This is a song about "Trauma"

It's spectacular; my lyrics are causing blunt-force trauma.

Tryna see if real lyric spittin can buy me a porsche

Until they get the munchies and say "i want a dime" crazy ass you can't eat a

Only suffered threw trauma couldnt fast forward or take a break with a comma,

The next day you is everybody target

Well, i don't know, maybe you had some childhood trauma trip,

Trauma on my mental, as well as my physical

With some soccer moms where they like to fucking sit and mingle

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

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

You gonna find ya self in the trauma center,

Give me billboards, whatever that people will kill for