Al-d Mailman Lyrics

Mailman Lyrics

f/ Mr. 3-2







(*talking*)



(*knocking on door*) who the fuck is it



(It's the mailman), about time you got here



(you got my money), yeah 250 dollas



(what the fuck is 250 dollas, say Fed-Ex



This Al-Ex, and I'm fin to execute your



Motherfucking ass, if you don't give me the



Rest of my god damn money)



(*screaming*)







[Hook]



I'm the mailman, I'm the mailman



I'm the mailman, sacks or stacks in my hand



I'm the mailman, I'm the mailman



I went from rags to riches, now you bitches can't understand







[Al-D]



I wonder if a nigga, wasn't down with this rap shit



Would I get the love and hugs, and all this dap shit



Signing autographs, no strap no mask



Now my trash in the past, ain't gotta worry bout the task



I got up off my ass, and mashed for my cash



Now his and her jacks, or own glass in the grass



I stash and stash, until I stretch mark the vault



And the pain from the game, made me gain with my chalk



I thought of this day, when the haters all knock



Now I'm getting props, from the same foul mouth



God damn, niggas ain't shit now-a-days



And bitches flock a nigga, when they see you getting paid



But like I got mine, you gotta get your's



I'm on my grind in the studio, as if it was chores



Now you look shook, and you don't understand



I went from rags to riches, bitches call me the mailman







[Hook - 2x]







[Al-D]



First I'll fuck my foes, and these money hungry hoes



Two-face niggas and bitches, hating to see me on toes



From the hood to every state, city, town and block



I'm infesting the intersection, with this uncut knot



Watch what you can't stop, don't knock cause we the shit



Third Coast smoke and toast, to this pimping G shit



Forever chasing cheddar, ass on leather



Dripping candy gripping wood, see we floss together



Living lavage with lavage, having straight to karats



Now we too damn established, in the eyes of the savage



We gon ball till we fall, hanging placks on the wall



Sipping drank and smoking dank, passing up the alcohol



Buy up the whole mall, invest and make mo'



G'd up head to toe, and keep our music playing slow



Third Coast my home, but I'm Southeast raised



Trying to increase my knot, and find a spot in the shade







[Hook - 2x]







[Mr. 3-2]



The mailman bitch, but I'm here to collect



Take my respect, make sure I get the right ones to check



You feeling me yet, I gotta get mine



Every nickel and dime, I stop niggas like stop signs



With glock 9's and barettas, it's whatever with me



The G-O-V, still throwing up S.U.C.



3-2 and Al-D, go and get it with no tussle



Working our muscle, living our life on the hustle



Wanting our albums, doing shows and features



When this deal go bad, I'ma have to delete ya



You wanna meet your up talk, with all the shedded dealing



I'm bout cash in my hand, brother how a nigga feeling







[Hook - 2x]







I'm the mailman