Opp Pack lyrics

[Intro: Unkle D Money]
(Damjonboi)
Mack-town
Turn-around
Yeah
What up, Jonboi?

[Verse 1: Unkle D Money]
Another n*gga dead, but we ain't mad, though
My n*gga Bando dropped a new strand, he an as*h*le
And ain't no sittin' down and talkin', he ain't Lando
New opp pack in the air, that's what they mad for
Naw, 'cause they mans on a tee, that's what they sad for
I been trappin' all my life, b*tch, I grew up in a bando
Lil D meet me on the block, ain't leavin' stock until the bag gone
(n*ggas be spooked, you ain't whoop, why the f*ck you got a rag on?)
Most of these hoes play it dirty, so that's why I keep the Mag' on
Why would I touch a basic b*tch when I be f*ckin' on the models?
I heard it's lonely at the top, but wasn't nobody at the bottom
Shift workin' in that spot, tryna come up on a thousand
Turned around, now I'm a boss, baby, I knew that from a toddler
Bro say he done trappin', but he still f*ck around with couches
Callin' for a zip, the 'bows in, I don't f*ck around with ounces
(Your mans a rat, you look goofy, you still f*ck around with mouses)
Old-ass n*gga, grown rats, y'all some big mice
n*ggas jokes, laughin' at life, you can't get right
I'm from the Mack, but I been rollin' on the 7 like trick dice
(If the pus*y good and the ass fat, I might trick twice)
You cap, you ain't tryna sell that strap, then what you show me for?
n*gga, you ain't sippin' Act', that ain't close enough
Tell that b*tch watch them bumps while I'm pourin' up
Fun fact, I don't like hoes in the back that ain't rollin' up
Was into scams before corona, n*gga, ain't sh*t slowin' up
Couple hundred for the jeans and Turtle zips just to hold 'em up
Remember I was that dirty lil' n*gga, guess I'm glowin' up
Tell auntie I'm still shoppin', come load me up
I took a trip for it, I can't do no deals, is you broke or what?
[Verse 2: Rio Da Yung OG]
Fifty-five hundred for a 'bow, I'm finna smoke it up
This a free pound, bring a box of 'Woods and you could roll it up
Them bullets that I got hit your top, I'ma blow it up
Just got a Wock' pint, b*tch damn near gone before I open it up
I wouldn't sell a line if you had nine hundred, I'ma pour it up
You a spot worker, you can't touch the bag, go get the door or somethin'
f*cked three hoes raw in one night, am I a ho or what?
810 baby, I'm from Flint, but the East love me
Rose gold ten milli' in the club, n*gga, keep muggin'
Found a thousand M30s for the low, I hit Skeeze up
Made her go through pain and suck my meat up, f*cked her knees up
Just sold Barry three pounds of Snickle Fritz and sold DZ one
Half a million dollars in three months, opps can't keep up
n*ggas tryna rap, give me seven racks and pull a beat up
So much Wock', this sh*t poison, it taste like we pourin' bleach up

[Verse 3: RMC Mike]
Sixty rounds in that PLR, f*ck the streets up
Cleared three hundred cash in like nine months, n*gga, we up
I want Wockeisha, f*ck that Patricia, I hate cheap stuff
You drinkin' fake lean, I put it in a box, his cup freeze up
If you want a feature but your sh*t weak, I need double
If my brother Skeeze pull up with FN, you in trouble
b*tch tried to fall in love, I hit her with the Cupid Shuffle
Get my chips up, b*tch, I'm stackin' Lays, you a Ruffle
I been chewin' rappers for some time, I'm gettin' full now
Bring 200K to Stockdale Street and brung the hood out
Damn, this b*tch might be pregnant, I ain't pull out
You want a job? b*tch, I'm payin' a rack a day for a lookout