This is a song about "Guns n roses"

On a wheelchair upon a bed of roses long decayed

Mostly cause niggas hate you, tryin to fill up your plate

You see him as a god

Dont stop uh, roses in the pot

Roses/ and immortal tactics buried in my attic

Push you into an old lady bagging plastic

And them hating ass niggas, we ain’t like those

Roses grown from concrete and mean streets, not meadows,

She doesn't understand the notion, of turning rosaries to roses

It's no drought were i be, bitch no police, here's fire wings

Carry guns bro only guns you got is muscles

Hasheem thabeet and various other peoples

And we ain't hard to find is the tales that we kick

Roses/ and immortal tactics buried in my attic

Don’t let me talk about the deal ones

Packing guns, n' tackling bums.