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• Artiste: Bfb Da Packman
• Titre: Bob And Weav
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Okay, let's, let's go I just wanna speak like some, some real life facts, you feel me? Some shit I've just been dealin' with So let's go, look (Blaccmass) (BNYX) Out here you gotta bob and weave I knew I was poppin' when the opp said he proud of me My girl fucked another nigga while we was in love That's why I don't believe a bitch when she say she down for me Out here you gotta stick and move Even as a baby, I was makin' plays in the womb I sent a women's basketball playеr hella nudes I don't give a fuck if it was spirit, bitch, I got flеw (Yello!) It's your dream collab, BFB and Zack Fox I'm fat funny built, so don't ask me why my crack out (Yello!) She want ocean prime, but I took the bitch to Black Rock My uncle mistreated me, that nigga smokin' crack now When it come to STD's, woo, I'm the mascot (Yellow) I'm off four honey packs, dick harder than a math problem On Emmett Till grave, it's February, 'bout to act out For twenty-eight days have white women suck my black cock (The Lunch Crew Company) Man, your pockets brittle [?] sneaky link, me and Karen Civil (Yello!) Don't wear condoms, truth be told I can't even fit them If Lizzo sold her coochie juice, ah, I wanna buy a swiggle I need a helping hand My brother stole my laptop, he back to smokin' meth again I got a young bitch, she's Soo Yung and I'm Jackie Chan She gotta bubble bath me 'fore we fuck, bitch, I'm Method Man I'm the man around town, do your research I'll fuck this money up 'til my meat hurt My ten toes so down they underneath Earth My neck's so cold, my nipples pokin' out my t-shirt (Woo) Don't let me in your house, I'll be done stole somethin' These weed I'm smokin' hella quiet like I rolled nothin' I tried to cook crack once with my slow cousin Burned my auntie kitchen down 'cause we left the stove runnin' (Yeah, we fucked up) I'll light a nigga up like a hookah torch Got a gay shooter with a Ruger in his booty shorts I be hangin' with my opp's son makin' pillow forts His baby mama let me re-up with the child support Niggas talkin' gun shit, but ain't did no slidin' I just fucked an old bitch wit' rheumatoid arthritis I don't fuck with no loud, nigga, this OG silenced I can dress my goddamn self, I don't need no stylist (Get the fuck off me) I ain't fresh? What the hell you mean? Nigga, I could probably fuck Rihanna in this L.L.Bean Pockets fuller than blues, bitch, I'm B.B. King .40 in my shorts cuddled up with my ding-a-ling Nigga tried to make a move, throw them bows on 'em Got a glitch on my wrist, bitch, it froze on 'em I treat my guns like my sons, I put clothes on 'em Bitch, if it's up, it stay up like it's no bottom I put my team on my back like an old possum Niggas wanna fight, it ain't no problem Hold your nuts like you might wipe his nose off You do 'em like Joe Jackson, beat the right notes out him (Blaccmass) (BNYX)