Boss Table Lyrics – Baby Money
Singer: Baby Money
Title: Boss Table
(Ooh, Steve-O did this one)
Easy money
(Steve-O got the Midas touch)
Ayy
I’ma make Ben Franklin my best man, hundred on my left hand (Yeah)
I’m ’bout to start droppin’ bodies like the best friends (They gone)
If you ain’t standin’ on what’s blue, you get stretched then (That’s on Crip)
They call your boy the beach master how I stretch tan
It’s weight season, made a million with my fat man (That’s a fact)
Erotic City day shift, it’s like eight Lams
I need some zip sauce, fifty get you picked off (You feel me?)
I’m pourin’ rose on her face like she Chris Bosh
That n***a dumb, spent all that money on a wrist***ch (So?)
That ain’t the one, take it back, ’cause that b*t*h tick-tock (That b*t*h fake)
Wanna be famous, I’ma f**k the b*t*h on TikTok
Yeah, we got it out the mud, but we lit now (On my mama)
A big guy, crashed the coupe, then I switch drops
It’s all bosses at this table, you can’t sit down
I asked that n***a for a tester and he sent pounds (Yeah)
These n***as talk about the past, b*t*h, we rich now
A big guy, crashed the coupe, but then I switched drops
(Ayy, FNFRTC, easy money, n***a)
It’s all bosses at this table, you can’t sit down
(I’m only eatin’ with the n***as I started with, on Sosa)
I asked that n***a for a tester and he sent pounds
(Ayy, he sent a thousand of ’em, we front line with this sh*t)
These n***as talk about the past, b*t*h, we rich now
(Let’s see you stack that sh*t up and stop talkin’ ’bout last year)
Yeah, young n***a ballin’, pointers, thirty on my right wrist
This hard work, came from servin’ through the night shift
This dog barkin’, I be steppin’ on this Mike Vick
Servin’ all them white chicks, Curry if you try sh*t
My ‘fit five thousand, n***as scary with this fly sh*t
Yeah, I’ll leave it all in the bank like four, five, six
A n***a disrespect the gang, then he die quick
You was ridin’ ’round lookin’ for us, she was ridin’ d**k
My n***as ’bout a Five-seveN and he 5’6″
And that boy a chef with the chopper, he’ll fry your b*t*h
If you don’t go and do sh*t, n***a, you gotta leave
I’m twenty-three, but big homie to a lot of n***as
A big guy, crashed the coupe, but then I switched drops
(Ayy, FNFRTC, easy money, n***a)
It’s all bosses at this table, you can’t sit down
(I’m only eatin’ with the n***as I started with, on Sosa)
I asked that n***a for a tester and he sent pounds
(Ayy, he sent a thousand of ’em, we front line with this sh*t)
These n***as talk about the past, b*t*h, we rich now
(Let’s see you stack that sh*t up and stop talkin’ ’bout last year)
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Lyrics Baby Money – Boss Table
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