This is a song about "Jars of crafts"

Light skinned women, all sex everything

Tired of feeling wired of dealing

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

Illusion of days of elysium fields full of gladiators

Oh, a taco joke, domo smoke, i heard

Of being of always getting wired

Top of my pile of bodies

Hate it when i leave

Return of the king of flow

Get you high, keep it on the low

Of the book of your life

We hustle to survive

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

And where we've come and how we still have to go really far

Yes, i'm sure we could all agree

Beaches of normandy.