This is a song about "Guns and money wrapped up in stacks"

When i'm through, i'll probably let you take it back

I dont rack stacks i got pocket change drug money is whack,

Crap rappers wear gold chains and hold stacks

I hate rap like kramer hate blacks

Yelling "yo look at my money, i got stacks in the bank!"

But still i'm having memories of high speed when the cops crashed

Mostly cause niggas hate you, tryin to fill up your plate

I'll keep her wrapped up tight like that guy in red state

Out in the district they selling water and buying pistols

Our leaders all get wrapped up in wire-tapping tax scandals,

Givin' 'em a wet, welcome to the house of pain

Throwing money up and making it rain/

We grew up in poverty, y'all wonder why we talk money,

Fuck it its mmg, ima cross of def poetry and potent tree

Have you with professional killas, chasing hits

Wrapped up in degrees of these secret organizations,