This is a song about "Jars of crafts"

Coconuts ciroc where puff at, never fall in love, don't cuff that

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

Defendants of a meddle, restless full of potential

Odd future is children that's fucked up in they mental

Heavy weed smoker, get ounces for free

Thoughts of immortality

Hoes pop from the corda to hope park

Your yard, full of pieces of lard

Illusion of days of elysium fields full of gladiators

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

Furniture made of the flesh of my foes

Alwaysstay ahead of these stank hoes

No kids, no ring herd she do your own thing

Tired of feeling wired of dealing

Graduated from rosé, addicted to blow

Return of the king of flow