This is a song about "Packing down"

It's ironic cause i always hear you talking about one

I just might trip on your bitch i'm packing a magnum

Packing a mack in the back of the ac

So high i’m on the ceiling baby

Won't heat or burn me, i'm the coolest nigga here

Rappin' real, and because i got thugs, i'm packing steel,

Packing blunts, sipping lean in sty cups

But most times darling the sequel sucks

I cut my wrist and play piano cause i'm so depressed

This flow is automatic like i'm packing it in my belt.

Bitches ain't around one thou

You should see what im packing now