This is a song about "The traphouse"

Went to sleep at seven never woke up from the dream

We all the same the blacks the whites the something in between

Boy, you can’t tell me a damn thang

Still the man with the pan

Everything ain't what it seems

Thinkin of the the dreams

In the field of the damned, the only sentries are the crows.

And erase my number out the phones of these fake hoes

In the coupe with the tec, it's the home of the brave

I can't wait til she find out that that's really not the case

How simple they are

Down the street to the car,

Metaphor, chilling with better whores

The pain, the loss, the grief, the cross.

Savin' up 24 bullets with gun

The bigger the the fun