This is a song about "Mail"

Look at what hell got, mail from fish scale docks

They get mad when i lay up in the porsche box

Ridin’ in a cl, hope i never see jail

With parts of their body through the mail

Like bobby had whitney we was cooking up crack

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

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

Wale, more times than not, am not for whom the air waves

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

Lifestyles of the young and the broke