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 you know you ain't never too live to die

I up where them people called them people on us
we slangin', but we just got beepers on us
Grindin' all day like we got insomnia
Livin' the videos write a treatment on us
Stuck in the like they poured cement on us
Ghetto birds still shittin' on us, government quittin' on us
Lost a few and the grief still sittin' on us
So we got names writtin' on us
White folks spittin' on us
And them bitch ass police canines, still grittin' on us
But we smoke, ashes still on us
All the bitches hittin' on us
I remember well, roll a L
Beezy ain't here. Beezy at? Beezy 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 than this rappin' my nigga
But now all rappin', my niggas, so now I must make it happen
So I'mma the captain, sail boat flappin' my nigga
No fingas I'm snappin', happy for my Lil' Tiggas
'Cause even we couldn't, The Lord saved him
Last time we seen him was when hated
Found his body like a month later, in peace boy
He was a East boy, and so was Wesy
He was a nigga, so I know he blessed
And his is a princess
This shit is than a bench press
But I'mma keep goin', and I swear I got a in my throat
But I'mma on pumpin' the flow
So if I cry don't stop the
I feel like my heart stopped the beat
My Lil' Derrick is quick to cop a key
Either or load the gat and go pop a G
And because of that just a name in a rhyme of mine
I his family and his mama's fine
So shit just sit on this mind of mine
I think about it all the
I about it all the time
I back to back
'Cause if my thoughts got to me I'd be in rap
Or I'd be in the can, God I had dreams of being 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
'em up face down on the lawn
Not to mention with his on
Not to mention they had clothes on
And the goes on
But nobody do 'bout it
The jailhouse and the is too fuckin' crowded
And haters at an all high
Everybody hate, just like a fuckin' iPod
and they tried to burn my Phantom up
But I got my gun license, I got my up
I'm ready to like a camera
Stay still 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 father
Or my late grandmother, Ms. Mercedes
Or my Larry Bosock
The old man hustle 'till his stopped
And all I know 'bout my real pops is that he had
No bank account, that paper bag money
Yeah he might hit me off wit a brag money
But the still 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,
'Cause a joke to me
Don't message, don't call, don't to me
It's just me and my mama how suppose to be
And I sure she paid like she rode for me
And I know she gets all for me
And I don't ever 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