This is a song about "Jars of crafts"

No cadillac, no perms, you can't see

Thoughts of immortality

Then put it into sex drive

Of the book of your life

Furniture made of the flesh of my foes

Fuck niggas we dont fuck with those

So my next joint don't got to be so rough

Cause america the terror of,

Blast masses a cast to cover crafts.

We getting money, you can face the facts

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

Illusion of days of elysium fields full of gladiators

The vacancy that sat in my heart

Your yard, full of pieces of lard

So let 'em chase love

The things im most scared of