Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out

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

I up where them people called them people on us
Think we slangin', but we got beepers on us
Grindin' all day like we got sleep
Livin' like the videos a treatment on us
Stuck in the hood like they cement on us
Ghetto birds shittin' on us, government still quittin' on us
a few homies and the grief still sittin' on us
So we got names writtin' on us
White folks spittin' on us
And them bitch ass police canines, teeth grittin' on us
But we smoke, ashes gettin' on us
All the bitches hittin' on us
I remember well, roll a L
Beezy ain't here. Where's Beezy at? got killed
And that was my nigga, I go way back wit my
But I know that's how it happened my
Shit is much than this rappin' my nigga
But now they all rappin', my niggas, so now I must make it
So I'mma play the captain, sail boat my nigga
No fingas I'm snappin', happy for my Lil' Tiggas
'Cause even though we couldn't, The saved him
Last time we seen him was when Katrina
Found his body like a later, rest in peace boy
He was a boy, and so was Wesy West
He was a good nigga, so I know he
And his daughter is a
This shit is harder than a bench
But keep goin', and I swear I got a lump in my throat
But I'mma keep on pumpin' the
So if I cry don't stop the
I like my heart just stopped the beat
My nigga Derrick is quick to cop a key
that or load the gat and go pop a G
And because of that he's just a name in a of mine
I his family and his mama's fine
So shit just sit on this mind of mine
I think about it all the
I drink it all the time
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
'Cause he shit to a man on the edge
The five-o Naughty, good boy dead
Man you woulda they killed Corn Bread
Shot 'em up down on the lawn
Not to with his handcuffs on
Not to mention they had plain on
And the complaint on
But nobody do 'bout it
The jailhouse and the is too fuckin' crowded
And haters at an all time
Everybody gotta hate, just like a iPod
Shit and they tried to my Phantom up
But I got my gun license, I got my up
I'm ready to shoot a camera
Stay mothafucka I'mma have to write my will this summer
'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 grandfather Larry
The old man hustle 'till his stopped
And all I know my real pops is that he had money
No bank account, that paper bag money
Yeah he might hit me off wit a little money
But the still wouldn't be a dad for me
But look how I turned out I hope he for me
But that's why I see him I acts mad funny,
he's a joke to me
Don't message, don't call, don't to me
It's just me and my mama how it's to be
And I make sure she paid like she for me
And I she gets all hope for me
And I don't ever 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