Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out (Amen)

Yeah,
Yes
I'mma call this one, rap
Because this rap is real, ya
I you ain't too tired to cry
And I hope you know you ain't too live to die

I up where them people called them people on us
Think we slangin', but we just got on us
Grindin' all day we got sleep insomnia
like the videos write a treatment on us
Stuck in the like they poured cement on us
Ghetto birds still shittin' on us, government still on us
Lost a few and the grief still sittin' on us
So we got their names on us
folks still spittin' on us
And bitch ass police canines, teeth still grittin' on us
But we smoke, ashes gettin' on us
All the still hittin' on us
I well, Beezy roll a L
Beezy ain't here. Where's Beezy at? Beezy got
And that was my nigga, I go way back wit my
But I know 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 the captain, sail boat flappin' my nigga
No fingas I'm snappin', happy for my Lil' Tiggas
'Cause even we couldn't, The Lord saved him
Last time we seen him was Katrina hated
Found his body like a month later, in peace boy
He was a boy, and so was Wesy West
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 keep on the flow
So if I cry stop the beat
I feel like my heart just stopped the
My nigga Lil' Derrick is to cop a key
that or load the gat and go pop a G
And because of 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 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 dreams of the man

And fuck a man a badge
'Cause he ain't shit to a man on the
The five-o killed Naughty, boy dead
Man you woulda thought they Corn Bread
Shot 'em up down on the lawn
Not to with his handcuffs on
Not to they had plain clothes on
And the complaint on
But nobody do 'bout it
The jailhouse and the morgue is too fuckin'
And haters at an all time
Everybody gotta hate, just like a iPod
Shit and they tried to 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 to write my will this summer
'Cause if they don't kill me, I'mma kill this

And you can put on my late father
Or my grandmother, Ms. Mercedes Carter
Or my grandfather Bosock
The old man hustle 'till his heart
And all I know 'bout my pops is that he had money
No bank account, that brown bag money
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 he glad for me
But why when I see him I acts mad funny,
he's a joke to me
Don't message, don't call, don't 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 want to see her mope for me
Hopefully, but truthfully 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