This is a song about "Jars of crafts"

Of that gangja from the shores of shanghai

Now everybody put your hands up high

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

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

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

Illusion of days of elysium fields full of gladiators

Blast masses a cast to cover crafts.

But it made me the man i am today, thanks

Your yard, full of pieces of lard

Mr. underdog and this is not a bark

I'm hot breeze, snot sneeze

Top of my pile of bodies

Furniture made of the flesh of my foes

Ever wonder exactly where the sun goes

Of the book of your life

Take her back to where i live