Feet Up On The Table
Aceyalone

ACEYALONE


Feet Up On The Table Lyrics

Hey dude, you want me to just start like four bars off in this shit
(Yeah nigga, what you got dick on your mind or something? just do the shit)
Aw nigga, f*ck you

Hey p*ssy, listen, you're hear a native get his ass whipping
p*ssy, you're rhyme keeps on slipping
Go head and gets to trippin'
p*ssy, I slow your row with that tampon
Your flow be menstrual

Come up out that couch and plant my flag in your neighborhood
You got cable, I'm leaving toenail clippings on the table

Now I break lots of crews up
Who cruise up like they got big nuts
What I dig up gets
Big ups and also blow some wigs up

Get up for the beat down
I'm taking your seat now
Relaxing my feet up on the coffee table
While I floss me labels fool

I got what the f*ck you need and more
I'll kick in your door, dammit then slam it behind me
You'll find me in the bedroom where your kids is at
I tell 'em that their daddy's finna' die

Then give 'em smacks and get some stacks
And hit the sofa with a loaf
Of bread and some chicken backs
Feet up on the table and your woman in my lap

[Ellay Khule]
Blast off, lift off, wanna twist off the cap
The love of my life is the rap
The love of your life in my lap
Leap if you're feeling lucky
My speech play frog or Kermit
You're walking that style with no leash
Do you have a permit?
Cut it out like some scissors
Get rollin' like swisher sweets
Drivin' a big blue up the streets
Bumpin' helluva beats
See your weak but me
I gotta maintain my rep
Wake up you slept
Lucky to get slapped, I should have just broke your neck
Got juice like in a dream, blow up like gasoline when it's lit
You battle him and you battle them but I really don't give a shit

[Sample]
I'm scheming like a demon
On the couch with my feet up

[Aceyalone]
Nigga who's you
Nigga is you crazy
Nigga you things to do yourself
And i'm finna' help ya out
By slapping your weed out ya mouth
Pinching those jaws
Nigga you can lick on these balls
I walk into the room
And all the men-a-pause
Rappers pause
When the mic is in my claws
You wake up in the morning time
With pudding in your draws
Because i'm the first rapper with no flaws
And we can draw straws
Just to see who goes up in ya walls

I really don't give a shit
I admit it
I'm a screw loose at chills'vill'
I paid 1 of the bastards
To hit you in the left leg with a louieville
Broke your shit, never to figure skate my way again
What? I'm short and skinny? nigga you tall and fat
Now give me my pen back
I served you once, I'll do it again
Three-peat and again for pete's sakes
When will it end?
You're swollowing cement 'til you have no wind

[Mark the Murderah]
Looking at the incense smoke
Inhaling the indica smoke
I get stoned
And then I grab the microphone and show my knuckle bone
Nothing I see is real
I'm walking right through it like fluid
Forgave method
You better drop your weapon or your film at eleven o' clock
Bop bop through the high top Z
My homie's on LSD fightin' LAPD
Bail him out
He's in the county in his PJs
The fat j, I pass it to the DJ
(Homicide... Homicide... Homicide)
I rock the spot, but I ain't shot, knocks got Glocks
So drop my voice box changing dirty socks
Rainy weather makes me even better
Summer to winter to spring fall
I'm downin' the 8 ball
Hittin' but the blunt
But I never strike out of matches
Like homies with batches of bitches that been ballin'
Teeth marks on my hits
30-odd-6, when I'm in a fix
It's 94, serve you with 92
Do what I gotta handle
Gangsta that's ganking professional gangsta

[Abstract Rude]
I do what?
I got my feet up on your Mama Mabel's
Mother's mother's mother's three generation table
You know the one, the one you can't put a drink down without a coaster
Taking it out my holster
Slam it on your momma's pride and joy
Boy you gonna get a whippin'
Shame my momma feel no drama
You better not say 'Ab did it'
Even if you did, kid, she'll say 'Why you let him in the house?'
You'll say 'Momma, I wanted to hear what the rap was about
I didn't know he would come in the house,put his feet up and take his gun out and run out
Rappin', sayin' somethin about Mass Men'
You don't have to tell anyone
See you tommorow
See you tommorow
See you tommorow

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Record Label(s): 2004 Decon Project Blowed
Official lyrics by

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