Bfb Da Packman and Benny the Butcher - Frenchmen

The Lunch Crew Company, I'm part of that
Please don't ever use that, it's like embarrassing to me
What, the Lunch Crew? Her
The Lunch Crew Company

I-I-I just bought my bitch a body (Yeah), her physique a facade
Flashback to sellin' coke to my granddaddy, I'm in need of Allah (Yeah)
Dope boys and diamonds don't go together, that shit be screamin' the law
And Bobo told me, "if you go fed, don't repeat what you saw"
You niggas 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, ducked the 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 but 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 felt the flaw and they was really gon' stretch 'em (Facts)
That's on mine, 5th grade, is you a thug or not? (Okay)
Fuck robbin' and shootin', I'd rather hug the block
Bobo showed me how to maneuver, not even my fuckin' pops
My real dad was like, "fuck my son, I'd rather hug a rock" (Ooh)
No more dissing that nigga, come on, let's switch the subject
'Cause when I spit my truths someway, somehow I piss off my mother
I'm raw and uncut, I'd even fuck a distant cousin
Put my dick between two bitches 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 (The Butcher comin', nigga)
The feds hit him with the body (The Lunch Crew Company)

I'm givin' niggas this work, clip send you niggas to church
I bump into my old opps, they like, "send a nigga some merch" (Fuck outta here)
They see my whips and start tryna guess what I get for a verse (Huh?)
The IRS wanna break down what each of my syllables worth
Niggas 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 pussy 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' shit 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 shit)
Unless these big rocks doin' a butterfly on my hands
Vintage Gucci collection with butterflies 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 fuck with you)
Plus you gettin' rich, can't believe you ain't fuck 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, we figured that
I push the kinda whips that she gotta fuck 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

Written by:
Tyree Thomas, Jeremie Pennick

Publisher:
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group

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