how it's suppose to be
And I make sure she paid like she for me
And I know she gets all 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 gone it's as far as the future sees
You are to the future Weezy F. Baby