This is a song about "Getting comas"

Fuck your fillings, instead of getting crowned you're getting capped

Kill him where he stand and stand over him, shake his hand

You're my reflection and all i see is you

It's getting limited, only a few

But for long time i had gone cold

Signs of you getting smoked

Hard to move on when you always regret one

Getting gangahead in the ashton martin

A twenty somethin cup

Well aren't you getting fed up

Better yet they work my every nerve

Getting tired of compulsive liars

I'm not getting no therapy

But make sure if they do see

Me and you just need to talk a bit

Feminine’s getting intimate