This is a song about "Mail"

And when this beat drops, your heart stops

Look at what hell got, mail from fish scale docks

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

Then '09 came, them bad record sales

Wocky, she's a dancer, walkie-talkie ace for back up like fag

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

Put these bitches on lock down, something like jail

With parts of their body through the mail

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

New canvas she need a new stroke