This is a song about "Mail"

You'll drown tryna backstroke on concepts that i wrote

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

With parts of their body through the mail

Put these bitches on lock down, something like jail

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

While i got my hand on the tec, wave

Every visit to neimans, i swear don't even see a tag

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

Look at what hell got, mail from fish scale docks

I got these bitches brewin' inside of my gold pots