[Count Ba**]
Faith the size of a mustard seed
Vices consist of lust and greed
Idolatry needs, counterfeit gods, Tim Keller in my study
I'll be sure to pray night and day like Kid Cudi
My muddy water's bloody
I know I'm somebody, God don't make junk
Shortie wanna holler cause Count make new funk
Girth of a tree trunk
A hundred fifty push-ups a day, ain't no punk
I figured I make it difficult cause dope is always the result
New heights I'm gaining, my status can only catapult
Everyday ritual, live in the studio
Some may claim it, my sh** is literal
A talented individual, one man, one god indivisible
With beats and rhymes for all
Even minds that's small
Cross the line and won't fumble the ball
[DJ Pocket]
White keys pushed by black n***as
Sniffed by fiends who overdose on this American dream
The B-More streets is where I'm from but not consumed with the life
Made it out so my fam ain't got to live so trife
Music's my life even though it took away some parts
I call it sacrifice, cause I'm in love with the art
I was born to catch wreck
Man, f** y'all pinkie swears, come on man, cut the check
Bring back the real, me and Count still in total control
Every day in the lab, not out on parole
Ain't got no love for the serpent who slithers round mine
So I strike first nina tucked dip of the spine
Get dough myself or with my crew, iTunes is the proof
Catalogue gets bigger when I hit the booth
Crib by the creek, not the dock of the bay
All in all Big P's ok