This is a song about "Mail"

Shit grand like a muh-fucking bass load

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

Over the edge, yeah i hide in a potato sack

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

Helicopters on the set of my sales

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

Now my watch fruity colors like trix in a box

Look at what hell got, mail from fish scale docks

With parts of their body through the mail

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