Flight Mob & Ca$his – Round Table (Round Table) Lyrics

Everybody ain’t worthy for a seat at the table, mayne
Believe that
Circle smaller than the ban sign
With a reach like Ali, though, you feel me?
Airtight, it ain’t no leaks over here
Mob shit, look

How you ain’t bring nothin’ to the table (How you doin’ that?)
We hungry over here and it’s a pot luck (For real)
One shot, now he gone, lift his top up (Blaow)
Name hold weight, juggin’ since a toddler (Uh-huh)
On a date with your bitch and she topless (Aw, shit)
Tryna eat me alive, she a monster (Damn)
Aw, shit, shorty a freak
Like it rough, I’ma need shoulder pads
Too much cappin’, just show the bag (Ah)
Jugg academy, go to class (Woah)
In love with the money, I hold its hand
Rappers is fiends, I sold ’em grams (Take that)
Straight up out the mud in designer (Designer)
We comin’ for this money, bunch of convicts (Convicts)
Executive decisions in a Lambo’ (Wha’)
Can’t help but to itch where the palms is (Ayy)
These rappers is sweet, we gon’ take this bitch over (Ahh)
My hitters is hawks when you look like a cobra (Yeah)
Come from the Beach where they tryna be cut-throat
Boy, you scary, ain’t never seen gun smoke (Never)
Double up, triple up all in the program (Program)
Money, more mob, you know that it’s more bread (More bread)
Love my brothers ’til the day that I’m gone (Gone)
Know the lingo when you talkin’ on phones (For real)
Hot boy, hit the jeweler, get froze (Bling)
Still smell the scent of trap in my clothes (Ayy)
You owe us nine, come with eight I suppose (C’mon)
Street revenue, VVS on the low

Don’t ask for a minute, trip that n****
Money on tall, like Mutombo figures
Most of you n*****, I’m a real-life Jigga
Dollars on dollars on dollars, I’m bigger
Do work myself ‘fore I call up my hitters
They track down a hater with posters and pictures
You die for that trollin’, you better not send it
I’ma go straight to the top like I’m Emmmitt
Smith, do a dip on lit
Blood get blew like a Crip
Last time I checked, I ain’t go for shit
Shout out young Nip, I’ma stay on 6
Get top all day and I slay that bitch
The cocaine mayne how I slang that dick
She a slave to it, I’m on
6, all the records, go dumb on
Follow the real one, better keep a gun on
Dip through the county of angels
Smoke rings lookin’ like halos, drop-top Merced-o
White tee shirt on, it’s about eight on the dot
Look at my watch, it ain’t no stops
I hit one-sixty on cops
Runnin’ a race if you ready or not
Spit in all my opp faces like Pac
I played the block and invested in stocks
The block’ll get hot if somebody get shot
Do all the shootings away from the spot
Block’ll get hot if somebody get shot
Do all the shootings away from your spot
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