This is a song about "Jars of crafts"

Furniture made of the flesh of my foes

You feel it from your head to your toes

Alot of niggas fake who go to hard

Your yard, full of pieces of lard

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

Illusion of days of elysium fields full of gladiators

Africa and europe, it's a small world we truly neighbors

Ahead of his years, ahead of his time,

So the mind they mine don't coincide with mine

Maybe i'm on lust well you deserve love

Cause america the terror of,

Of that gangja from the shores of shanghai

In the lambo looking like a fly

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

Homie will never love her, although he'll probably have a fit