This is a song about "Sitting at a table"

But they’re pulled in ‘till they’re dead or sitting at death row,

My money for folarin, but you do not get to throw

I'm just grateful there's a roof and food on the table

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

Your mother was a baby boomer i fucked her on a table at hooters and passed her to my shooters

Never seen a creator consulting his users all the others are faggots, all the others are losers

As time ticks forward he comes closer to the end, sitting at the end of his bed holding a pen

Imagine them trapped in confinries,waving through windows,peeking for recovery n

I'll be sitting there grinning laughing at the pictures that i'm printing

Was just such a fufilling feeling, we stuck in the building

If it ain’t nothin', a break – uh break- breakdown

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

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

That i'll still be able to break a motherfuckin' table

It's never late, we celebrate soon as your papers done

You could just be sitting at home watching television