pressure

i dont talk, I step, pressure be felt like a debt

left his face on the curb, he got checked like a test

i been up since the sun, had my gun and my breath

slide like im greased up, ease up, im death in a vest

cook em quick like a chef, they get pressed like a dress

aint no rest, if I rest, then I rest with regrets

twelve at the door, its a mess, I finesse and eject

my dawg got a .40 and a tech, and a bet, and a death list next

i pull strings like a bandleader

chopsticks play notes, now the feds eager

I aint tryna brag, I just tag with the task

got a stash and a mask and a jag full of gas

got a plan for the plan if the plan dont last

got a hand in the bag, and a blade for the past

got pain in my soul and my frame built fast

every opp get fold like a page in the class

all of my niggas got military posture

all of my clips like the scenes out the opera

we dont do threats, we respond with a doctrine

chalk outline round his name like a roster

you want a verse? then I tax like a mobster

told em move proper or die like your father

look in my eyes, its a flame with no water

you step wrong once, then its death or dishonor