Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out

Yeah,
Yes
call this one, real rap
Because 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 people them people on us
Think we slangin', but we got beepers on us
all day like we got sleep insomnia
Livin' like the videos write a on us
Stuck in the hood like they poured on us
Ghetto birds still shittin' on us, government still on us
Lost a few homies and the grief still on us
So we got names writtin' on us
folks still spittin' on us
And them bitch ass police canines, still 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? Beezy got
And that was my nigga, I go way wit my nigga
But I know that's how it my nigga
Shit is much deeper than this my nigga
But now they all rappin', my niggas, so now I make it happen
So play the captain, sail boat flappin' my nigga
No fingas I'm snappin', happy for my nigga Tiggas
'Cause even though we couldn't, The saved him
Last time we him was when Katrina hated
Found his like a month later, rest in peace boy
He was a East boy, and so was West
He was a good nigga, so I he blessed
And his daughter is a
This shit is than a bench press
But keep goin', and I swear I got a lump in my throat
But I'mma keep on pumpin' the
So if I cry stop the beat
I like my heart just stopped the beat
My nigga Lil' Derrick is 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 pray his family and his fine
So much just sit on this mind of mine
I think about it all the
I drink about it all the
I smoke back to
'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 shit to a man on the
The killed Naughty, good boy dead
Man you woulda thought they killed Bread
Shot 'em up face down on the
Not to with his handcuffs on
Not to mention they had clothes on
And the complaint on
But nobody do nothin' it
The jailhouse and the morgue is too fuckin'
And at an all time high
Everybody gotta hate, just like a fuckin'
Shit and tried to burn my Phantom up
But I got my gun license, I got my up
I'm to shoot like a camera
still mothafucka I'mma have to write my will this summer
'Cause if they don't kill me, kill this summer

And you can put that on my late
Or my late grandmother, Ms. Carter
Or my Larry Bosock
The old man hustle 'till his heart
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 money
But the nigga 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,
'Cause a joke to me
message, don't call, don't talk to me
It's just me and my mama how suppose to be
And I make sure she 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 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 Weezy F.