48 Bars

[Verse]
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