This is a song about "Dead pan"

Now you go hit me like this with a frying pan

To witness the realest shit that's ever been told to man

All you niggas dead , dead fake

Those are not my dreams, i'll be straight

You say the art's dying, nah brother buy an album, the plan

This is why i'm hot much hotter than a frying pan

Nobody ain't own us yet

Like night of the living dead

Fuck that nigga, wolf gang

And bang a rang to peter pan

Me and you in extasydon't be upset

You keep continuing your gonna end up dead,

Y’all millhouse, blew y’all head

Your raps are so brain dead

So either you dont believe in a nigga dreams

Peter pan in my youth, fucking fairies