This is a song about "Two three four roses"

Your own physical, superficial not spiritual

Ice on our two four, you know it's too cool. time's too cruel.

Give your mother a call, bring your girlfriend roses,

Professing they found one ready as this

The flow cold as a shoulder of a gold diggin hoes

One two three to late now your gone busted nose

Niggas fuck with your boy, i can make you some money

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

So here it is on myself ... are you ready one , two three lets go

Where to begin when love ends on a bad noteor being honest make the trust grow

Glory but you dint know my back story. then i go one two three

They hating, patrolling and trying to catch me riding dirty

That's flyer than a wrestler, you don't want to mess with

We once came from fields of cotton to roses