This is a song about "Wilted roses"

Roses are red and violets are blue

You didn't see me here if someone ask you

On a wheelchair upon a bed of roses long decayed

Must be part of some big plan to keep a brotha in tha state

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

Fine women love losers, that treat 'em bad and cheap

Not a click i click with the bitch clicks me left me with my dead trees wilted new industry

Commence to poppin' motherfuckers copy it fatalefficiently i delete then flee

Several hundred roses for the dozens bullets leaves you in the casket,

Every time i walk inside the house, she always tend to start shit

I'm fucking asthmatic, my records problematic

Roses/ and immortal tactics buried in my attic

Smokin' weed like it ain't no thing, so even kids

We once came from fields of cotton to roses

She doesn't understand the notion, of turning rosaries to roses

She glammed up behind that eyeliner i know there's tears