Bob and Weave lyrics

[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 f*cked another n*gga 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 f*ck 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 n*gga smokin' crack now
When it come to STD's, woo, I'm the mascot (Yello)
I'm off four honey packs, di*k 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 c*ck (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 f*ck, b*tch, I'm Method Man
[Verse 4: Zack Fox]
I'm the man around town, do your research
I'll f*ck 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 f*cked up)
I'll light a n*gga 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
n*ggas talkin' gun sh*t, but ain't did no slidin' (Not a thing)
I just f*cked an old b*tch with rheumatoid arthritis (She was old)
I don't f*ck with no loud n*gga, this OG silent
I can dress my goddamn self, I don't need no stylist (Get the f*ck off me)
I ain't fresh? What the hell you mean?
n*gga, I could probably f*ck 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 di*k)
n*gga 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)
n*ggas 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)