This is a song about "Mail"

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

And i don't take these bitches out, i make pajama dates

Look at what hell got, mail from fish scale docks

They get mad when i lay up in the porsche box

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

It's ironic they call me a fresh breath no joke

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

To getting rich off a dream, i throw it the bag

We broke and that dough coming slow as a snail

With parts of their body through the mail