Lyrics:

That's right nigga, King of the Ghetto in this, check it out
I'd like to thank my fans, for all the love mail and the hate mail
Every time I was in jail and the judge didn't let me make bail
The prosecutor gave me my time and laughed in my face
'Cause he knows I'm goin' from first to last place
So I'm makin' out another commissary list
Stamped envelopes and soups, oatmeal and tuna fish
Soda, candy, cool offs, coffee is as close to codeine as I can get it
Hopin' this weekend I get another visit
But I ain't stressin' I'm just countin down weeks
Poppin muscle relaxers so I'm always sleep
The warden want the CO's to catch me slippin' but they ain't trippin'
So they bringin' me burgers and barbecue chicken
Some of them love me, some of them 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 as long as they bring my mail
Bring my mail, bring my mail, my mail
You can bring my mail, bring my mail, my mail
Ain't nothin' on the TV but Jerry Springer
And the sexy guard in the picket but the windows are tinted
So you can barely see her
I really hope they call rec in a sec
Otherwise work out a lil' bit or try to get a channel check
Certain officers try to give me a hard time
And the GI's watching tryna catch me throwin' up gang signs
For no reason at all, they constantly harrass me
Tryin' 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 makin' enough money
And still gotta work on holidays, all day and night
Takin' it out on me 'cause I'm in all white
But it's all right 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 doin' swell
Y'all can kiss my ass on the way to bring my mail
Bring my mail, bring my mail, my mail
You can bring my mail, bring my mail, my mail
I'm usually out eatin' for the holidays, but instead
I be sharin' meat packs and noodles with my cellies and we fed
'Cause we're two gun runnin homies, gettin' hit up
Drinkin' hooch 'til 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 pointin' fingers, he the one that be doin' it
Runnin' off at the mouth but ain't man enough to repeat it to the ranks
So they takin both the TV's out the tank
No necessities either but we can wash our own clothes
But somebody gon' get slit if we don't get to watch the Super Bowl
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'l have to murder me, man
My in and out the jailhouse gotta stop
But in the meantime I need to see how many new pictures I got
Bring my mail, bring my mail, my mail
You can bring my mail, bring my mail, my mail (my mail, my mail)