This is a song about "The roots"

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

I got a dolla and a dream, real niggas on my team

Real artists blow up and they forget their roots,

Plus how he gon’ tell me, he don't make the rules

I call all my troops to go back to the hip-hop roots,

And you ain't gettin' it, 'til you start payin' jewels

Ain't none of my niggas crip, and we giving niggas the blues

They sayin', "you forgot ya roots", now i'm all across the news,

I call all my troops to go back to the hip-hop roots,

Honest, sincere, they seersuckers, lying in suits

Like the sewage in the major polluted cities , stripped the roots

Walkin through the streets wearin jewels, breakin niggas makin moves

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

This the district where politicians is fucking goons

My primary concerns are to focus on my modest roots,

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