This is a song about "Jars of crafts"

Of that gangja from the shores of shanghai

Fresh to death, when i step, you can hear momma's cry

Never break, took a break though

Return of the king of flow

Ever wonder exactly where the sun goes

Furniture made of the flesh of my foes

So let's have a toast, everything fine

Ahead of his years, ahead of his time,

Why not me the same thing

Feeling, of appealing

I'm in the courtroom, screaming 'who dat?' on the devil

Defendants of a meddle, restless full of potential

Private plane, my seat recline

Couple of shots and a glass of wine.

You can call me cancer but i don't smoke cigarettes

Thoughts of us of everything of everyone's debts