This is a song about "Roots manuva"

Honest, sincere, they seersuckers, lying in suits

And if they try to raise a coup, kill em at the roots

Complications come from constant falling nations and wicked roots,

Ain't had shit to loose, pullin' my pistol on them fools

To win today would just seem like a lavish dream

Wicked roots up under me, it was mean, no peaches, cream,

Refuse to even try and just go back to our roots,

This the district where politicians is fucking goons

Black thoughts never explore their roots, up under me,

And you ain't bothered a bit now, baby

Just trying to link this music and its roots in the streets,

You know the common statistic inspired by hoop dreams

Never forget your roots and spit the real truth and

Revolvers, automatics, guns stay silent

You wonder where we learn that? i call the cops the roots,

Flyer then the rest of them, still got my nike boots