This is a song about "Jars of crafts"

These cops is bad boys, baby just like puff

Of which im not exactly proud of,

You know i want a piece of that pie

Of that gangja from the shores of shanghai

Feeling, of appealing

Why not me the same thing

You got your mean little walk with the model pose

Furniture made of the flesh of my foes

Cause i ain't know for who or what the fuck to get

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

King of the va, off of those toxins.

Ya ain't killers ya’ll got hundred yard dash guns

Tired of feeling wired of dealing

Come downstairs with nothing but a shoe string

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

Illusion of days of elysium fields full of gladiators