This is a song about "Jars of crafts"

Of the book of your life

I just shake dice

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

Every time i walk inside the house, she always tend to start shit

Thoughts of immortality

Six-fifty, three hundred my shirt free

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

Weekend trippin to wherever, only heaven is far

Couple of shots and a glass of wine.

Probably wave goodbye at the same time

Now this is what i call an evening

Tired of feeling wired of dealing

Your yard, full of pieces of lard

This for my niggas that really rap hard

Ya ain't killers ya’ll got hundred yard dash guns

Most of y'all drop quick cause of impatience,