This is a song about "Packs"

He watched house party, and ate apple jacks

Like the kind you find on cigarette packs

I pack more soul than chicago packs guns,

Pocket with a cash full of bashful weapons

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

They got me goin mad, i'm knockin busters on they backs

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

Cause he tried to educate and liberate all blacks

Back to my life application, you might think i'm happy, with this good fucking grades

Acting as packs of chimpanzees, a yack of bleats they ape and pack with bleeps in tapes

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

If i could do it all again, have just one more chance

Then understand that i'm the one, that packs a punch much like a gun.

We are the hope of the culture, they supposed to listen