YSN Flow - Pac-Man lyrics

Bro told me fu*k ’em up, been going up since he said it I can’t entertain her texts but I read it Pockets itching for that money and fetish Say pockets itching for that money and fetish In that field, bro throw a play, I’ma catch it Make some money, that sh*t made me some leverage Now they on me, tryna send me a message Left all the fakes back with the leeches and peasants [Verse 1] Hit the gas, in the coupe with my main b*tch Figures change but I swear I ain’t change sh*t Drop the top, I pop my sh*t when it’s brainless Plastic Glocky but my bro keep a stainless Rap ni**a know when I see him, he chainless I watch my back ’cause these ni**as be dangerous Knife on the Glock, I pull up tryna blade sh*t I’m on my sh*t and we not on the same sh*t Still that lil’ ni**a from back then, I just got packs in And I been eating like Pac-Man He tried to run, blow his back in Bro got a MAC-10, we laying him down like a mattress Took out the drama, brung racks in Look at my fashion, I’m rocking Dolce Gabbana They know that we never had sh*t, I ain’t gon’ cap sh*t Slept on the floor with my momma L.A., I ball like a Laker Ain’t tryna miss when I shoot so my gun got a laser I’d prolly fu*k ‘fore I date her She know I’m Flow and I came in this b*tch with some paper FN on my hip for a hater Jumped in that water with snakes and piranhas and gators They prolly made us He gave his all to a b*tch that be fu*king my brothers Please, save him [Chorus] Bro told me fu*k ’em up, been going up since he said it I can’t entertain her texts but I read it Pockets itching for that money and fetish Say pockets itching for that money and fetish In that field, bro throw a play, I’ma catch it Make some money, that sh*t made me some leverage Now they on me, tryna send me a message Left all the fakes back with the leeches and peasants [Verse 2] In my feelings, go and lock in the booth Don’t wanna a lot, she know I just wanna the truth When you tryna win and you destined to lose Just keep on trying ’til you get you some blues Know these ni**as couldn’t trot on my shoes I act like I’m cool but really I’m through Fed up with all these ni**as who be pocket watching And these ni**as who watching my move I ain’t gon’ fake, I been in my bag And they know that And we the youngest ni**as Leaving ni**as stretched out like a door mat Yeah, yeah, they hate that I’m popping my sh*t Yeah, yeah, on granny, yeah, yeah I keep on pouring up fours My bro tryna tax for the lows, we still get ’em gone I bring my stick on the road Just when they think I’m alone, I up it and blow I know some sh*t they don’t know But if I speak on the sh*t, that’ll mean that I told Bro put a beam on the pole He up this b*tch and red dot landing straight on your nose [Chorus] Bro told me fu*k ’em up, been going up since he said it I can’t entertain her texts but I read it Pockets itching for that money and fetish Say pockets itching for that money and fetish In that field, bro throw a play, I’ma catch it Make some money, that sh*t made me some leverage Now they on me, tryna send me a message Left all the fakes back with the leeches and peasants