This is a song about "Mail"

A real live tale about a snitch named haitian jack

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

Look at what hell got, mail from fish scale docks

What a feeling of overcoming the odds

With parts of their body through the mail

See i'm ahead but you stay the snail

While i got my hand on the tec, wave

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

My bitch more sophisticated cause she like to smoke

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