Lyrics

Pressure © Pre-1997 (9-25-18 Revised)

Got Me Under Press-Sha... Press-Sha... Press-Sha... Press-Sha... Press-Shaaa... Got Me Under Press-Sha... Press-Sha... Press-Sha... Press-Sha... Press-Shaaa...

Murder Trials and Hand Cuffs... Squad Cars and Prison Cells... F.B.I. Problems and I ain’t Interested in Prison Mail... Murder Trials and Hand Cuffs... Shackled Up in County Jail... Homicide Squad got me Stackin Up to Post Bail...


V.1
Growin Up... I Sold drugs cuz... (I Jus Want the Money)... Stay Quicker than the Thugs cuz...

In my Neighborhood... you can Catch a Slug (And)... Some’ll say I’m Violent... Ain’t No Love (And)...

Streets got’em callin me a Menace to Society... all I ever wanted was Variety... a Fair Opportunity...

A lil bit of love from My own Black Community... all I ever got was the Feds... yea... Pursuin Me...

Alotta back Stabbin and Some Friends that Tried to Ruin Me... Time in the Hole... in the State Penitentiary...

The Truth about it All this what Everybody Think Of Me... Never comin home... Yea... Gone and Pour a Drink for Me...

They Claim they Got my Back... All I seen was the Jones for my Money Sack...

And told me it’s a Black Thang... lookin at My Skin Color... Never saw a Single Change... And Never saw None of y’all Help Me make it through the Pain...




Got Me Understand r Press-Sha... Press-Sha... Press-Sha... Press-Sha... Press-Shaaa... Got Me Under Press-Sha... Press-Sha... Press-Sha... Press-Sha... Press-Shaaa...
Murder Trials and Hand Cuffs... Squad Cars and Prison Cells... F.B.I. Problems and I ain’t Interested in Prison Mail... Murder Trials and Hand Cuffs... Shackled Up in County Jail... Homicide Squad got me Stackin Up to Post Bail...



V.2
I found out the Hard way... Black ain’t just a Skin Color... (How could you be Black and Do me in Brother)...

Kept on Standin Strong... Struggled On Under all The Press-Sha... Pickin up the Phone... I hope God Bless Ya...

Look at What the Odds Are... (Never Prayed to God but Maybe God is What Brought Me Far)...

Head to the Sky and When I’m Fed Up... I Cry a Little... Probably should’ve Killed a Couple Mo’... Yea I Die a Little...

Reachin out My Hands... Ain’t No Help from My Own People... (Talkin to Myself... I ConFide in Myself... I wanna do some People)...

Burdens I been Holdin on My Shoulders... Turned Me Cold and Lethal... Point of No Return... yea My Soul ain’t Never Known Peaceful...

Stuck Inside my Hardships... It’s PolyGrip... it’s Clingin to Me... Jail Trips and Drastic Measures... Angels Started Singin to Me...

(Ain’t Gone Let It Break Me... Ain’t Gone Let it Take Me... Ain’t Gone Be No Victim to the System so they Hate Me)...




Got Me Under Press-Sha... Press-Sha... Press-Sha... Press-Sha... Press-Shaaa... Got Me Under Press-Sha... Press-Sha... Press-Sha... Press-Sha... Press-Shaaa...


Murder Trials and Hand Cuffs... Squad Cars and Prison Cells... F.B.I. Problems and I ain’t Interested in Prison Mail...

Murder Trials and Hand Cuffs... Shackled Up in County Jail... Homicide Squad got me Stackin Up to Post Bail...