This is a song about "Mail"

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

Goin’ for the grips every day ’til the grave

We running that show all around the globe

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

Look at what hell got, mail from fish scale docks

Can't see his son shine like the four tops

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

And ya’ll better relax, talking bout that he wack

My mom broke but she posted the bail

With parts of their body through the mail