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lirik lagu corsa – half-a-mil (hit-boy & dom kennedy)

[intro: hit*boy]
uh
yeah

[chorus: hit*boy]
don’t jump, clique to clique, hit*boy ain’t ridin’ like you kids
they know what it is, peel off, lambo tired skeet
doin’ the most
imagine you and me close
i’m too ahead
all of the “homies sh*t” dead
n*ggas can’t call me their friends or call me their mans
or call me their woadie, it’s forty below
my heart is still colder, got it in corsa, i’m revvin’ the motor
i’m gettin’ chains, they won’t see me slip through the crack
shawty 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
n*gga, it’s twenty on my receipts, that’s for real, for real, for real
i just left out h lorenzo in max field
tool on me, we still can’t build
i be solo on the real
smokin’ personal’s a k!ll
i kept it 1k, that’s how i’ma stay
she wanna say it, but she not a saint
all team down, that’s how i was raised for all of my days

[chorus: hit*boy & dom kennedy]
don’t jump, clique to clique, hit*boy ain’t ridin’ like you kids
they know what it is, peel off, lambo tired skeet
doin’ the most
imagine you and me close
i’m too ahead
all of the “homies sh*t” dead
n*ggas can’t call me their friends or call me their mans
or call me their woadie, it’s forty below
my heart is still colder, got it in corsa, i’m revvin’ the motor
i’m gettin’ chains, they won’t see me slip through the crack
shawty is into me, she let me crash (yeah), two*person party, we havin’ a bash
[verse 2: dom kennedy]
don’t jump, clique to clique, most these guys is counterfeit
i’m in the hood without a stick, you never know, might see some sh*t
she love me ’cause i don’t cum/come quick, i’m local but still out the mix
this stripper b*tch live by the risk, talkin’ sl!ck gon’ get you hit
i’m hood rich but i never trick, she fine but still, i won’t commit
spoiled hoes throwin’ fists, want a n*gga to pay their rent
i ain’t like these rappers, all these trappers hustlin’ backwards
all talk facts, bro, all you after is the fame and the p*ssy, that sh*t wack to us
uh, i put that on my cousin
i been thuggin’, two tires cost like sixteen hundred
my n*gga died, i’m drivin’ home, i’m sick to my stomach
but self*pity won’t cut it, i tell ’em, “up the budget”
now n*ggas wanna own their masters, y’all actors
i’m a factor, roll like tractors, playin’ ginuwine… the bachelor
if i want it, i could have her, and my amex say i’m platinum
at the car wash with a bad one, take a pic with me then tag ’em

[chorus: dom kennedy]
n*ggas can’t call me their friends or call me their mans
or call me their woadie, it’s forty below
my heart is still colder, i got it in sport, i’m revvin’ the motor
i’m gettin’ chains, they want me to me slip through the crack
baby is into me, she let me crash, two*person party, we havin’ a bash

[chorus: hit*boy, dom kennedy, ]
don’t jump, clique to clique, hit*boy ain’t ridin’ like you kids
they know what it is, peel off, lambo tired skeet

imagine you and me close
i’m too ahead (i’m too ahead)
all of the “homies sh*t” dead (yeah)

- half a mil hit boy dom kennedy

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