This is a song about "Two three four roses"

Roses grow from concrete, blossom into sweet magnolias,

And when we on the road, bitches follow the tour bus

You're stuck in a time warp from two thousand four though

You going to the club though, you soaking in sorrow

One, two, three little fags, they fuck with my homies so i grab out the body bags,

Inducing my movements / as i'm improving my fusing on tracks

But respect is more real, and ambition the key

Two or three, hits of thc, yeah it fits for me.

C’mon and let’s chill baby

One two three, what could it be

Or two. or maybe three?

Six-fifty, three hundred my shirt free

Normally i order three or four of these

Eyes all stickin' like honey on bees

Your grind's feeble, i'm regal, really, i'm willy smith

U avoid me- u playing ring around the roses!