[Intro: BFB Da Packman]
Okay, let's, let's go, le—
I just wanna speak like some, some real life facts, you know what I mean?
Some sh*t I've just been dealin' with
But let's go, look (Blaccmass)
(BNYX)
[Verse 1: BFB Da Packman]
Out here you gotta bob and weave
I knew I was poppin' when a opp said he proud of me
My girl fu*ked another ni**a while we was in love
That's why I don't believe a b*tch when she say she down for me
[Verse 2: Zack Fox & BFB Da Packman]
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 fu*k if it was Spirit, b*tch, I got flеwed (Yello)
[Verse 3: BFB Da Packman]
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 b*tch to Black Rock
My uncle mistreated me, that ni**a smokin' crack now
When it come to STD's, woo, I'm the mascot (Yello)
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 su*k my black co*k (The Lunch Crew Company)
Man, your pockets brittle
Santorini, Greece 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 b*tch, she's Soo Yung and I'm Jackie Chan
She gotta bubble bath me 'fore we fu*k, b*tch, I'm Method Man
[Verse 4: Zack Fox]
I'm the man around town, do your research
I'll fu*k 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'
This 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 fu*ked up)
I'll light a ni**a 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
ni**as talkin' gun sh*t, but ain't did no slidin' (Not a thing)
I just fu*ked an old b*tch with rheumatoid arthritis (She was old)
I don't fu*k with no loud ni**a, this OG silent
I can dress my goddamn self, I don't need no stylist (Get the fu*k off me)
I ain't fresh? What the hell you mean?
ni**a, I could probably fu*k Rihanna in this L.L.Bean (Woo)
Pockets full of them blues, b*tch, I'm B.B. King
Forty in my shorts cuddled up with my ding-a-ling (My dick)
ni**a try to make a move, throw them 'bows on 'em (Damn)
I got a glitch on my wrist, b*tch, it froze on 'em (Damn)
I treat my guns like my sons, I put clothes on 'em (Damn)
b*tch, if it's up, it stay up like it's no bottom (Damn)
I put my team on my back like a opossum (Damn)
ni**as wanna fight, it ain't no problem (Damn)
Hold your nuts like you Mike, wipe his nose off him (Damn)
Do him like Joe Jackson, beat the right notes out him
[Outro]
(Blaccmass)
(BNYX)