Pak-Man - Verified lyrics
[Pak-Man - Verified lyrics]
It's deeper than rap, it's real life
I'm the same little yout you saw in Hillside
Difference is now I blow a
Bag when I feel like so I ain't signing shit
Unless the deal's right
And I don't give a fuck
About the shit you're spitting
I nearly lost my life to sit in this position
You feel my presence
Bout to execute a different vision
Custom pendants
Bruddas walking through the city blinging
I'm round killers chilling
All about my cake like Mr Kipling
Lifestyle expensive like the
Spliff I'm billing
Bout to do a thousand hours in the booth
Before that I spent a long
Time up in the kitchen
Forget the small talk
I've been through all sorts
I was chilling in the Midlands
On the twenty-fourth floor
Up in Birmingham, sitting with a curvy ting
Open up my Louis duffle, got about thirty in
Baby girl you know my balls
Bigger than my burner is
I'm still tryna earn a quid
I ain't tryna burn a bridge
What kind of life is this? I
Ain't got a wife and kids
Turning liquid to solid, I'm like a scientist
Still remember when I never had
A pot to piss in
Now my money long for all the opposition
I've seen a lot of man crumble
When the pressure on you
Treating tramps like ants the way
I'm stepping on you i'm fresher than ever
Just check the leather bomber
If I like her and wife her
Might put a kettle on her
She got her own dough but I
Don't want a tenner from her
Now I go Versace baby when I wanna
I just counted up twenty-eight racks
Get your face slapped pussy
I don't take chat what's my world like? I've
Gotta stay strapped
I could change your girl's life
With this straight cash
Surrounded by these pretty women
I ain't Richard Gere
I've got a load of different
People saying it's my year
I've got the whole country listening
To my new shit i'm verified in the streets
Without a blue tick them old boys washed
They're like forty and hating
Your brudda held corn already
You're still talking to pagans
I'm bagging up a bird now
I could've bought me a spaceship
Sporting the latest
Pussy I ain't walking round naked
You was never once rolling in
Your car with semis i had my strap up in the
Barbers like Nas in Belly
I just got a good trim
And gave the barber twenty
I'm in the hood still
I should be in the charts already
I was three asking mummy why
My father left me
Looking back I'd say bit's of
My past were messy
Now my bruddas copping larger bezzies
Same time I need to give my marj some readies
Fast life
Done some things I regret and I can't lie
I mashed a hundred bags before my
Granddad had a glass eye
I thank Allah that I made
It through those dark nights
It's a hard grind, this game ain't done
It's only half-time
I'm still the flyest man in the ends don
Your girl sucked my dick driving down the M1
Don't try it yourself
You might crash the car
In Givenchy up in Paris
Blowing racks in France
I ain't messing with no
Doughnuts like Krispy Kremes
You're fucking with some grown-ups
With some big machines
I'm about to blow up, bout to hit the screen
Got my dough up
Now I'm cleaner than Mr Sheen
This boss shit's in my DNA, it's in my jeans
Baby said she's seen big Pak in her dreams
Your ex man's a snitch
In the station spilling beans
Bosses at the table, we're the winning team
I'm the same little yout you saw in Hillside
Difference is now I blow a
Bag when I feel like so I ain't signing shit
Unless the deal's right
And I don't give a fuck
About the shit you're spitting
I nearly lost my life to sit in this position
You feel my presence
Bout to execute a different vision
Custom pendants
Bruddas walking through the city blinging
I'm round killers chilling
All about my cake like Mr Kipling
Lifestyle expensive like the
Spliff I'm billing
Bout to do a thousand hours in the booth
Before that I spent a long
Time up in the kitchen
Forget the small talk
I've been through all sorts
I was chilling in the Midlands
On the twenty-fourth floor
Up in Birmingham, sitting with a curvy ting
Open up my Louis duffle, got about thirty in
Baby girl you know my balls
Bigger than my burner is
I'm still tryna earn a quid
I ain't tryna burn a bridge
What kind of life is this? I
Ain't got a wife and kids
Turning liquid to solid, I'm like a scientist
Still remember when I never had
A pot to piss in
Now my money long for all the opposition
I've seen a lot of man crumble
When the pressure on you
Treating tramps like ants the way
I'm stepping on you i'm fresher than ever
Just check the leather bomber
If I like her and wife her
Might put a kettle on her
She got her own dough but I
Don't want a tenner from her
Now I go Versace baby when I wanna
I just counted up twenty-eight racks
Get your face slapped pussy
I don't take chat what's my world like? I've
Gotta stay strapped
I could change your girl's life
With this straight cash
Surrounded by these pretty women
I ain't Richard Gere
I've got a load of different
People saying it's my year
I've got the whole country listening
To my new shit i'm verified in the streets
Without a blue tick them old boys washed
They're like forty and hating
Your brudda held corn already
You're still talking to pagans
I'm bagging up a bird now
I could've bought me a spaceship
Sporting the latest
Pussy I ain't walking round naked
You was never once rolling in
Your car with semis i had my strap up in the
Barbers like Nas in Belly
I just got a good trim
And gave the barber twenty
I'm in the hood still
I should be in the charts already
I was three asking mummy why
My father left me
Looking back I'd say bit's of
My past were messy
Now my bruddas copping larger bezzies
Same time I need to give my marj some readies
Fast life
Done some things I regret and I can't lie
I mashed a hundred bags before my
Granddad had a glass eye
I thank Allah that I made
It through those dark nights
It's a hard grind, this game ain't done
It's only half-time
I'm still the flyest man in the ends don
Your girl sucked my dick driving down the M1
Don't try it yourself
You might crash the car
In Givenchy up in Paris
Blowing racks in France
I ain't messing with no
Doughnuts like Krispy Kremes
You're fucking with some grown-ups
With some big machines
I'm about to blow up, bout to hit the screen
Got my dough up
Now I'm cleaner than Mr Sheen
This boss shit's in my DNA, it's in my jeans
Baby said she's seen big Pak in her dreams
Your ex man's a snitch
In the station spilling beans
Bosses at the table, we're the winning team