Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out

Yeah,
Yes
I'mma this one, real rap
this rap is real, ya know?
I you ain't 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 just got on us
all day like we got sleep insomnia
Livin' like the videos a treatment on us
Stuck in the hood like they poured on us
Ghetto birds still shittin' on us, government quittin' on us
a few homies and the grief still sittin' on us
So we got their names on us
folks still spittin' on us
And them bitch ass police canines, teeth grittin' on us
But we smoke, still gettin' on us
All the still 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 wit my nigga
But I that's how it happened my nigga
Shit is much deeper than rappin' my nigga
But now they all rappin', my niggas, so now I must it happen
So I'mma play the captain, sail flappin' my nigga
No fingas I'm snappin', happy for my Lil' Tiggas
even though we couldn't, The Lord saved him
Last time we him was when Katrina hated
Found his like 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 don't the beat
I feel like my just stopped the beat
My Lil' Derrick is quick to cop a key
Either that or the gat and go pop a G
And because of that he's 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 it all the time
I smoke 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 killed Naughty, good boy dead
Man you woulda they killed Corn Bread
Shot 'em up face down on the
Not to mention his handcuffs on
Not to mention had plain clothes on
And the complaint on
But nobody do 'bout it
The and the morgue is too fuckin' crowded
And haters at an all high
gotta hate, just 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 have to write my this summer
'Cause if they kill me, I'mma kill 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 my real pops is that he had money
No bank account, that brown bag money
Yeah he might hit me off wit a little brag
But the nigga wouldn't be a dad for me
But look how I turned out I hope he for me
But why when 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 ever want to see her 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