This is a song about "Count f monte cristo"

The body count is the physical proof

I ain’t gotta lie, they know i’m the truth

Taking ten thousand tragedies- boy i can't even count

Girl you’re gonna want another round, another round

Count doughwork hard all day ever day

But more importantly taught me to pray

The watch cost me 2; your bitch, free

I count 5 fingers between you and me

Always wanted a piece of the pie, now it’s sliced right

[f] forgettin' fame formulates foreplay for suicide,

And verbally swears the count in making

Same '89 camry that needs painting

That's food for thought you muthafuckas can do the dishes

But i just can't stand how f***** up the whole world is