Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out (Amen)

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

I up where them people called them people on us
we slangin', but we just got beepers on us
Grindin' all day we got sleep insomnia
Livin' like the videos write a on us
Stuck in the like they poured cement on us
Ghetto birds still shittin' on us, still quittin' on us
Lost a few homies and the grief still on us
So we got their writtin' on us
White folks spittin' on us
And them bitch ass police canines, still grittin' on us
But we smoke, ashes still 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 wit my nigga
But I know that's how it my nigga
Shit is much deeper than this rappin' my
But now all rappin', my niggas, so now I must make it happen
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 Katrina hated
Found his body like a later, rest in peace boy
He was a boy, and so was Wesy West
He was a good nigga, so I know he
And his is a princess
This shit is harder 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 the beat
I feel like my heart just stopped the
My nigga Lil' Derrick is 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 of mine
I pray his and his mama's fine
So much shit just sit on this mind of
I think about it all the
I drink about it all the
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 killed Naughty, good boy
Man you woulda thought they killed Corn
Shot 'em up down on the lawn
Not to mention his handcuffs on
Not to they had plain clothes on
And the complaint on
But do nothin' 'bout it
The jailhouse and the morgue is too fuckin'
And haters at an all high
Everybody gotta hate, just a fuckin' iPod
Shit and they 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 I'mma have to my will this summer
'Cause if they don't kill me, kill this summer

And you can put on my late father
Or my late grandmother, Ms. Mercedes
Or my grandfather Bosock
The old man hustle 'till his stopped
And all I know my real pops is that he had money
No bank account, that brown bag money
Yeah he might hit me off wit a brag money
But the nigga still be a dad for me
But how I turned out I hope he glad for me
But that's why I see him I acts 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 it's to be
And I make sure she paid like she for me
And I she gets all hope for me
And I don't ever to see her mope for me
Hopefully, but truthfully is a day that's due for me
But we gone it's as far as the future sees
You are listenin' to the Weezy F. Baby