Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out

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

I grew up where them people called them on us
we slangin', but we just got beepers on us
Grindin' all day like we got sleep
like the videos write a treatment on us
Stuck in the hood they poured cement 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 folks spittin' on us
And them ass police canines, teeth still grittin' on us
But we smoke, still gettin' on us
All the bitches still 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 back wit my
But I know that's how it my nigga
Shit is much than this rappin' my nigga
But now they all rappin', my niggas, so now I must it happen
So I'mma play the captain, sail boat flappin' my
No fingas I'm snappin', happy for my nigga Lil'
'Cause though we couldn't, The Lord saved him
Last time we seen him was when Katrina
Found his body like a month later, in peace boy
He was a East boy, and so was Wesy
He was a good nigga, so I he blessed
And his is a princess
This shit is than a bench press
But I'mma keep goin', and I I got a lump in my throat
But I'mma on pumpin' the flow
So if I cry don't the beat
I feel like my heart just 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 just a name in a rhyme of
I his family and his mama's fine
So much shit just sit on mind of mine
I about it all the time
I drink about it all the
I smoke to back
if my thoughts got to me I'd be in this rap
Or I'd be in the can, God I had dreams of being the man

And a man with a badge
'Cause he ain't shit to a man on the
The killed Naughty, good boy dead
Man you woulda thought they Corn Bread
Shot 'em up down on the lawn
Not to mention his handcuffs on
Not to mention they had clothes on
And the goes 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 ready to like a camera
Stay still mothafucka I'mma have to write my will this
'Cause if they don't kill me, I'mma kill this

And you can put that on my late
Or my late grandmother, Ms. Carter
Or my Larry Bosock
The old man 'till his heart stopped
And all I 'bout my real pops is that he had money
No bank account, that brown bag money
Yeah he might hit me off wit a brag money
But the nigga wouldn't be a dad for me
But look how I turned out I he glad for me
But that's why I see him I acts 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 like she rode for me
And I she gets all hope for me
And I ever 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 listenin' to the future F. Baby