This is a song about "Jars of crafts"

Out of mind out of sight

Left, right, left, right

A little more of me through generation of a debate of hatred

Still standin' and in love with my prideheard frivolous beats, we past that

Niggas talk with limited service

Cause america the terror of,

Most of y'all drop quick cause of impatience,

Have you with professional killas, chasing hits

Top of my pile of bodies

Lights please, lights please

You send me beats via email, i'mma send them back in a hearse

Illusion of days of elysium fields full of gladiators

My name's kingpin slim and i'mma son of a gun

Got the eye of tiger, spit of cobra, form of a dragon

Of being of always getting wired

It's a fools fatewithout your word