It's cool
One, one, one, one, yeah
We get down
My man Pocket, Uh
R.I.P. Damien Bell
You know what I'm sayin'
Check how do this

[Verse 1]
The tax on my shoes cost more than ya clothes
I'm lookin' for beats, while y'all lookin' for hoes
Am I opposed to that practice? Never
But I'm a Fender Rhodes scholar
Studio musician not a studio gangsta
I entice with mic and beat devices, while y'all niggas
Giving clerks the beat list, driving up the record prices
The main reason for you pre-life crisis
Is the fact that y'all ain't first with the facts of who the nicest
I do drugs, I'm the nigga that bugs
A.K.A. Count Bass, 32 length, and 32 waist
Nothin' but talent up top money
That's what you get from me
A ill rhyme and a quality beat
Solid, production is my function
Whether sober, or stoned, drunk
I got the funk, for walkmans and trunks
For wild niggas and punks
For weed fiends that spark
It's traditional rap music created in the park
It's like that and, that and, that, that, that
That, that, that, that, that, that, and
It's like on, on, on, on, on
Ayo, Orville Redenbacher got the dopest microwave popcorn
Uh, it's like that and we out
Me and Pocket up in here in Murfreesboro, peace