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Pressure
by
Young Scooter & Zaytoven
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(Zaytoven) Yeah, haha Yeah, street sh*t Yeah, no party music, n***a Yeah, we don't do that Real talk, what you gon' do when the pressure on? All snitch n***as get blown down like saxophones Two-thousand-twenty, I ain't talkin' on no cellphone (No cap) You know them feds listenin', it's tapped, you dead wrong (Yeah) Phone conversations get you thirty years (Thirty years) I ain't talkin' on the phone for a whole year (Yeah) You know where the spot at, you can meet me there (Jugghouse) And you can't trust half these n***as, they wear wires, yeah He got a wire on, I don't trust shawty I'm 'bout to trick him to the spot, let Steezy bust shawty I got a plug in the Bay, I call him E-40 Hit a n***a long range with the Glock 40 Snitchin' at an all-time high now N***as tellin' everything to cut they time down Salute my right-hand partner Pep and son, they stayed down And if I ever go broke again, lay it down Every time a n***a snitch, we call him Tekashi You can't trust these dirty feds, I know they watchin' Put pressure on these n***as when them bodies droppin' How he tell on you? I thought that was your partner, Street Real talk, what you gon' do when the pressure on? All snitch n***as get blown down like saxophones Two-thousand-twenty, I ain't talkin' on no cellphone (No cap) You know them feds listenin', it's tapped, you dead wrong (Yeah) Phone conversations get you thirty years (Thirty years) I ain't talkin' on the phone for a whole year (Yeah) You know where the spot at, you can meet me there And you can't trust half these n***as, they wear wires, yeah (Yeah, yeah) N***as sing like Bryson Tiller when that pressure on (Pu**y) Yellow Lamborghini with a bad yellowbone (Bad) Swear to God I had a shoebox with twenty prepaid phones (Throwaway) Swear to God, he owed me money, we showed up at his home (Let me get that) That n***a went to jail and he didn't make bail (Damn) And he swear he didn't tell, but I can't tell (Damn) Bags of pressure, residue under my fingernails (Woo) Two Cali b*t*hes sittin' in the back, call them my City Girls (Uh) OG plug in the hood, but he turned to a rat (Hah) Lost all his respect in the hood and he can't get it back (F**k him) Did a drive-by in a gray Acura, next day, paint it black (Woo) Cutthroat n***a, I don't know how to stab in the back (Yeah, yeah) Real talk, what you gon' do when the pressure on? All snitch n***as get blown down like saxophones Two-thousand-twenty, I ain't talkin' on no cellphone (No cap) You know them feds listenin', it's tapped, you dead wrong (Yeah) Phone conversations get you thirty years (Thirty years) I ain't talkin' on the phone for a whole year (Yeah) You know where the spot at, you can meet me there And you can't trust half these n***as, they wear wires, yeah
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