Artist: Z-Ro Album: Cocaine Song: Bring My Mail Typed by: Lil Hustle (*talking*) That's right nigga, King of the Ghetto in this Check it out, uh [Z-Ro] 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 [Hook] 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) [Z-Ro] 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 [Hook] [Z-Ro] 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 [Hook]