This is a song about "Fanny packs"

And i'm blowing up like bitches we went to school with

And my man hatchet packs a shed full of axes

Like the kind you find on cigarette packs

Hammer-hat flyer than a bag of bats

Cuz i acknowledge i am far more knowledge

Packing pleasant feelings cause my sandwich packs a punch

Lift 'em up and down like eight hundred thousand pound packs

But i don’t knock you i just blame it on your old head, rats

Go to hell, i mean that, burn you like green backs

Right through his face, pastes his brains all on the packs

Pocket with a cash full of bashful weapons

I pack more soul than chicago packs guns,

Six packs, or make a sick track, wallow in sadness, sorrow,

My money fourth and long, but you do not get to throw