This is a song about "Jars of crafts"

Tired of feeling wired of dealing

And she would do anything for everything

Out of this coviction of feelings

Weight stand out like pimples and cold-sore lips

Out of mind out of sight

Working day or night

Blow some fucking hash and laugh

Blast masses a cast to cover crafts.

Couple of shots and a glass of wine.

Pad on the heel that's a passion of mine

Of the book of your life

Right flows down and they might go nice

Big money, i’m talking bad hoes

Furniture made of the flesh of my foes

Of being of always getting wired

I hear my niggas screaming fuck the world