That’s the trouble with being me. At this point, nobody gives a damn what my problem is. I could literally have a tumor on the side of my head and they’d be like, ’Yeah, big deal. I’d eat a tumor every morning for the kinda money you’re pulling down.’

The line is a darkly comic complaint about the way celebrity and wealth can erode ordinary empathy. The speaker suggests that once a person is publicly successful, their suffering is discounted as “the price of privilege,” and any complaint is met with resentment or envy rather than care. The grotesque exaggeration—having a tumor and being told it’s “no big deal”—underscores how fame can dehumanize: the person becomes a symbol of money, not an individual with legitimate pain. It also hints at the isolating paradox of stardom: the more visible and rewarded you are, the less permission you have to be vulnerable.