This is a song about "Email"

All i read is constant email on retail to resale the streets well

Tap my partner roscoe like bruh, i'm drunk as hell can't you tell

Email too, facebook, aim, everything gone

Throw her slightly to the right, so dyke i'm kinda wrong

Fuck a deal, i just want my father's email

In the futuren, truly yours , wale

The irony in that is that i ain't even that, but you put it those pages

The discuss section is fuckin wrecked. someone email amir the god about this.