This is a song about "Mail"

You're wasting space like junk mail and sperm whales,

Charcoal seats gray, drop tops like release dates

See i'm ahead but you stay the snail

With parts of their body through the mail

Left chicago with good money for 5 drops

Look at what hell got, mail from fish scale docks

Rappers wanna battle me, i have to mail their heads back

Over the edge, yeah i hide in a potato sack

I'll mail them to your door and send a note

Blew the fuck up in gray clouds of thick smoke