This is a song about "Jars of crafts"

Ballin, folarin so goddamn hard

Your yard, full of pieces of lard

Most of y'all drop quick cause of impatience,

Look this the joint that could get me the spins

Blast masses a cast to cover crafts.

On behalf of the better half

Of being of always getting wired

Oh, a taco joke, domo smoke, i heard

Furniture made of the flesh of my foes

And yeah we up in stadium, quarterbacking hoes

"aw, no ma’am" i’m an old land mine

Ahead of his years, ahead of his time,

Let's roll a j and pretend we in love

Cause america the terror of,

Thoughts of immortality

Bitch, they call it motor city