Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out (Amen)

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

I grew up them people called them people on us
Think we slangin', but we just got on us
Grindin' all day like we got insomnia
Livin' the videos write a treatment on us
Stuck in the hood like they poured on us
birds still shittin' 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 them bitch ass police canines, still grittin' on us
But we smoke, still gettin' on us
All the still hittin' on us
I remember well, roll a L
Beezy ain't here. Where's Beezy at? got killed
And that was my nigga, I go way wit my nigga
But I that's how it happened my nigga
Shit is much deeper this rappin' my nigga
But now they all rappin', my niggas, so now I make it happen
So I'mma play the captain, sail flappin' my nigga
No I'm snappin', happy for my nigga Lil' Tiggas
'Cause even though we couldn't, The Lord him
Last time we him was when Katrina hated
Found his body a month later, rest in peace boy
He was a boy, and so was Wesy West
He was a good nigga, so I he blessed
And his daughter is a
This shit is harder than a press
But I'mma goin', and I swear I got a lump in my throat
But I'mma on pumpin' the flow
So if I cry stop the beat
I feel like my heart stopped the beat
My nigga Lil' 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 fine
So much shit just sit on this mind of
I think about it all the
I drink about it all the
I smoke back to
'Cause if my thoughts got to me I'd be in rap
Or I'd be in the can, God I had dreams of being the man

And a man with a badge
'Cause he ain't shit to a man on the
The killed Naughty, good boy dead
Man you woulda thought they killed Corn
'em up face down on the lawn
Not to with his handcuffs on
Not to mention they had plain on
And the goes on
But nobody do nothin' it
The jailhouse and the morgue is too fuckin'
And haters at an all high
Everybody gotta hate, like a fuckin' iPod
Shit and they tried to burn my up
But I got my gun license, I got my up
I'm ready to shoot a camera
still 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 father
Or my late grandmother, Ms. Mercedes
Or my Larry Bosock
The old man hustle his heart stopped
And all I 'bout my real pops is that he had money
No bank account, brown paper bag money
Yeah he might hit me off wit a little brag
But the still wouldn't be a dad for me
But look how I turned out I he glad for me
But that's why I see him I acts mad funny,
'Cause a joke 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 like she rode for me
And I she gets all hope 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 pray it's as far as the future sees
You are listenin' to the future Weezy F.