Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out (Amen)

Yeah,
Yes
I'mma call one, real rap
Because this rap is real, ya
I hope you too tired to cry
And I you know you ain't never too live to die

I up where them people called them people on us
we slangin', but we just got beepers on us
Grindin' all day like we got insomnia
like the videos write a treatment on us
Stuck in the hood they poured cement on us
Ghetto still shittin' on us, government still quittin' on us
Lost a few homies and the grief sittin' on us
So we got their names on us
White folks spittin' 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
ain't here. Where's Beezy at? Beezy got killed
And that was my nigga, I go way wit my nigga
But I know that's how it my nigga
Shit is much than this rappin' my nigga
But now they all rappin', my niggas, so now I make it happen
So play the captain, sail boat flappin' my nigga
No fingas I'm snappin', happy for my nigga Tiggas
'Cause even though we couldn't, The Lord him
Last we seen him was when Katrina hated
Found his body like a month later, rest in boy
He was a East boy, and so was Wesy
He was a nigga, so I know he blessed
And his daughter is a
This shit is harder a bench press
But keep goin', and I swear I got a lump in my throat
But I'mma on pumpin' the flow
So if I cry don't stop the
I feel like my heart stopped the beat
My nigga Lil' Derrick is to cop a key
that or load the gat and go pop a G
And because of that he's just a name in a rhyme of
I pray his family and his mama's
So much shit sit on this mind of mine
I about it all the time
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, thank God I had dreams of the man

And a man with a badge
'Cause he shit to a man on the edge
The killed Naughty, good boy dead
Man you woulda thought they killed Corn
'em up face down on the lawn
Not to mention his handcuffs on
Not to they had plain clothes on
And the complaint on
But nobody do nothin' it
The jailhouse and the morgue is too crowded
And haters at an all time
Everybody hate, just like a fuckin' iPod
Shit and they 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 I'mma have to write my will this
'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 grandfather Larry
The old man hustle 'till his stopped
And all I 'bout my real pops is that he had money
No account, that brown paper bag money
Yeah he might hit me off wit a little brag
But the nigga wouldn't be a dad for me
But how I turned out I hope he glad for me
But that's why when I see him I mad funny,
'Cause a joke to me
Don't message, don't call, don't to me
It's just me and my mama how it's to be
And I make sure she like she rode for me
And I know she gets all for me
And I ever want to see her mope for me
Hopefully, but there 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 F. Baby