RESOLUTIONS, Pt. 2 Lyrics

Level Up

Spin the block

This time

Brooklyn

See this year

Ya was in the way

Homie say he real

But I feel he ain't

And I don't really care

If he

Feel a way

Truck full of weight

Send it rilla way

Corner stone of the corner store

I done Turned bodega

Into real estate

I feel the hate but

My respect

I gotta take it

So fuck complacent

I was patient

Shoe box money turned to

Million dollar savings

I'm the voice for the block

I'm speaking for the pavement

Streets they know I'm famous

That's why I Gotta keep an

Open razor

And leaking open faces

It can lead to open cases

Bout time we upgraded

I'm sturdy but live

The coke heaven sent

On God the work was divine

Streets is like the jail phone

You'll get murdered for time

We get surgical

I'm purging with mine

Still dumping steel hitting

Fuck regrets

Nothing feel different

A running meal ticket

Cuzzo still bidding

Money somersault flipping

I was dumping off pigeon's

Is you loyal to the plug or

You running off wit it

Im pure and authentic

Sticks be in da back seat

Bitch in da front though

She fuck like I'm an athlete

Back to the script bro

Yeah i got scripts though

Can't dodge coins

Like it's crypto

Shots open out the van

Store footage

Got it on the cam

In a hour yo

It's all up on the gram

For sure a 100 grand

It's gon cost you

A coffins in ya plans

Grabba and the paper

I'm just smoking

On ya man's

The whole hood

Gon feed off this

I don't need y'all

I Put hands and feet on shit

I can see ya pissed

Cause they see all drip

In designer

Euro stepping

In my dior kicks

Talking Lean or sniff

I could make a g off

Fresh off the shelf

Like it's sea moss

Say less I heard

They gotta see more

Cuz I don't deal with peons

Half moon on the techs

I got dnd on

Don't disturb

Goats preferred

Quotes is slurred

Gumbo potent herb

You need a flow

Say the word

Hit me on my phone

It's still rip Meg

I gotta hold my own

Yeah it's death before dishonor

Gotta hold my chrome

On my soul

I can't fuck with no ratón

Fuck em

By any means

Gotta get the gwap

We lick a shot

Hit a opp

Felt triggered

So the triggers pop

In broad day

We gon spin the block

Yellow tape, white chalk and

Shell casings by the chicken spot