Luyện nghe bài hát Cry Out (Amen)

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

I grew up where them people called people on us
Think we slangin', but we got beepers on us
Grindin' all day like we got insomnia
like the videos write 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 still sittin' on us
So we got names writtin' on us
White folks spittin' on us
And them bitch ass canines, teeth still grittin' on us
But we smoke, still gettin' on us
All the bitches still on us
I remember well, roll a L
Beezy ain't here. Where's at? Beezy got killed
And that was my nigga, I go way wit my nigga
But I know that's how it my nigga
is much deeper than this rappin' my nigga
But now they all rappin', my niggas, so now I must make it
So I'mma play the captain, sail boat my nigga
No fingas I'm snappin', happy for my nigga Tiggas
even though we couldn't, The Lord saved him
Last time we seen him was Katrina hated
Found his body a month later, rest in peace boy
He was a East boy, and so was Wesy
He was a nigga, so I know he blessed
And his daughter is a
This shit is harder than a bench
But I'mma goin', and I swear I got a lump in my throat
But I'mma keep on pumpin' the
So if I cry don't stop the
I feel my heart just stopped 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 he's just a name in a of mine
I pray his family and his mama's
So much shit sit on this mind of mine
I think about it all the
I about 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, thank God I had dreams of 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 woulda thought killed Corn Bread
Shot 'em up face down on the
Not to mention with his on
Not to mention they had clothes on
And the goes on
But nobody do 'bout it
The jailhouse and the morgue is too fuckin'
And at an all time high
Everybody gotta hate, just a fuckin' iPod
Shit and they tried to burn my 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 Larry Bosock
The old man 'till his heart stopped
And all I know my real pops is that he had money
No bank account, that brown paper bag
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 me and my mama how it's suppose to be
And I sure she paid like she rode 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 future F. Baby