CORSA Half-A-Mil (Hit-Boy & DOM KENNEDY)

[Intro: Hit-Boy]
Uh
Yeah

[Chorus: Hit-Boy]
We don't jump clique to clique, Hit-Boy but I ain't like you kids
They know what it is, peel off Lambo tires skid
Doin' the most, imagine you and me close
I'm too ahead, all of that homie shit dead
Niggas can't call me their friends
Or call me their mans or call me their woe
These forty belows, my heart is still cold, I got it in Corsa, revvin' the motor
I'm gettin' change, they wanna see me slip through the crack
Shorty is into me, she let me crash, two-person party, we havin' a bash

[Verse 1: Hit-Boy]
What you think all this Julio for?
She told me, "Go lock up the studio doors"
She actin' up like it's the movie awards, for real, for real, for real
You gotta love a discreet freak, that's for real, for real, for real
Nigga, it's twenty on my receipts, that's for real, for real, for real
I just left out H Lorenzo in Maxfield
Tool on me, we still can't build
I be solo on the real, smokin' personals of kill
I kept it 1K, that's how I'ma stay
She wearin' Saint but she not a saint
All ten down, that's how I was raised for all of my days