Artist: Bfb Da Packman
Suggested Track: Bob and Weave

Lyrics
Okay, let's, let's go
I just wanna speak like, some
Some real life facts, you know what I mean?
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 player hella nudes
I don't give a fuck if it was Spirit, bitch, I got flewed (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 STDs, 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
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 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'
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 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)