This is a song about "Jars of crafts"

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

Notice it every time i pick up the microphone and spit

Thoughts of us of everything of everyone's debts

Odd future leaving even niggas in past tense

We don't ever make love

The things im most scared of

Illusion of days of elysium fields full of gladiators

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

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

Most of y'all drop quick cause of impatience,

Your yard, full of pieces of lard

You shook my world and it felt apart

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

A break from what you hearing

Feeling, of appealing