lirik lagu pak-man (uk) - street heat
[verse]
white packs got a brudda living right
staring out my pad, seeing city lights
whole team on it and our phones popping
i blow a whole week’s profit when i go shopping
whole crew stunting, yeah we stand out
i don’t owe you nothing, why your hands out?
gucci down, let me brush my shoulders off
my soldiers move around with a load of dots
louis shades got me looking like a superstar
i mash a sixty~two a day, yeah i move ’em fast
turning fresh coke to vs diamonds
red notes got pagans red~eyeing
think i care whose d~ck that my ex riding?
i’ve got a thousand new chicks who wan’ get my ting
life fab said, the life’s so exciting
long nights, we gon’ grind but it gets tiring
stress levels gave me a couple grey hairs
fish scale got me stepping in mayfair
roll with the money team, watch your money change
i just grabbed a hundred fiends on a country lane
rappers selling good dreams, i break down squares
from welling to wood green, i’m out here
from epsom to wesham, from streatham to devon
from leicester to preston, i get round there
white package got me next to white neighbours
five carats brighter than a lightsaber
amnesia buds got me flying in the clouds
you’re tryna buy an ounce, i’m tryna buy a house
i ain’t just riding round moss side and south
i’m pushing through the city then i’m flying out
stamps in my passport, stamps on the whole thing
money calls me personally every time my phone rings
drunk punters used to keep my bills paid
till i showed some young hustlers how to drill yay
all your crew are losers, all my clique are winners
nitties ringing, got me o.t. whipping dinners
i reason with big fish from most zones
i’m more than just a legend in my postcode
grinding, grafting, slinging charlie till after five
diamonds dancing in my carti like an ali fight
now i drop the roof like my old co~d
gold diggers wan’ know me cause of gold rollies
in the masjid making salah
my b~tch kaffir, told her “wait in the car”
i ain’t discussing six figure contracts
i’m just sitting in the trap, getting bricks on tap
and i can’t rate guys rapping fake lies
featherweights taking twenty~eights, you know i break pies
i’ve been going mad hard the last eleven months
box of ammo flying out, that’s seven lumps
petrol smelling strong, my mozzarella long
it buys me anything i want, you can tell i’m on
yves saint laurent, different standards don
i’m popping dom perignon like it’s evian
this rap game’s filled up with a bag of nerds
i can’t think straight if i ain’t got a pack to work
in the city flipping britany, got me seeing grands
whole keys got me o.t., just me and ham
hazey just land, he’s soon a free man
on the curb grinding, birds flying like peter pan
i ain’t seeing mad racks from the prs
all my bruddas tryna see a mill before we see our death
coke stretching, real palace road legend
i ain’t chatting to estate agents bout home lettings
nowadays i might be looking for my own tenants
broke peasants got no presence when i go streatham
bricks of caine got me up and down mitcham lane
keep your burners closer than your friends cah it’s a vicious game
matics close, bag of sweets not haribos
smash and blow, mashing o’s up and down bradley road
seeing sales from greyhound lane to leigham vale
mix that peng blow with the benzo, it had me eating well
nah a four and a baby, that can’t feed me
so if i whip a porsche while i’m paid g it’s a g.t
might cop a big face rollie, more than your vt
big bag pak certified, i’ve got that street heat
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