This is a song about "Jars of crafts"

You feel it from your head to your toes

Furniture made of the flesh of my foes

I come in peace like uh, extraterrestrial being

Tired of feeling wired of dealing

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

Thoughts of us of everything of everyone's debts

Living in jail, this is hell, enemies die

Of that gangja from the shores of shanghai

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

Illusion of days of elysium fields full of gladiators

But i guess that shit's just tough love

The things im most scared of

Beaches of normandy.

They say nothings ever free

In your gold pot addin' extra sauce because

Cause america the terror of,