Pak-Man - 48 Bars lyrics

Listen I ain't ever ran no scams
Akhi I was shotting from a yout
And watched my plans expand
Couple years on the hard grind
Slanging chang
Ask all of my shottas, I turn grams to grands
I get them boxes of piff
That man brang from Dam
And if you little kids getting
Out your pram with bang
So where your shooters at? Prick
I make my shooters clap
Banging out O's of the snow
Plus we move the wraps
We're getting dough on the low
We've got the food for cats
Forty dots left in the bag
That I'm due to whack
Mum pissed I grew to trap
As far as my dad goes I
Never really knew the prat
Bringing back the truth and that
Tearing up the booth with facts
Now I'm in this music game
Watch what my motherfucking team are
Gonna do to rap pussy I am twenty now
You're rolling with plenty clowns
Shot in different boroughs while you
Ain't covered any ground
Roll through any town
Fuck where your goons at
As far as the scene goes
Most you rappers' tunes whack
And I was getting indro way
Before I slinged snow
Still I let the ting go
This is just the intro
In the whip, getting crazy head from a bimbo
Kicking back
Blowing grade smoke out the window
I just blaze the sess
Hoping to escape my stress
You never know today could be the last
Fucking day you ever take a breath
I don't even need the mash
I'll poke him with this blade to death
Long road I'm running down
Still I ain't made it yet
Sitting in the station pissed
Thinking how I make a mess
My little brudda saved my life when
Jakes tried to raid my nest
You're fucking with some major vets
Who raise the TEC's
When it's on it's nothing long
Cause my brothers know they
Owe me major debts
No need for major threats
I just set him up with this major sket
Fake address, I don't need to state the rest
Pussy this is Pak's flow
We're living in a crack zone
My little youngers cat crow
I'm stunting in my black Stone
Rolling on my Jack Jones
When I was out here broke
Tryna pick my line up
You was tryna jack phones
Buzzing when I mack hoes
Gotta hit the roads again
Distribute the pen
It's so rarely that my cats smoke
You're just another rap clone
Fronting like you're hard in your bars
But you've never put something
In a pack though
Fam I slipped once but I bounced back
Count stacks
Sort you out eight niff of ounce akh
Man are hungry in South, fam I'm on a low
And I'm paro cause there's bare undies about
All I see is nuff feds, nuff blocked
Nuff dead still I'm on the block getting
Rid of nuff dots, mashing up Z's
Serving up them dust heads
Bringing in nuff bread
Brudda I turn grams to grands
And that's enough said