This is a song about "Jars of crafts"

Your yard, full of pieces of lard

I know my calling's worth like phone card

Of which im not exactly proud of,

Black jesus!searchin for black jesus

... club, we'll be actin' real nice

Of the book of your life

Quick to holla at a hoochie with the same line

Ahead of his years, ahead of his time,

Man i swear she's bad and she knows

Furniture made of the flesh of my foes

Thought this was forever love

Cause america the terror of,

Illusion of days of elysium fields full of gladiators

He carried weight like a mack truckgonna bust on some playa haters

Head first in that goddamn river, you're dead

Jars upon jars, but yet no jam for the bread.