This is a song about "Racks"

My racks was really stacks of novels and rap posters

This what it sound like if i sent my dad letters

I stack racks fat you haters pockets petite.

Baby father bullshittin', you two don't even speak

God damn pull out my racks

But i’m praying in advance

Give them a couple racks and watch everybody change

I never judge a murder by weapons, only the rage

'cuz i remember poppin' off them chains from bicycle racks,

The tracks on snack off raps, see stacks from back of my slacks

At dinner with hov hoping that he pass the baton

Stack a gang of bricks racks on racks get our grind on

It leaves your heart with contusions and racks your brain with delusions

Because your booty mad thick behind them juicy ass lips

Having racks of paper, but i ain't gone complain

Brings alotta joy buggati boy thats lane to lane