This is a song about "Periodic table families"

And let there families torture you endless,

And when we on the road, bitches follow the tour bus

Cause every girl i deal and fuck, it's always against her will

For not being perfectly perpendicular to the table

Forever i ain't run yet and i never will

I'll still be able to break a motha-fuckin' table

The only thing i did wrong was make it possible

Ain't gotta brain and nothin' to bring to the whole table,

Count your baby daddy’s now, 2 and a possible

He even offered that and it's still on the table

Trying to keep his head up while his eyes are in the bible

To say life goes on, now they're counting money on the table

Eat her out, now she's the table

I'm modest, and humble

You gotta breathe and be at ease

It creates dead members of families