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letra de frenchman - bfb da packman

[intro]
the lunch crew company, i’m part of that
please don’t ever use that, it’s so embarrassing to me
what, the lunch crew? her
the lunch crew company

[verse 1: bfb da packman & benny the butcher]
i— i— i just bought my b-tch a body (yeah), her physique a façade
flashback to sellin’ coke to my granddaddy, i’m in need of allah (yeah)
dope boys and diamonds don’t go together, that sh-t be screamin’ the law
and bobo told me, “if you go fed, don’t repeat what you saw”
you n-ggas yeast, we don’t need heat, we see that you soft (yeah)
i hid a pack under my stomach, wasn’t no weed in my draws (facts)
i left flint duckin’ indictment, ended up beating the odds (yellow)
and i got rich and there’s still camry’s in my fleeton garage (woo)
“free joe exotic” got us rich when we was hustlin’ for better (yeah)
tellin’ my dawg i love him before he meet his plug in the desert (i love you)
he made it back with more work, business be good, but i’m stressin’ (yeah)
’cause i had thoughts, they filled the flaw and they was really gon’ stretch ’em (facts)
that’s on [?], 5th grade, is you a thug or not? (okay)
f-ck robbin’ and shootin’, i’d rather hug the block
bobo showed me how to maneuver, not even my f-ckin’ pops
my real dad was like, “f-ck my son, i’d rather hug a rock” (ooh)
no more dissing that n-gga, come on, let’s switch the subject
’cause when i spit my truths someway, somehow i p-ss off my mother
i’m raw and uncut, i’d even f-ck a distant cousin
put my d-ck between two b-tches lips and make them kiss each other (mwah)
you might catch me out in silicon valley (yeah)
with sketcher flip-flops, nike hoodie, never rockin’ no bali (yeah)
on the phone talkin’ to my guy, i’m just happy he smilin’
the fent overdosed the fiend and [?] with the body (the butcher comin’, n-gga)
(the lunch crew company)
[verse 2: benny the butcher]
i’m givin’ n-ggas this work, clip send you n-ggas to church
i brought it to my own opps, they like, “send a n-gga some merch” (f-ck outta here)
they see my whip and start tryna guess what i get for a verse (huh?)
the irs wanna break down what each of my syllables worth
n-ggas ain’t catchin’ up (nah)
i collected so much paper and delivered enough brown
now my whip like a fedex truck, mmm
my dawg crushin’ xanax pills in a 7-up
he fell in love with some hood rat p-ssy and she set him up (felt bad for him)
they don’t value respect no more (nah), only bands
that’s crazy, i know a mail lady with an onlyfans
i’m on the cam rollin’ dutches out turkey bags on the ‘gram
i’m goin’ live leakin’ sh-t off my album just for the fans, nah
i don’t tiktok, so don’t ask me to start a dance (you know i don’t do that sh-t)
unless these big rocks doin’ a b-tterfly on my hands
vintage gucci collection with b-tterflies on my pants
i could cook a brick of dope with rope double tied to my hands, yeah
i hit packman and said, “you nice, yeah, i’ll give you that” (i f-ck with you)
plus you gettin’ rich, can’t believe you ain’t f-ck lizzo yet (not yet)
but y’all gon’ bust u-turns when it’s your time, depend on that
these rappers shoot vids then they give they jewels and the rental back
stackin’ paper, i been on that
but they broke, hmm, figured that
i push the kinda whips that she gotta f-ck if she sit in that, yeah
i was sellin’ ‘caine on the realest streets
now i’m a legend, so i’ma sell my ‘caine on an nft, let’s go

- bfb da packman

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