Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out (Amen)

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

I grew up where them people called people on us
we slangin', but we just got beepers on us
Grindin' all day like we got insomnia
Livin' like the write a treatment on us
Stuck in the hood like poured cement on us
Ghetto still shittin' on us, government still quittin' on us
Lost a few homies and the still sittin' on us
So we got names writtin' on us
White folks spittin' on us
And them ass police canines, teeth still grittin' on us
But we smoke, ashes still on us
All the bitches still on us
I remember well, roll a L
Beezy ain't here. Beezy at? Beezy got killed
And that was my nigga, I go way wit my nigga
But I know that's how it happened my
Shit is much deeper than this rappin' my
But now all rappin', my niggas, so now I must make it happen
So I'mma play the captain, sail flappin' my nigga
No fingas I'm snappin', happy for my Lil' Tiggas
'Cause even though we couldn't, The Lord him
Last time we seen him was Katrina hated
Found his body like a month later, rest in boy
He was a boy, and so was Wesy West
He was a good nigga, so I know he
And his daughter is a
This shit is than a bench press
But keep goin', and I swear I got a lump in my throat
But I'mma on pumpin' the flow
So if I cry don't stop the
I feel like my heart just the beat
My nigga Derrick is quick to cop a key
that or load the gat and go pop a G
And because of that just a name in a rhyme of mine
I his family and his mama's fine
So much just sit on this mind of mine
I about it all the time
I drink about it all the
I back to back
'Cause if my thoughts got to me I'd be in rap
Or I'd be in the can, thank God I had of being the man

And fuck a man with a
he ain't shit to a man on the edge
The five-o killed Naughty, good boy
Man you thought they killed 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 do nothin' 'bout it
The and the morgue is too fuckin' crowded
And haters at an all time
Everybody hate, just like a fuckin' iPod
Shit and they tried to my Phantom up
But I got my gun license, I got my up
I'm to shoot like a camera
Stay still mothafucka I'mma have to write my will summer
'Cause if they don't kill me, I'mma kill summer

And you can put on my late father
Or my grandmother, Ms. Mercedes Carter
Or my grandfather Larry
The old man hustle 'till his heart
And all I 'bout my real pops is that he had money
No bank account, that 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 why when I see him I acts mad funny,
'Cause he's a to me
message, don't call, don't talk to me
It's just me and my mama how it's to be
And I sure she paid like she rode for me
And I know she gets all for me
And I don't ever to see her mope for me
Hopefully, but truthfully there is a day due for me
But we gone pray as far as the future sees
You are to the future Weezy F. Baby