Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out (Amen)

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

I grew up where them people called them on us
Think we slangin', but we just got on us
all day like we got sleep insomnia
Livin' like the write a treatment on us
in the hood like they poured cement on us
Ghetto birds still shittin' on us, still quittin' on us
Lost a few homies and the still sittin' on us
So we got their writtin' on us
White folks spittin' on us
And them bitch ass canines, teeth still grittin' on us
But we smoke, ashes still on us
All the still hittin' on us
I remember well, roll a L
Beezy here. Where's Beezy at? Beezy got killed
And that was my nigga, I go way back wit my
But I know that's how it happened my
Shit is deeper than this rappin' my nigga
But now they all rappin', my niggas, so now I must make it
So I'mma the captain, sail boat flappin' my nigga
No fingas I'm snappin', happy for my nigga Lil'
even though we couldn't, The Lord saved him
Last time we seen him was when Katrina
Found his like a month later, rest in peace boy
He was a boy, and so was Wesy West
He was a nigga, so I know he blessed
And his is a princess
This shit is harder than a press
But I'mma keep goin', and I swear I got a in my throat
But I'mma keep on pumpin' the
So if I cry stop the beat
I feel like my just 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 in a rhyme of mine
I his family and his mama's fine
So much shit just sit on mind of mine
I think about it all the
I drink it all the time
I smoke to back
'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 fuck a man with a
'Cause he ain't shit to a man on the
The five-o Naughty, good boy dead
Man you thought they killed Corn Bread
'em up face down on the lawn
Not to mention his handcuffs on
Not to mention they had plain on
And the goes on
But do nothin' 'bout it
The jailhouse and the morgue is too crowded
And haters at an all high
Everybody gotta hate, just like a 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 have to write my will this summer
if they don't kill me, I'mma kill this summer

And you can put that on my father
Or my late grandmother, Ms. Carter
Or my grandfather Larry
The old man hustle his heart stopped
And all I know 'bout my real pops is he had money
No bank account, brown paper bag money
Yeah he hit me off wit a little brag money
But the nigga still be a dad for me
But look how I turned out I he glad for me
But that's why when I see him I mad funny,
'Cause he's a to me
Don't message, call, don't talk to me
It's just me and my mama how 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 want to see her mope for me
Hopefully, but truthfully is a day that's due for me
But we gone pray it's as far as the sees
You are to the future Weezy F. Baby