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Artist: Z-Ro 
Album:  Cocaine 
Song:   Bring My Mail 
Typed by: Lil Hustle 
That's right nigga, King of the Ghetto in this 
Check it out, uh 
I'd like to thank my fans for all the love mail, and the hate mail 
Everytime I was in jail, and the judge ain't let me make bail 
The prosecuter gave me my time, and laughed in my face 
Cause he knows I'm going from first, to last place 
So I'm making out, another commissary list 
Stamped envelopes and soups, oatmeal and tuna fish 
So the candy cool off's, coffee is close to coedine as I can get it 
Hoping this weekend, I get another visit 
But I ain't stressing, I'm just counting down weeks 
Popping muscle relaxers, so I'm always sleep 
The warden wants the C.O.'s, to catch me slipping 
But they ain't tripping, so they bringing me burgers and barbequed chicken 
Some of em love me, some of em they can't stand me 
Probably cause I'm rich, and in the world I ride candy 
They think they put me through hell, but I can't tell 
It don't matter what they do, long as they 
Bring my maaaaail, bring my mail 
My mail, (bring my mail my mail) 
You can bring my maaaaail, bring my mail 
My mail (bring my mail my mail) 
Ain't nothing on the TV, but Jerry Springer 
And a sexy gaurd in the pickett, but the windows are tinted so you can barley see her 
I really hoppe, they call wreck intersect 
Otherwise work out a lil' bit, or 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 costantly harrass me 
Trying to get me to lose my temper, so they can gas me 
It's funny, cause I got so much pride they can't take none of it from me 
They just mad, cause they ain't making enough money 
And still gotta work on holidays, all day and night 
Taking it out on me, cause I'm in all white 
But it's alright, I just lay back 
When I get out, I'd love to see they faces when I peel out in my Maybach 
Meanwhile, I can't even tell I'm in jail 
Cause I'm doing swell, y'all can kiss my ass on the way to bring my mail 
I'm usually out, eating for the holidays, but instead 
I'm pitching meat packs and noodles with my cellies, and we spread 
The tattoo gun running, and homies getting hit up 
Drinking hoops till we fall out, and it's hard to get up 
But it's always one, that wanna ruin it 
You know the one that's always pointing fingers, he the one that be doing it 
Running off at the mouth, but ain't 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 gon' get slid, 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, to put some fat on my brain 
Before I come back to prison, they'll have to murder me mayn 
My in and out the jailhouse, has got to stop 
But in the mean time, I need to see how many new pictures I got bring my mail