Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out (Amen)

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

I grew up where them people them people on us
we slangin', but we just got beepers on us
Grindin' all day we got sleep insomnia
Livin' like the videos write a on us
Stuck in the hood like poured cement on us
Ghetto birds still on us, government still quittin' on us
Lost a few homies and the grief sittin' on us
So we got their writtin' on us
White folks still on us
And bitch ass police canines, teeth still grittin' on us
But we smoke, ashes still on us
All the bitches still 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 wit my nigga
But I know how it happened my nigga
Shit is deeper than this 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 fingas I'm snappin', happy for my nigga Tiggas
'Cause even though we couldn't, The Lord him
Last time we seen him was when Katrina
Found his body like a 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 is a princess
This shit is than a bench press
But I'mma keep goin', and I swear I got a lump in my
But keep on pumpin' the flow
So if I cry don't stop the
I feel my heart just stopped the beat
My Lil' Derrick is quick to cop a key
Either that or 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 just sit on this mind of
I think about it all the
I about it all the time
I back to back
'Cause if my 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
he ain't shit to a man on the edge
The five-o killed Naughty, good boy
Man you woulda thought they killed Corn
Shot 'em up face on the lawn
Not to mention with his on
Not to mention had plain clothes on
And the complaint on
But do nothin' 'bout it
The jailhouse and the morgue is too crowded
And haters at an all time
Everybody gotta hate, just a fuckin' iPod
Shit and tried to burn my Phantom up
But I got my gun license, I got my up
I'm ready to like a camera
Stay still mothafucka I'mma have to my will this summer
'Cause if don't kill me, I'mma kill this summer

And you can put that on my late
Or my grandmother, Ms. Mercedes Carter
Or my grandfather Larry
The old man hustle 'till his stopped
And all I know 'bout my real pops is that he had
No account, that brown paper bag money
Yeah he might hit me off wit a brag money
But the still wouldn't be a dad for me
But how I turned out I hope he glad for me
But that's why I see him I acts mad funny,
'Cause he's a to me
Don't message, call, don't talk to me
It's me and my mama how it's suppose to be
And I make sure she paid she rode for me
And I know she all hope for me
And I don't ever to see her mope for me
Hopefully, but truthfully there is a day due for me
But we gone it's as far as the future sees
You are to the future Weezy F. Baby