CORSA Lyrics
Won’t jump clique to clique
Hit-Boy, but I ain’t like you kids
They know what time 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
N***** can’t call me they friend
Or call me they mans
Or call me they woe
These 40 below’s
My heart is still colder
Got it in Corsa, revving the motor
I’m getting change, they want see me slip through the cracks
Shorty is into me, she let me crash
2-person party, we having a bash
What you think all this Julio for
She told me, “Go lock up the studio door”
She acting up like it’s the movie awards for real, real, real
You gotta love a discreet freak, that’s for real, real, real
N****, it’s 20 on my receipt, that’s for real, real, real
I just left out H. Lorzeno in Maxfield
Tool on me, we still can’t build
I be solo on the real
Smoking personals of kill
I kept it 1k, that’s how I’ma stay
She wearing Saint, but she not a saint
All ten down that’s how I was raised for all of my days
Won’t jump clique to clique
Hit-Boy, but I ain’t like you kids
They know what time 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
N***** can’t call me they friend
Or call me they mans
Or call me they woe
These 40 below’s
My heart is still colder
Got it in Corsa, revving the motor
I’m getting change, they want see me slip through the cracks
Shorty is into me, she let me crash
2-person party, we having a bash
Don’t jump clique to clique
Most these guys is courtefiet
I’m in the hood without a stick
You never know, might see some shit
She love me cause I don’t cum quick
I’m local but still out the mix
This stripper bitch 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 throwing fits
Want a n**** to pay that rent
I ain’t like these rappers or these trappers hustling backwards
I talk facts bruh, all you after, is the fame and the pussy
That shit wack to us
Uh, I put that on my cousin!
I been thuggin’, 2 tires cost like $1,600
My n**** died I’m driving home, I’m sick to my stomach
But self-pity won’t cut it
I tell ’em, “Up the budget”
Now n***** wanna own they masters, y’all 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 wit’ a bad one
Take a pic wit’ me, then tag ’em
N***** can’t call me they friend
Or call me they mans
Or call me they whoadies
40 below, my heart is still cold
I got it in sport, I’m reving the motor
I’m getting change, they want me to slip through the cracks
Baby is into men she let crash
2-person party, we having a bash
Won’t jump clique to clique
Hit-Boy, but I ain’t like you kids
They know what time 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 shit” dead