[Verse] Through rain or the sleet, he stomp in his boots, Neighborhood soldier, delivering truth. Letter sack heavy, spine like a steel beam, Postmarked menace, no time for your dream. Front porch shadows, he ain't here to chat, Not Amazon Prime, he don’t deal with that. Envelope assassin, routes mapped in his dome, He the king of the curb, don’t step in his zone. [Chorus] The postman cometh, better clear the lane, Certified grind, he ain't here for fame. Packages drop, but the hustle remains, Ask where it’s at? You just playin' games. [Verse 2] Mailbox tyrant, your driveway his stage, He’ll stamp your complaints, toss 'em in the cage. No barcode scanner, just ink on his hands, Letters like bullets, they cut through the lands. He don’t track shipments, don’t care where it’s gone, Mutter 'bout your orders, he'll keep movin' on. "Where's my package?"—you soundin' absurd, Man of his word, just delivering words. [Bridge] Every block, every stop, his duty don't fold, Neither snow nor heat, that creed he upholds. Postal prophet, every step paved in grit, Try to test his patience? Boy, you best quit.
