This is a song about "Sitting at a table"

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

Poppa took the television, but left the radio

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

To make karma come faster than she normally will

Shout out to you shit talkers at my lunch table

Forever i ain't run yet and i never will

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

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

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

Every since then our whole city been horrible

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

Bitch i'm in the building you ain't even in the lounge

Pop a squat sitting on a gucci couch

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

Put the haters on a table, i dont need a fucking label/