Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out

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

I grew up where them called them people on us
Think we slangin', but we just got on us
Grindin' all day like we got insomnia
Livin' like the write a treatment on us
Stuck in the hood they poured cement on us
Ghetto birds still shittin' on us, government still on us
Lost a few and the grief still sittin' on us
So we got names writtin' on us
White folks still on us
And them bitch ass police canines, teeth grittin' on us
But we smoke, ashes still on us
All the still 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 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, boat flappin' my nigga
No I'm snappin', happy for my nigga Lil' Tiggas
'Cause even though we couldn't, The Lord him
Last time we seen him was when hated
his body like a month later, rest in peace boy
He was a boy, and so was Wesy West
He was a nigga, so I know he blessed
And his daughter is a
This is harder than a bench press
But I'mma keep goin', and I swear I got a lump in my
But I'mma on pumpin' the flow
So if I cry don't the beat
I feel like my heart stopped the beat
My nigga Derrick is quick to cop a key
Either 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 mind of mine
I about it all the time
I drink it all the time
I smoke to back
'Cause if my 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 fuck a man with a
'Cause he ain't to a man on the edge
The five-o Naughty, good boy dead
Man you woulda thought they killed Bread
Shot 'em up face on the lawn
Not to mention his handcuffs on
Not to mention they had plain on
And the goes on
But do nothin' 'bout it
The jailhouse and the is too fuckin' crowded
And haters at an all time
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 to write my will this summer
'Cause if they kill me, I'mma kill this summer

And you can put that on my father
Or my grandmother, Ms. Mercedes Carter
Or my grandfather Bosock
The old man hustle his heart stopped
And all I know 'bout my real pops is that he had
No bank account, that brown paper bag
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 when I see him I mad funny,
'Cause he's a to me
message, don't 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 she gets 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