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 ain't never too to die

I grew up where people called them people on us
Think we slangin', but we just got on us
all day like we got sleep insomnia
Livin' like the videos write a on us
Stuck in the hood like they poured on us
Ghetto birds still shittin' on us, government quittin' on us
a few homies and the grief still sittin' on us
So we got their writtin' on us
White folks still on us
And them ass police canines, teeth still grittin' on us
But we smoke, ashes gettin' on us
All the bitches hittin' on us
I remember well, roll a L
Beezy ain't here. Where's Beezy at? Beezy got
And that was my nigga, I go way back wit my
But I know that's how it happened my
Shit is much deeper than rappin' my nigga
But now they all rappin', my niggas, so now I must make it
So I'mma the captain, sail boat flappin' my nigga
No I'm snappin', happy for my nigga Lil' Tiggas
'Cause even though we couldn't, The saved him
Last time we seen him was when Katrina
Found his like a month later, rest in peace boy
He was a East boy, and so was Wesy
He was a good nigga, so I he blessed
And his is a princess
This shit is harder than a bench
But I'mma keep goin', and I I got a lump in my throat
But I'mma on pumpin' the flow
So if I cry don't the beat
I feel like my heart just the beat
My Lil' Derrick is quick to cop a key
Either or load the gat and go pop a G
And because of he's just a name in a rhyme of mine
I pray his family and his mama's
So shit just sit on this mind of mine
I think it all the time
I drink 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, thank God I had of being the man

And fuck a man with a
he ain't shit to a man on the edge
The five-o killed Naughty, good boy
Man you woulda thought they Corn Bread
Shot 'em up face on the lawn
Not to mention his handcuffs on
Not to mention had plain clothes on
And the complaint on
But nobody do 'bout it
The and the morgue is too fuckin' crowded
And at an all time high
Everybody gotta hate, just a fuckin' iPod
Shit and they to burn 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 grandmother, Ms. Mercedes Carter
Or my Larry Bosock
The old man hustle 'till his heart
And all I 'bout my real pops is that he had money
No bank account, that brown bag money
Yeah he hit me off wit a little brag money
But the nigga still 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 he's a to me
Don't message, don't call, talk to me
It's just me and my mama how it's to be
And I make 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 truthfully is a day that's due for me
But we pray it's as far as the future sees
You are listenin' to the future F. Baby