album cover
Tables
93,202
Hip-Hop/Rap
Tables was released on March 12, 2018 by Xposure Music as a part of the album Stackin P's - EP
album cover
Release DateMarch 12, 2018
LabelXposure Music
LanguageEnglish
Melodicness
Acousticness
Valence
Danceability
Energy
BPM100

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Joey Trap
Joey Trap
Performer
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Justin Kirkpatrick
Justin Kirkpatrick
Composer, Lyrics

Lyrics

Man you boys can't even sit with us, stupid
You dumb ass ****
You really thought -
You really thought you could sit with us, stupid
**** look at my shoes
These is Louboutin's, ****
Young Rich Squad, man you boys can’t even sit with us
Said he fly as me, boy, you must be smokin' angel dust
New block blower, pull up on you, finna paint you up
I get legal money, I don't fuck with all that shady stuff
Hit 80 bands off the rap like last week
Pullin' out the burner, now he runnin' like an athlete
I don't wanna squabble, get the burner to your ass cheeks
Stupid ass **** thought he finna get a pass, B
Never let a **** act rowdy, that’s a bitch move
**** really stalking on my gram like my bitch do
I won’t never sell another gram I make rich moves
If I go broke I'ma get it out my bitch shoes
Walk to imperial and back, lil' baby
You ain’t even wild, bro, stop acting crazy
Fuck your pussy, give me dome first
Brodie at your crib with that led, call that home work
Find out when you sleep, then we run up with that chrome burst
16 bars in this chop, like a long verse
Been on the block, finna ball like it’s cancer
Said that I’m broke, shake my head get your bands up
She wanna fuck, LOL, that’s my answer
If bro hit the lick, then we both got that hammer
Young Rich Squad man you boys can’t even sit with us
Said he fly as me, boy, you must be smokin' angel dust
New block blower, pull up on you, finna paint you up
I get legal money, I don't fuck with all that shady stuff
Hit 80 bands off the rap like last week
Pullin out the burner, now he runnin' like an athlete
I don't wanna squabble, get the burner on your ass cheeks
Stupid ass **** thought he finna get a pass, B
Never let a **** act rowdy, that’s a bitch move
**** really stalking on my gram like my bitch do
I won’t never sell another gram I make rich moves
If I go broke I'ma get it out my bitch shoes
Walk to imperial and back, lil' baby
You ain’t even wild, bro, stop acting crazy
I remember I was broke, I ain’t have none
Now my fit is all designer in this Aston
Martin in this bitch, I'ma kick her out like Pam son
All these **** want my sauce, ****, y’all like plankton
Broke where bitch? This ice on my neck
He ain’t got no bullets in that gun, why he flex
Feel like I’m Nike cause I got these checks
She give head with no hands, bitch look like a T-Rex, I'm gone
Young Rich Squad, man you boys can’t even sit with us
Said he fly as me, boy, you must be smokin' angel dust
New block blower, pull up on you, finna paint you up
I get legal money, I don't fuck with all that shady stuff
Hit 80 bands off the rap like last week
Pullin' out the burner, now he runnin' like an athlete
Ion wanna squabble, get the burner on your ass cheeks
Stupid ass **** thought he finna get a pass, B
Dummy
You a stupid ass ****, I don't wanna hear it
Over, over, over, over, over, over, over
Written by: Justin Kirkpatrick
instagramSharePathic_arrow_out􀆄 copy􀐅􀋲

Loading...