Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out (Amen)

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

I grew up where them called them people on us
we slangin', but we just got beepers on us
Grindin' all day like we got sleep
Livin' like the videos a treatment on us
Stuck in the like they poured cement on us
Ghetto birds still on us, government still quittin' on us
Lost a few homies and the grief sittin' on us
So we got their names on us
folks still spittin' on us
And them bitch ass canines, teeth still grittin' on us
But we smoke, ashes gettin' on us
All the still hittin' on us
I remember well, roll a L
Beezy ain't here. Beezy at? Beezy got killed
And was my nigga, I go way back wit my nigga
But I know how it happened my nigga
Shit is much deeper than this my nigga
But now they all rappin', my niggas, so now I make it happen
So I'mma play the captain, boat flappin' my nigga
No fingas I'm snappin', happy for my nigga Tiggas
'Cause though we couldn't, The Lord saved him
Last time we seen him was when hated
Found his body like a 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 is a princess
This shit is harder than a bench
But I'mma goin', and I swear I got a lump in my throat
But keep on pumpin' the flow
So if I cry don't the beat
I feel like my heart just the beat
My nigga Lil' Derrick is to cop a key
Either that or 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 fine
So shit just sit on this mind of mine
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 fuck a man a badge
'Cause he shit to a man on the edge
The killed Naughty, good boy dead
Man you woulda thought they Corn Bread
'em up face down on the lawn
Not to mention with his on
Not to mention they had plain on
And the goes on
But nobody do 'bout it
The jailhouse and the morgue is too crowded
And haters at an all time
Everybody gotta hate, like a fuckin' 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 I'mma have to write my will this summer
'Cause if they don't me, I'mma kill this summer

And you can put on my late father
Or my grandmother, Ms. Mercedes Carter
Or my grandfather Bosock
The old man hustle 'till his stopped
And all I know 'bout my real pops is that he had
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 hope he for me
But why when I see him I acts mad funny,
'Cause a joke to me
Don't message, call, don't talk to me
It's just me and my mama how it's to be
And I make 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 there is a day due for me
But we pray it's as far as the future sees
You are listenin' to the Weezy F. Baby