This is a song about "Mail"

Helicopters on the set of my sales

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

But i come on the weekends, pablo jail

With parts of their body through the mail

And when this beat drops, your heart stops

Look at what hell got, mail from fish scale docks

Lifestyles of the young and the broke

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

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

Make sure your fuckin' feelings end up up in a glad bag