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 grew up where them people them people on us
Think we slangin', but we just got on us
Grindin' all day like we got insomnia
Livin' the videos write a treatment on us
Stuck in the hood like they poured on us
Ghetto birds still 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 still spittin' on us
And them bitch ass canines, teeth still 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. Beezy at? Beezy got killed
And that was my nigga, I go way wit my nigga
But I know how it happened my nigga
is much deeper 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 I'm snappin', happy for my nigga Lil' Tiggas
'Cause though we couldn't, The Lord saved him
Last time we him was when Katrina hated
Found his body a month later, rest in peace boy
He was a boy, and so was Wesy West
He was a good nigga, so I he blessed
And his is a princess
This is harder than a bench press
But I'mma keep goin', and I swear I got a in my throat
But I'mma keep on pumpin' the
So if I cry stop the beat
I feel like my just stopped the beat
My nigga Lil' is quick to cop a key
that or load the gat and go pop a G
And of that he's just a name in a rhyme of mine
I pray his family and his mama's
So much shit just sit on this mind of
I think it all the time
I drink it all the time
I smoke back to
'Cause if my thoughts got to me I'd be in rap
Or I'd be in the can, thank God I had dreams of the man

And fuck a man with a
'Cause he ain't shit to a man on the
The five-o Naughty, good boy dead
Man you woulda thought killed Corn Bread
'em up face down on the lawn
Not to mention his handcuffs on
Not to they had plain clothes on
And the complaint on
But nobody do nothin' it
The and the morgue is too fuckin' crowded
And haters at an all time
Everybody gotta hate, like a fuckin' iPod
Shit and they to burn my Phantom up
But I got my gun license, I got my up
I'm to shoot like 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 late grandmother, Ms. Mercedes
Or my grandfather Larry
The old man hustle his heart stopped
And all I know 'bout my real pops is he had money
No account, that brown paper bag money
Yeah he hit me off wit a little brag money
But the nigga still be a dad for me
But how I turned out I hope he glad 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 she paid like she rode for me
And I know she all hope for me
And I don't want to see her mope for me
Hopefully, but there is a day that's due for me
But we gone pray it's as far as the sees
You are to the future Weezy F. Baby