Cry Out

Yea... yea

Yes

Ima call this one... real rap

Cause this rap is real... ya know?

I hope you aint too tired to cry

And i hope you know you aint never to live to die

Listen...

I grew up where them people called them people on us

Think we slingin, but we just got beepers on us

Grindin all day like we got sleep insomnia

Livin like the videos write a treatment on us

Stuck in the hood like they poured semen on us

Ghetto birds still shittin on us, government still quittin on us

Lost a few homies and the grief still sittin on us

So we got the names written on us, white folks still spittin on us

And them bitch ass police k-9's teeth still grittin on us

But we smoke, ashes still gettin on us

Older bitches still hittin on us

I remember well, beezy roll the l

Beezy aint here... wheres beezy at?... beezy got killed

And that was my nigga, i go way back for my nigga

But i know thats how it happend my nigga,

Shit is much deeper than this rappin my nigga

But now they all rappin my niggas, so now i must make it happen

So ima play the captain, sail boat flappin my nigga

No fingers im snappin, happy for my nigga lil taggers

Cause even tho we couldnt, the lord saved him

Last time we seen him was when katrina hated

Found his body like a month later, rest in peace boy

He was a east boy, and so was wesy wes he was a good nigga, so i know he blessed

And his daughter is a princess, this shit is harder than a bench press

But ima keep goin, and i swear i got a lump in my throat

But ima keep on pumpin the flow,

So if i cry dont stop the beat, i feel like my heart just stopped the beat

My nigga lil derek is quick to cop a key, either that or load the gat and go pop a g

And because of that hes just a name in a rhyme of mine

I pray his family and his mama is fine

So much shit just sit on this mind of mine

I think about it all the time

I drink about it all the time

I smoke back to back

Cause if my thoughts got to me id be in this rap

Or id be in the can, thank god i had dreams of being the man

Yea and fuck a man with a badge cause he aint shit to a man on the edge

The five o killed naughty good boy dead

Man you woulda thought they killed corn bread

Shot em up face down on the lawn

Not to mention with his handcuffs on

Not to mention they had plain clothes on

And the complain goes on

But no body do nothin bout it

The jail house and the morgue is too fuckin crowded

And haters at an all time high

Everybody got their hatas like a fuckin ipod

Shit and they tried to burn my phantom up, but i got my gun license

I got my hammers up, im ready to shoot like a camera

Stay still mothafucka ima have to write my will this summer

Cause if they dont kill me, ima kill this summer

Yea

And you can put that on my late father or my late grandmother

Ms. mercedes carter

Or my grandfather larry bosock the old man hustle till his heart stopped

And all i know of my real pops is that he had money

No bank account, that brown paper bag money

Yea he might hit me off wit a little brag money

But the nigga still wouldnt be a dad for me

But look how i turned out i hope he glad for me

But thats why when i see him i act mad funny cause hes a joke to me

Dont message, dont call, dont talk to me

Its just me and my moma how its suppose to be

And i make sure she paid like she wrote for me

And i know she gets all hope for me

And i dont ever want to see her mope for me

Hopefully but truthfully there is a day thats due for me

But we gone pray that its as far as the future sees

Your listenin to the future weezy f. baby

Amen