This is a song about "Two three four roses"

And naw that ain't your girl, dog, but you be feelin' that chick

Roses/ and immortal tactics buried in my attic

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

And wonder how we ever came to this

I’m pushing that way where you came out as a baby

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

Roses grow from concrete, blossom into sweet magnolias,

A lot of women from conversation could fall in love

You are water wild so i guess your pussy empty

The hardest four bars, and i aint even count to three

Better yet a genie baby make ya first wish

U avoid me- u playing ring around the roses!

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

And every night, believe, we gon' leave with somebody

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

My bitch bad, looking like a bag of money