This is a song about "Two three four roses"

You ain't gotta screw up your face in front of the kids

We once came from fields of cotton to roses

And i'll be rich if i get another diss

He grew from concrete, didn't live amongst the roses,

One two three four five six seven eight nine

Private plane, my seat recline

Everybody and their momma gon' chant this

Give your mother a call, bring your girlfriend roses,

U avoid me- u playing ring around the roses!

My bitches bad, these niggas mad, i guess it's just what the fame brings

Plottin' don’t even worry

Or two. or maybe three?

Roses grow from concrete, blossom into sweet magnolias,

I'm in new york now, like akeem and semmi was