This is a song about "Jars of crafts"

And yeah we up in stadium, quarterbacking hoes

Furniture made of the flesh of my foes

She was so stuck, a fool in love with the wrong thing

Tired of feeling wired of dealing

Beaches of normandy.

Cause time is money

But you hate them navel kisses

Of potential cases

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

Still standin' and in love with my prideheard frivolous beats, we past that

But in the meantime it's lights please

Top of my pile of bodies

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

Weekend trippin to wherever, only heaven is far

Illusion of days of elysium fields full of gladiators

And ain't it shameful, how niggas blame hoes for givin' birth