PTSD

[Verse]
Post traumatic stress disorder makes me press record
To record the most sporadic sets of morbid, lyrically blessed distorted
Beautiful songs beyond the fortune, gorgeous stars that soar the orbits
While my ass gets sore from sitting on the porch with torture horrorcore-ish thoughts
That'll make me want to block
Reality out of my head for a second and just sit down and jot
Another untouchable plot, then I gotta go bust a flow hot
I gotta move forward or sit around and rot in the field of healthy crops
But the children of the corn, well they're about to die, Malachi, so don't even try
Keep that bubble by your side, and keep them kids away from my vicinity
I'm warning thee, the DNA suffers from PTSD
Getting the stress off my chest is the past, I'm remaining a pessimist, open the chest of me
See that the D and the NA and the N9ne are making a mess of it
Check the assessment, then you can see that the way that I fly in the altitude estimate
Bringing the excellence, this the DNA Tru Lyricist, and I'm not an impression
It's just me and Tech, and we suffer from PTSD but we're not even stressed, and they better respect this shit, bitch!