Zaytoven
Yeah, haha
Yeah, street shit
Yeah, no party music, nigga
Yeah, we don’t do that
Real talk, what you gon’ do when the pressure on?
All snitch niggas 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 heavy niggas, 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 nigga long range with the Glock 40
Snitchin’ at an all-time high now
Niggas tellin’ everything to cut they time down
Salute my right hand partner [?], he stayed down
And if I ever go broke or get laid down
Every time a nigga snitch, we call ’em Tekashi
You can’t trust these dirty feds, I know they watchin’
Put pressure on these niggas 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 niggas 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 heavy niggas, they wear wires, yeah (Yeah, yeah)
Niggas sing like Bryson Tiller when that pressure on (Pussy)
Yellow Lamborghini with a bad yellow bone (Bad)
Swear to God I had a shoebox with twenty prepaid phones (Throw away)
Swear to God, he owed me money, we showed up at his home (Let me get that)
That nigga 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 (Ooh)
Two Cali bitches sittin’ in the back, call them my city girls (Uh)
OG plug in the hood, but he turned to a rat (Ha)
Lost all his respect in the hood and he can’t get it back (Fuck ’em)
Did a drive-by in a grey Acura, next day, paint it black (Ooh)
Cut throat nigga, I don’t know how to stab in the back (Yeah, yeah)
Real talk, what you gon’ do when the pressure on?
All snitch niggas 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 heavy niggas, they wear wires, yeah
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