This is a song about "Jars of crafts"

Tired of feeling wired of dealing

It sorta becomes a cycle like hoes bleeding

The things im most scared of

Or now they don't praise enough

Beaches of normandy.

They say nothings ever free

Top of my pile of bodies

Create life with the beats, alicia keys

Flow retarded, i need to wipe the slob off of every bar

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

Out of this coviction of feelings

Rich, 2pac and the click, smokin' blunts, loadin' clips

Furniture made of the flesh of my foes

And them hating ass niggas, we ain’t like those

Your yard, full of pieces of lard

Like a small garage in your backyard