This is a song about "Woodlands resort"

If that, the rest of you niggas get lapped, i sit back

And probably i'll resort to doin' shit for cash like breaking bad,

With your flashlight, tell me what do you see

Resort to robbin' to feed my family

Resort to playing before i bring the glory/

The dips, consulted by the son of malachi york, doggy

The money gets closer when you seem to be grindin' more

For the last resort, don't show the tour, i know what i'm here for

On guitars no codeine in this resort we destroy

Accountable for a half a million unaccounted for... boy

Bout some, but never put out the stout guns

Who resort to wearing some little sweater jackets

And even though shit's trife at times, never resort to life of crime,

I'm worldwide i'm certified, pop a bottle my cali dime

And if they resort to mix-tapes, my feats'll beat 'em per cassette

And i'm somali so i guess i'm just tryna eat bread