It's coolOne, one, one, one, yeahWe get downMy man Pocket, UhR.I.P. Damien BellYou know what I'm sayin'Check how do this[Verse 1]The tax on my shoes cost more than ya clothesI'm lookin' for beats, while y'all lookin' for hoesAm I opposed to that practice? NeverBut I'm a Fender Rhodes scholarStudio musician not a studio gangstaI entice with mic and beat devices, while y'all niggasGiving clerks the beat list, driving up the record pricesThe main reason for you pre-life crisisIs the fact that y'all ain't first with the facts of who the nicestI do drugs, I'm the nigga that bugsA.K.A. Count Bass, 32 length, and 32 waistNothin' but talent up top moneyThat's what you get from meA ill rhyme and a quality beatSolid, production is my functionWhether sober, or stoned, drunkI got the funk, for walkmans and trunksFor wild niggas and punksFor weed fiends that sparkIt's traditional rap music created in the parkIt's like that and, that and, that, that, thatThat, that, that, that, that, that, andIt's like on, on, on, on, onAyo, Orville Redenbacher got the dopest microwave popcornUh, it's like that and we outMe and Pocket up in here in Murfreesboro, peace
