Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out (Amen)

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

I grew up them people called them people on us
Think we slangin', but we got beepers on us
Grindin' all day we got sleep insomnia
like the videos write a treatment on us
Stuck in the hood like they cement on us
Ghetto birds still shittin' on us, government quittin' on us
Lost a few homies and the grief sittin' on us
So we got their writtin' on us
White still spittin' on us
And them bitch ass police canines, teeth still on us
But we smoke, ashes gettin' on us
All the bitches still 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 wit my nigga
But I that's how it happened my nigga
Shit is deeper than this rappin' my nigga
But now all rappin', my niggas, so now I must make it happen
So I'mma play the captain, sail boat my nigga
No I'm snappin', happy for my nigga Lil' Tiggas
'Cause even though we couldn't, The Lord him
time we seen him was when Katrina hated
Found his body a month 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 shit is harder than a press
But I'mma keep goin', and I swear I got a in my throat
But keep on pumpin' the flow
So if I cry don't the beat
I feel like my 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 just a name in a rhyme of mine
I pray his and his mama's fine
So much shit just sit on this of mine
I think about it all the
I drink it all the time
I smoke to back
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
he ain't shit to a man on the edge
The five-o Naughty, good boy dead
Man you woulda thought they Corn Bread
Shot 'em up face down on the
Not to with his handcuffs on
Not to mention they had clothes on
And the complaint on
But do nothin' 'bout it
The jailhouse and the morgue is too fuckin'
And haters at an all high
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 a camera
Stay mothafucka I'mma have to write 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 late grandmother, Ms. Mercedes
Or my Larry Bosock
The old man 'till his heart stopped
And all I know 'bout my pops is that he had money
No bank account, that brown paper bag
he might hit me off wit a little brag money
But the still wouldn't be a dad for me
But look how I turned out I hope he for me
But why when I see him I acts mad funny,
'Cause he's a to me
Don't message, don't call, don't to me
It's just me and my how it's suppose to be
And I make sure she paid like she for me
And I know she gets all for me
And I don't want to see her mope for me
Hopefully, but there is a day that's due for me
But we gone it's as far as the future sees
You are listenin' to the Weezy F. Baby