This is a song about "Two three four roses"

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

You could have it all alone, cause i’m better without you

Roses/ and immortal tactics buried in my attic

With a staggerin' pack of cocaine in the sack of my dick

It set in stone in these poems there ain’t nothing bogus

Roses grow from concrete, blossom into sweet magnolias,

Give your mother a call, bring your girlfriend roses,

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

Gotta pay back that advance, so they ain't gave you shit

It's only one round, two or three i don't need it

With an impending mixtape that only seems like a myth

U avoid me- u playing ring around the roses!

Normally i order three or four of these

And danced around the house in all-over print panties

I'm understanding that bull like a matador

So when i kick in the door, not waving the four four