Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out (Amen)

Yeah,
Yes
call 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 we got sleep insomnia
Livin' the videos write a treatment on us
Stuck in the hood like poured cement on us
Ghetto birds still shittin' on us, government still on us
Lost a few homies and the still sittin' on us
So we got their names on us
White still spittin' on us
And them ass police canines, teeth still grittin' on us
But we smoke, still gettin' on us
All the still hittin' on us
I well, Beezy roll a L
Beezy ain't here. Where's at? Beezy got killed
And that was my nigga, I go way wit my nigga
But I know that's how it happened my
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 even though we couldn't, The Lord him
Last time we him was when Katrina hated
Found his like a month later, rest in peace boy
He was a boy, and so was Wesy West
He was a good nigga, so I 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 in my throat
But I'mma on pumpin' the flow
So if I cry don't stop the
I feel like my just stopped the beat
My nigga 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 of mine
I pray his family and his fine
So much shit just sit on this of mine
I think it all the time
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, 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 Corn Bread
Shot 'em up face on the lawn
Not to with his handcuffs on
Not to they had plain clothes on
And the goes on
But nobody do 'bout it
The jailhouse and the morgue is too crowded
And at an all time high
Everybody gotta hate, 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 a camera
Stay still mothafucka 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 late
Or my late grandmother, Ms. Carter
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, brown paper bag money
Yeah he might hit me off wit a little brag
But the nigga still be a dad for me
But how I turned out I hope he glad for me
But that's why I see him I acts mad funny,
'Cause a joke to me
Don't message, call, don't talk to me
It's just me and my 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 want to see her for me
Hopefully, but truthfully 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 Weezy F.