Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out (Amen)

Yeah,
Yes
I'mma this one, real rap
Because this rap is real, ya
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
Grindin' all day like we got sleep
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
a few homies and the grief still sittin' on us
So we got names writtin' on us
White folks still on us
And them bitch ass police canines, teeth grittin' on us
But we smoke, ashes gettin' on us
All the bitches still on us
I well, Beezy roll a L
Beezy here. Where's 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
is much deeper than this rappin' my nigga
But now all rappin', my niggas, so now I must make it happen
So play the captain, sail boat flappin' my nigga
No fingas I'm snappin', happy for my nigga Lil'
'Cause though we couldn't, The Lord saved him
Last time we seen him was when hated
his body 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 daughter is a
This shit is harder a bench press
But I'mma keep goin', and I swear I got a lump in my
But I'mma on pumpin' the flow
So if I cry stop the beat
I like my heart just stopped the beat
My nigga Lil' is quick to cop a key
Either that or the gat and go pop a G
And of that he's just a name in a rhyme of mine
I pray his family and his mama's
So much shit just sit on this 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, God I had dreams of being the man

And fuck a man a badge
he ain't shit to a man on the edge
The killed Naughty, good boy dead
Man you woulda thought they killed Corn
Shot 'em up down on the lawn
Not to with his handcuffs on
Not to they had plain clothes on
And the goes on
But do nothin' 'bout it
The jailhouse and the is too fuckin' crowded
And haters at an all time
Everybody gotta hate, just like a iPod
Shit and they to burn my Phantom up
But I got my gun license, I got my up
I'm ready to shoot like a
Stay mothafucka I'mma have to write my will this summer
'Cause if they don't me, I'mma kill this summer

And you can put that on my father
Or my grandmother, Ms. Mercedes Carter
Or my grandfather Bosock
The old man hustle 'till his heart
And all I know 'bout my real pops is he had money
No bank account, that paper bag money
Yeah he hit me off wit a little 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, don't call, talk to me
It's just me and my mama how suppose to be
And I make she paid like she rode for me
And I she gets all hope 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 as far as the future sees
You are listenin' to the Weezy F. Baby