Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out (Amen)

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

I grew up where people called them people on us
we slangin', but we just got beepers on us
Grindin' all day we got sleep insomnia
like the videos write a treatment on us
Stuck in the hood they poured cement on us
Ghetto birds shittin' on us, government still quittin' on us
a few homies and the grief still sittin' on us
So we got names writtin' on us
White folks still on us
And bitch ass police canines, teeth still grittin' on us
But we smoke, still gettin' on us
All the still hittin' on us
I remember well, roll a L
ain't here. Where's Beezy at? Beezy got killed
And that was my nigga, I go way back wit my
But I know how it happened my nigga
Shit is much than this rappin' my nigga
But now they all rappin', my niggas, so now I must it happen
So I'mma play the captain, sail 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 him was when Katrina hated
his body like a month later, rest in peace boy
He was a East boy, and so was West
He was a good nigga, so I know he
And his is a princess
This shit is harder than a press
But I'mma keep goin', and I I got a lump in my throat
But I'mma keep on pumpin' the
So if I cry don't the beat
I feel like my heart just the beat
My nigga Derrick is quick to cop a key
Either 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 shit just sit on mind of mine
I think about it all the
I drink about it all the
I smoke to back
'Cause if my got to me I'd be in this rap
Or I'd be in the can, God I had dreams of being the man

And a man with a badge
he ain't shit to a man on the edge
The five-o killed Naughty, boy dead
Man you woulda they killed Corn Bread
Shot 'em up face on the lawn
Not to mention with his on
Not to mention they had plain on
And the complaint on
But nobody do nothin' it
The and the morgue is too fuckin' crowded
And haters at an all high
Everybody gotta hate, like 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 I'mma have to write my will this summer
'Cause if they kill me, I'mma kill this summer

And you can put that on my father
Or my grandmother, Ms. Mercedes Carter
Or my Larry Bosock
The old man 'till his heart stopped
And all I know 'bout my real is that he had money
No bank account, brown paper bag money
Yeah he might hit me off wit a little brag
But the nigga still 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 he's a to me
message, don't 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 she gets all hope for me
And I ever want to see her mope for me
Hopefully, but truthfully there is a day due for me
But we gone it's as far as the future sees
You are listenin' to the future Weezy F.