This is a song about "Wilted roses"

Cause everytime you come around

Silence of the lambs, roses on the ground

And we ain't hard to find is the tales that we kick

Roses/ and immortal tactics buried in my attic

By any means, if ya like it or not

Dont stop uh, roses in the pot

Roses/ and immortal tactics buried in my attic

Push you into an old lady bagging plastic

Not the applause or roses thrown in awe

They claim it as their own, africa

But i got cousins overseas that come to me for better clothes

Im on top of my game, they look wilted like they woke up and had strokes

Okay i'm trying to hit, something's just gotta give

Give your mother a call, bring your girlfriend roses,

From ghettoes and broken homes, we're roses grown from concrete,

But little old me with the few facts that i speak