Correction Lyrics Bob And Weave by Zack Fox

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Lyrics

Okay, let's, let's go
I just wanna speak like some, some real life facts, you feel me?
Some sh*t 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 f**ked another n***a while we was in love
That's why I don't believe a b*t*h 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 f**k if it was spirit, b*t*h, 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 b*t*h to Black Rock
My uncle mistreated me, that n***a smokin' crack now
When it come to STD's, woo, I'm the mascot (Yellow)
I'm off four honey packs, d**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
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*t*h, she's Soo Yung and I'm Jackie Chan
She gotta bubble bath me 'fore we f**k, b*t*h, I'm Method Man
I'm the man around town, do your research
I'll f**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'
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 f**ked up)
I'll light a n***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
n***as talkin' gun sh*t, but ain't did no slidin'
I just f**ked an old b*t*h wit' rheumatoid arthritis
I don't f**k with no loud, n***a, this OG silenced
I can dress my goddamn self, I don't need no stylist (Get the f**k off me)
I ain't fresh? What the hell you mean?
n***a, I could probably f**k Rihanna in this L.L.Bean
Pockets fuller than blues, b*t*h, I'm B.B. King
.40 in my shorts cuddled up with my ding-a-ling
n***a tried to make a move, throw them bows on 'em
Got a glitch on my wrist, b*t*h, it froze on 'em
I treat my guns like my sons, I put clothes on 'em
b*t*h, if it's up, it stay up like it's no bottom
I put my team on my back like an old possum
n***as 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)

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