This is a song about "Jars of crafts"

Cause america the terror of,

Don’t you be holding back, your love

Busting off, tryna touch the sky

Of that gangja from the shores of shanghai

I'm hot breeze, snot sneeze

Top of my pile of bodies

Alot of niggas fake who go to hard

Your yard, full of pieces of lard

Bout some, but never put out the stout guns

Most of y'all drop quick cause of impatience,

Or now they don't praise enough

Raybands...hide the face of,

Of the book of your life

Ma want me to go find a wife

They say to get a hundred mill you must become the devil

Defendants of a meddle, restless full of potential