This is a song about "Jars of crafts"

But when i knock this shit off, i'mma go and buy some laker shit

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

Ya see all we got is tonight and i ain't tryna see that far

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

Sb horror pack monsters under my bed

Jars upon jars, but yet no jam for the bread.

She need now, she ain't never needed love

Raybands...hide the face of,

I need a backyard full court size

Of the book of your life

See, and now life seem hard

Your yard, full of pieces of lard

Of being of always getting wired

Next to it: stash mattress. under it: cash, bastard

Illusion of days of elysium fields full of gladiators

He carried weight like a mack truckgonna bust on some playa haters