Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out (Amen)

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 too live to die

I grew up where them people them people on us
Think we slangin', but we just got on us
Grindin' all day we got sleep insomnia
Livin' like the write a treatment on us
Stuck in the hood like poured cement on us
Ghetto birds shittin' on us, government still quittin' on us
a few homies and the grief still sittin' on us
So we got names writtin' on us
folks still spittin' on us
And them bitch ass police canines, teeth still on us
But we smoke, ashes still on us
All the bitches hittin' on us
I well, Beezy roll a L
Beezy ain't here. Beezy at? Beezy got killed
And was my nigga, I go way back wit my nigga
But I know that's how it my nigga
Shit is much deeper this rappin' my nigga
But now they all rappin', my niggas, so now I must it happen
So I'mma play the captain, sail flappin' my nigga
No fingas I'm snappin', happy for my Lil' Tiggas
'Cause even though we couldn't, The Lord him
Last time we seen him was Katrina hated
his body like a month later, rest in peace boy
He was a boy, and so was Wesy West
He was a good nigga, so I know he
And his daughter is a
This shit is harder 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 just stopped the beat
My nigga Lil' is quick to cop a key
that or load the gat and go pop a G
And because of that he's a name in a rhyme of mine
I his family and his mama's fine
So much shit just sit on mind of mine
I think about it all the
I drink it all the time
I smoke back to
if my thoughts 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 a man with a badge
'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 down on the
Not to mention his handcuffs on
Not to mention they had clothes on
And the complaint on
But do nothin' 'bout it
The and the morgue is too fuckin' crowded
And at an all time high
Everybody gotta hate, just like a iPod
Shit and they tried to my Phantom up
But I got my gun license, I got my up
I'm to shoot like a camera
Stay still mothafucka I'mma to write my will this summer
'Cause if they don't kill me, I'mma kill this

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 'bout my real pops is that he had money
No bank account, that brown bag money
Yeah he might hit me off wit a brag money
But the nigga 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,
he's 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 want to see her mope for me
Hopefully, but there is a day that's due for me
But we pray it's as far as the future sees
You are to the future Weezy F. Baby