This is a song about "Two three four roses"

You spit that end rhyme trash i'm spittin syllables two or three

They giving me pounds and thats of course getting money

I’m a hustla, baby

Or two. or maybe three?

Smell the folgers get the scrotum out your focus

Roses grow from concrete, blossom into sweet magnolias,

One two three to late now your gone busted nose

You got your mean little walk with the model pose

In one two three a mother fucker that’s all he is gonna be

And the life i live is hell see, i never thought i'd see

And no matter what they do, there will never be another you

Maybe i can help u a lil with a dollar three or two

Push you into an old lady bagging plastic

Roses/ and immortal tactics buried in my attic