This is a song about "Jars of crafts"

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

Trust me these niggas rushed me for something my cousin probably did

Thoughts of us of everything of everyone's debts

You can call me cancer but i don't smoke cigarettes

She od's on louboutin, she work at that nudie bar

There ain't no genie jars to grant what your petty wishes are

That bitch was racist, got me fired

Of being of always getting wired

Of which im not exactly proud of,

These cops is bad boys, baby just like puff

I put on for my city i should ball with vick and them

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

Your yard, full of pieces of lard

No gimmick: real time, real heart

Feeling, of appealing

Tell them niggas they sleeping