This is a song about "Table"

I don't care what the fuck you do but if fucking speak of me you will

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

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

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

Every since then our whole city been horrible

It was like balancing a house of cards on a crooked table,

No one knows my struggle, they only see the trouble

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

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

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

And the kitchen table is were i find my pills

If this was back in the days you'd get a lot of gills

I call that insecure, sh-sh-shawty think she all that

My coffee, put it on a flat table mat,