This is a song about "Jars of crafts"

I'm tryna better my chances of becoming a star

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

Any young nigga with visions when he's sleeping

Tired of feeling wired of dealing

King of the va, off of those toxins.

She likes the way it hits her lips

I'm everything that they call nice

Top of my pile of bodies

I think found where your mind was

Cause america the terror of,

Took me a while just to write those

Furniture made of the flesh of my foes

Hot man, god damn, killa cam be live

Out of this coviction of feelings

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

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