Correction Lyrics Bob & Weave by Zack Fox

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Lyrics

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)

Out here you gotta bob and weave
I knew I was poppin' when a 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 flеwed (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 (Yello)
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
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*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'
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**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' (Not a thing)
I just f**ked an old b*t*h with rheumatoid arthritis (She was old)
I don't f**k with no loud n***a, this OG silent
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 (Woo)
Pockets full of them blues, b*t*h, I'm B.B. King
Forty in my shorts cuddled up with my ding-a-ling (My d**k)
n***a try to make a move, throw them 'bows on 'em (Damn)
I got a glitch on my wrist, b*t*h, it froze on 'em (Damn)
I treat my guns like my sons, I put clothes on 'em (Damn)
b*t*h, 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***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
(Blaccmass)
(BNYX)

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