This is a song about "Picknick table"

I'm going to bury you in this box i made outta your own kitchen table

Hustlin in our hoods , slanging nothing but the goods / street to street you will

I can make music that makes sense, but not meant to be stable

I'll still be able to break a motherfuckin' table

I'm stuck in triangles, looking for my angel

Shout out to you shit talkers at my lunch table

I guess i'm leftwich cause i still get to win

You on the table for operation

I'm invincible, defeating you is inevitable, cause i'm invisible

You're mentally disable,you're like snacks to randy ,you're on his table.

I grabbed a candle of the table, then i beat him down.

This my album, and when your parents try to come around

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

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

He's got his face in a mask, your blood stains on his glass table

Feel like the only rapper that look at you with no trouble