Workin’

[Intro: Dom Kennedy]
Niggas thought they heard the most playa' shit ever...
Than they heard the Half-A-Mil shit
Know what I'm saying?
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Ayy, ayy, look
No matter what you can't see...
Word!

[Verse 1: Dom Kennedy]
Money falling on the ground
Damn I missed the Ye concert
A stripper dancing on me head pressed
And she smell good too
Shoes ain't Jimmy Choo's
I can tell she high maintenance everybody want a turn
I don't wanna know her name unless she leaving here with me
Hopping in the car alone diamond cross saying bling
I went to Orville Wright middle school
With Rodney and Idris
My momma don't like it when you call me Dominic
Before rap songs I was really doing freaks
I was really getting fresh neck stains on the sheets
How niggas ain't got the Half-A-Mil on repeat?
Number 1 album of the year for the streets
Fuck around and make me go Pope Don Paul
Did more for LA than Kobe and Brian Shaw
Niggas don't invite me to their shows
Cause they hoes might run up on me
75 inch on me getting my back rubbed
No matter what you can't see me
Air any season, balling be the reason
42 hundred dollar bills please believe me
With the credit card monday to the weekend
Throw another dub in the air keep it going
Throw another dub in the air keep it going
Throw another dub in the air keep it going
Ay I see you workin'

[Verse 2: Hit-Boy]
Look
Work work work work work work work
Yeah you know I got that work, uh
Work work work work work work work
Taking no days off, corner pocket A1
Space Age Pimpin', MJG and 8 Ball
Playing on my apple connect
Nothing less than half a mil on the check
Work, work it like a star, play my shit
She know every word by heart
Tell them niggas they was close but no cigar
Graduating ain't a task
And I know the money make you back flip
I'm just tryna live and grow
I feel like Casey, just face it, I'm facing these dutchies
The squad never ducking
Drag my name in publications I'm the one they still can't fuck with
Y'all ride waves for entertainment
My daddy got cases, put up bread to get him out
And I still couldn't get him out
Just got a text from uncle westside
He got bails of the south
In the text he first he got bail from the towers
Bring the cameras out, direct this Half-a-Mil movie
Hit it right before a period and now she acting moody
Y'all must have been fooled
Now the kid ain't slacking braids in the hair, poetic justice
Janet Jackson, grab that Perrier Jouet off the shelf
Now tell me more about yourself

[Interlude: Woman]
[?]
I'm from the Bay
I graduated from [?]
I'm a Mexican blood
I'm fucking with Half-A-Mil

[Outro: Dom Kennedy]
Can't see me
No matter what you can't see me
Can't see me