This is a song about "Reaching goals"

Everybody finger point in your direction

Reaching for the golden throne that hip-hop died in/

Filled with repressed trauma subconscious reaching out to me in my dreams

As i stare at the ceiling fan, as a fan of these wicked streets

See me, i’d rather cut let ya body give birth

Of errors, exact-o knife receptors reaching sectors

I just embrace it and take it in within my essence

Suffocated screams of mine that arent reaching ears,

I'm reaching out, but i can't reach her

Ain't tryin to fight no war against my brother

Oh how she love the gangstas, they love them green ones

Scoring goals through your legs, like those anaheim ducks

Built on most high, because i'm a die reaching for that limelight/

The binocularsha ha ha ha, yeah nigga time to ride

Go out and work, read your goals 'fore bedtime

Just the perfect time, just to master mine