Lyrics to CORSA by Hit-Boy & DOM KENNEDY
Uh
Yeah
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 *** dead
Niggas can’t call me their friends
Or call me their mans or call me their woadies
Forty below, my heart is still cold, I got it in Corsa, revvin’ the motor
I’m gettin’ change, they wanna see me slip through the ***
Shorty is into me, she let me crash, two-person party, we havin’ a bash
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
***, 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 ***
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
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 *** dead
Niggas can’t call me their friends
Or call me their mans or call me their woadies
Forty below, my heart is still cold, I got it in Corsa, revvin’ the motor
I’m gettin’ change, they wanna see me slip through the ***
Shorty is into me, she let me crash (Yeah) two-person party, we havin’ a bash
Don’t jump clique to clique, most these guys is ***
I’m in the hood without a stick, you never know, might see some ***
She love me ’cause I don’t *** quick, I’m local but still out the mix
This *** *** live by the Ritz, talkin’ slick gon’ get you hit
I’m hood rich but I never trick, she fine but still I won’t commit
Spoiled hoes throwin’ fits, want a *** that pay their rent
I ain’t like these rappers, all these trappers hustlin’ backwards
All talk facts, bruh, all you after is the fame and the ***, that *** wack to us
Uh, I put that on my cousin
I been thuggin’, two tires cost like sixteen hundred
My *** 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 niggas 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
Niggas can’t call me their friends
Or call me their mans or call me their woadies
40 below, my heart is still cold, I got it in sport, I’m revvin’ the motor
I’m gettin’ change, they want me to me slip through the ***
Baby is into me, she let me crash, two-person party, we havin’ a bash
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 (I’m too ahead) all of that homie *** dead (Yeah)