Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out (Amen)

Yeah,
Yes
I'mma call this one, 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 them people called them people on us
Think we slangin', but we just got on us
Grindin' all day like we got insomnia
Livin' like the videos a treatment on us
in the hood like they poured cement on us
Ghetto birds still shittin' on us, still quittin' on us
Lost a few homies and the still sittin' on us
So we got names writtin' on us
White folks still on us
And them bitch ass police canines, still grittin' on us
But we smoke, ashes still 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 back wit my
But I that's how it happened my nigga
Shit is much deeper than 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 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 Katrina
Found his body like a later, rest in peace boy
He was a East boy, and so was West
He was a good nigga, so I know he
And his daughter is a
This is harder than a bench press
But keep goin', and I swear I got a lump in my throat
But keep on pumpin' the flow
So if I cry don't the beat
I feel my heart just stopped the beat
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 in a rhyme of mine
I his family and his mama's fine
So much shit just sit on this mind of
I think it all the time
I drink it all the time
I smoke back to
'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 a man with a badge
'Cause he shit to a man on the edge
The five-o killed Naughty, good boy
Man you woulda thought killed Corn Bread
Shot 'em up face down on the
Not to mention with his on
Not to mention had plain clothes on
And the complaint on
But nobody do 'bout it
The jailhouse and the is too fuckin' crowded
And at an all time high
Everybody hate, just like a fuckin' iPod
and they tried 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 have to write my will this
'Cause if they kill me, I'mma kill this summer

And you can put on my late father
Or my late grandmother, Ms. Mercedes
Or my grandfather Bosock
The old man hustle 'till his stopped
And all I know my real pops is that he had money
No account, that brown paper bag money
he might hit me off wit a little brag money
But the nigga still be a dad for me
But look how I turned out I he glad for me
But why when I see him I acts 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 sure 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 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