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letra de don't you fold - slatt zy

[intro]
you know
you got a problem with a n-gga, don’t chase on media

[chorus]
got a problem with a n-gga, we gon’ leave it in the streets
cold-ass world, so a n-gga packin’ heat
stay your ass on the porch ’cause this sh-t ain’t sweet
and your main not your main, and that ho gon’ cheat
conversations with my b-tch, told my b-tch, “you better not fold”
12 pull me over, b-tch, you better hold this pole
happy-ass n-gga, but i can carry my own load
and i’m really from the hood, got me throwin’ up them fours
don’t you fold, don’t you fold
don’t you fold, and don’t you fold

[verse 1]
h-ll i’ma raise when i step in the booth
pop me a perc’, give a young n-gga boost
i be thinkin’ with my nine while a n-gga on the loose
pumpfakin’ with that stick, you better put that b-tch to use
do they really lovе a n-gga? man, a n-gga can’t tell
free ’em out the can, i got n-ggas in cеlls
brother hit my phone locked up, i’m makin’ bail
most of my n-ggas are dead or in jail
cruisin’ the city, we smokin’ exotic
she say she love me, she lovin’ my wallet
can’t run from these bullets, you bound to get spotted
and sugar like salt, how i know that you solid?
they act like they love you, then leave, it’s like magic
don’t claim you got opps when that pistol not clappin’
i came a long way on the floor makin’ palettes
the home of the date if you sendin’ the addy
[chorus]
got a problem with a n-gga, we gon’ leave it in the streets
cold-ass world, so a n-gga packin’ heat
stay your ass on the porch ’cause this sh-t ain’t sweet
and your main not your main, and that ho gon’ cheat
conversations with my b-tch, told my b-tch, “you better not fold”
12 pull me over, b-tch, you better hold this pole
happy-ass n-gga, but i can carry my own load
and i’m really from the hood, got me throwin’ up them fours
don’t you fold, don’t you fold
don’t you fold, and don’t you fold

[verse 2]
most of these b-tches be kissin’ and tellin’
chopper start shoutin’ like, “why is they yellin’?”
comin’ to get you, don’t care you not ready
he say he want smoke, then we light up the city
growin’ apart, try to aim for the stars
know this b-tch foreign, she gon’ f-ck in the car
damaged-ass heart, man, a n-gga so scarred
poppin’ these bars, won’t remember tomorrow
catch me an opp, i’ma shoot in his face
she swallow kids, ask the b-tch how it taste
and i’m short on my breath, so no, b-tch, i can’t chase
everybody so street ’til we shoot up your place
go on a drill, get a k!ll with no pill
hollows, can’t duck ’em, get knocked out that field
know i’m so anxious, let’s go on a drill
you down on your d-ck, you gon’ see who all real
[chorus]
got a problem with a n-gga, we gon’ leave it in the streets
cold-ass world, so a n-gga packin’ heat
stay your ass on the porch ’cause this sh-t ain’t sweet
and your main not your main, and that ho gon’ cheat
conversations with my b-tch, told my b-tch, “you better not fold”
12 pull me over, b-tch, you better hold this pole
happy-ass n-gga, but i can carry my own load
and i’m really from the hood, got me throwin’ up them fours
don’t you fold, don’t you fold
don’t you fold, and don’t you fold

- slatt zy

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