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Correct Bring My Mail Lyrics
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Z-Ro
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Correct Bring My Mail
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Lyrics:
I'd Like to thank my fans, For all the love mail and the hate mail Everytime I was in jail and the judge didn't let me make bail The prosecutor gave me my time and laughed in my face Cuz he knows I'm goin from first to last place So I'm making out another commissary list Stamped envelopes, and soups, oatmeal, and tuna fish Soda, candy, kool offs, coffee as close to codine as I can get it Hoping this weekend I get another visit But I aint stressin, I'm just countin down weeks Poppin muscle relaxers so I'm always sleep The warden wants the co's to catch me slippin But they aint trippin, so they bringin me burgers and barbeque chicken Some of them love me, some of them they can't stand me Probably cuz I'm rich and in the world I ride kandy They think they put me through hell, But I can't tell It don't matter what they do as long as they bring my mail [Chorus:] Bring my maaaaaaaaillllll Bring my mail My mail (my mail) You can bring my maaaaaaillllll Bring my mail (my mail, my mail, my mail...) Aint nothing on the tv but jerry springer, And a s*** guard in the picket But the windows are tinted so you can't barely see her I really hope they call reck in a sec Otherwise workout a little bit and try to get a channel check Certain officers try to give me a hard time And the G. I. 's watching trying to catch me throwing up gang signs For no reason at all they constantly harass me Trying to get me to lose my temper so they can gas me It's funny, cuz I got so much pride they can't take none of it from me They just mad cuz they aint makin enough money And still gotta work on holidays all day and night Taking is out on me cuz I'm in all white But it's alright I just lay back When I get out I love to see their faces when I peel out in my may back Meanwhile I can't even tell I'm in jail Cuz I'm doing swell Yall can kiss my ass on the way to bring my mail [Chorus:] I'm usually out eating for the holidays, But instead I'll be sharing meat packs and noodles with my cellys and we spread The tattoo guns runnin, And homies getting hit up Drinking hooch till we fall off and it's hard to get up But there's always one that wanna ruin it You know the one that's always pointing fingers, He the one that be doin it Running off at the mouth but aint man enough to repeat it to the rank So they taking both the tv's out the tank No necessities either but we can wash our own clothes But somebody gonna get shit if we don't get to watch the superbowl I don't even look at television in the world So I'm good, I'll write a rap or write a couple of girls Or read me a book and put some fat on my brain Before I come back to prison they have to murder me mayne My in and out the jail house has to stop But in the meantime I need to see how many new pictures I got Bring my mail [Chorus:]
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