Ptsd by Pop Smoke Lyrics Meaning – Unraveling the Raw Realities of Street Life and Mental Health
Lyrics
Uh, uh, ay
My PTSD startin’ to kick in so I gotta get high
Trey shot that nigga out my car so now I gotta get low
I ain’t no city boy ’cause I love my bitch
Nigga, but that don’t mean that I don’t love my hoes
Niggas tried to smack me up so now I’m raising hell
Don’t try and dap me lil’ nigga you are not my bro
Trey shot that nigga out my car so now I gotta get low
They know we bend blocks, welcome to the party
Dot on the head of his only daughter
Then I dunk her head in that holy water
Niggas shootin’, we gon’ shoot back
Sittin’ at the table like Tha Carter 5
They know I’ma do ya
Aimin’ for medulla
Cooler than a cooler
Shoota with a shoota
AK on my shoulder like I’m Malcom X
‘Cause I ain’t goin’ out like I’m Martin Luther
Nigga open up the door nigga I know you home
It’s a hundred Crip niggas standing on ya lawn
Give up that cheese, give that Provolone
And I ain’t talkin’ on the phone ’cause I ain’t playin’ with ’em
I got a K for the cuz if he hit you
If I call Nappy Blue he comin’ to get you
Call Dread, that’s the new Tom Brady
‘Cause he be sendin’ shots like it’s missle
My PTSD startin’ to kick in so I gotta get high
Trey shot that nigga out my car so now I gotta get low
I ain’t no city boy ’cause I love my bitch
Nigga, but that don’t mean that I don’t love my hoes
Niggas tried to smack me up so now I’m raising hell
Don’t try and dap me lil’ nigga you are not my bro
Trey shot that nigga out my car so now I gotta get low
They know we bend blocks, welcome to the party
Niggas always talkin’ hot and runnin’ they mouth
Until I kick down they door and run in they house
Have they mother on the floor with the gun in her mouth
Like what’s that shit up on the net that y’all was talkin’ bout
I put that on my son that I’ma take it there
‘Cause where you come from and where I come from I ain’t playin’ fair
My lil’ homie died and I ain’t drop a tear
I just roll a spliff and put it in the air
I’m big 092 niggas know I’m woo
I look a nigga in his face like, “Who you talkin’ to?”
I need 25k or I ain’t walkin’ through
I need 25k or I ain’t walkin’ through
I spent 20 on my wrist and 20 on a chain
I be spoiling myself so I could ease the pain
Digital dash I be switching lanes
I was sitting on the bench but now I’m in the game
My PTSD startin’ to kick in so I gotta get high
Trey shot that nigga out my car so now I gotta get low
I ain’t no city boy ’cause I love my bitch
Nigga, but that don’t mean that I don’t love my hoes
Niggas tried to smack me up so now I’m raising hell
Don’t try and dap me lil’ nigga you are not my bro
Trey shot that nigga out my car so now I gotta get low
They know we bend blocks, welcome to the party
Pop Smoke’s ‘Ptsd’ captures the raw essence of a life riddled with violence and the subsequent mental scars it leaves. Diving into the song’s relentless flow and grim narratives, we find not just a soundtrack for the streets, but a candid confession of a battle with post-traumatic stress disorder fueled by the harshness of urban survival.
Through his rhymes, Pop Smoke explores the complexities of love, loyalty, and the code of the streets, all while struggling with the psychological aftermath of violence. ‘Ptsd’ offers an unflinching look at the psychological impacts of living in a constant state of alert, where coping mechanisms become as vital as the air one breathes.
A Smoke-Filled Struggle: Pop Smoke’s Defense Mechanisms
The repeating hook, ‘My PTSD startin’ to kick in so I gotta get high,’ isn’t just a lyrical motif, but a raw glimpse into a survival strategy. This stark admission reveals that for Pop Smoke and many like him, substance use is a means to escape the ever-looming specter of trauma that stalks their minds.
These lines are a somber reflection on how we seek solace from the invisible wounds inflicted by the environment. In his pursuit of peace, Pop Smoke invites us into the paradoxical dance between the desire to forget and the necessities of street readiness.
Gunshots and Morality: The Dichotomy of Love and Violence
Pop Smoke’s expression, ‘I ain’t no city boy ’cause I love my bitch / Nigga, but that don’t mean that I don’t love my hoes,’ lays out the often-misunderstood street philosophy of love. This seeming contradiction exemplifies the tension between intimate relationships and the nonchalant attitude needed to survive the streets.
In these lines, Pop Smoke is declaring the ability to maintain genuine affection in an environment that often demands emotional detachment and a facade of indifference. His reference to loyalty amidst chaos champions the resilience of love even in the face of adversity.
A Deep Dive into ‘Ptsd’s’ Hidden Meaning
Beyond the immediate reflection on personal trauma, ‘Ptsd’ serves as a potent allegory for the collective mental strain experienced by communities besieged by regular violence. The song lays bare the normalcy of gun violence and retaliation that perpetuates a cycle of PTSD.
It is in the militaristic mentions — likening himself to Malcolm X rather than Martin Luther — that Pop Smoke underlines a history of force and protection. Here, he inherently questions the cost of survival and the altered psyche it requires.
The Vivid Imagery of Violence: Pop Smoke’s Painted Realities
Lyrics such as, ‘Have they mother on the floor with the gun in her mouth,’ hit listeners with a jolting visual. Pop Smoke doesn’t shy away from the grit and grime; he paints a vivid picture of gangland retribution and the omnipresent threat that defines his world.
These lines aren’t just aggressive posturing; they speak to the desperate lengths one might go to maintain respect and dominance in a lawless landscape. Each word is etched with the memory of confrontation, loss, and the hardened exterior needed to navigate his battleground.
Lines that Echo Beyond the Beat: Pop Smoke’s Memorable Messages
The stark line, ‘My lil’ homie died and I ain’t drop a tear,’ resonates as an emblem of the emotional numbness that coats the core of ‘Ptsd.’ It’s a chilling admission of the desensitization found in a life rife with sudden loss and the coping mechanisms that come with it.
Yet, it’s through invoking the language of purchasing power and the spoils of fame, ‘I spent 20 on my wrist and 20 on a chain,’ where Pop Smoke exposes the fragile balance between solace bought through luxury and the ever-present ache of trauma. His narrative concludes not with resolution but with the acknowledgement of a game still in play.
