Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out (Amen)

Yeah,
Yes
call this one, real rap
Because rap is real, ya know?
I hope you too tired 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 just got on us
Grindin' all day like we got insomnia
Livin' the videos write a treatment on us
in the hood like they poured cement on us
Ghetto birds still shittin' on us, government quittin' on us
Lost a few homies and the still sittin' on us
So we got names writtin' on us
White still spittin' on us
And them bitch ass police canines, teeth grittin' on us
But we smoke, ashes still on us
All the bitches still on us
I remember well, roll a L
Beezy ain't here. Where's Beezy at? got killed
And was my nigga, I go way back wit my nigga
But I that's how it happened my nigga
Shit is much deeper than this my nigga
But now they all rappin', my niggas, so now I make it happen
So I'mma the captain, sail boat flappin' my nigga
No I'm snappin', happy for my nigga Lil' Tiggas
even though 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 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 I got a lump in my throat
But keep on pumpin' the flow
So if I cry don't the beat
I feel like my heart just stopped the
My nigga Lil' is quick to cop a key
Either or load the gat and go pop a G
And because of that he's just a name in a of mine
I his family and his mama's fine
So much shit just sit on this mind of
I about it all the time
I drink about it all the
I back to back
if my thoughts got to me I'd be in this rap
Or I'd be in the can, thank God I had of being the man

And fuck a man a badge
'Cause he ain't to a man on the edge
The five-o killed Naughty, boy dead
Man you thought they killed Corn Bread
Shot 'em up down on the lawn
Not to mention with his on
Not to mention had plain clothes on
And the complaint on
But nobody do nothin' it
The jailhouse and the morgue is too fuckin'
And haters at an all 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 ready to shoot like a
Stay still mothafucka I'mma have to write my this summer
'Cause if they don't kill me, I'mma kill summer

And you can put on my late father
Or my late grandmother, Ms. Mercedes
Or my Larry Bosock
The old man 'till his heart stopped
And all I know 'bout my real pops is he had money
No bank account, that brown bag money
Yeah he might hit me off wit a little money
But the still wouldn't be a dad for me
But look how I turned out I hope he for me
But that's why when I see him I mad funny,
'Cause a joke to me
Don't message, call, don't talk to me
just me and my mama 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 to see her mope for me
Hopefully, but there is a day that's due for me
But we gone pray as far as the future sees
You are to the future Weezy F. Baby