Who’s Hard?

[Chorus]
Who's hard?
Is it you? Is it me?
Is it the fact that you had your own faculty?
Is it the fact that you choke the double triple threes?
All of that don't mean shit to me
For real
Who's hard?
Is it you? Is it me?
Is it the fact that you had your own faculty?
Is it the fact that you choke the double triple threes?
All of that don't mean shit to me
For real, for real

[Verse 1]
I been in this Hip-Hop game for mad
I sat back and watch cornballs go for bad
Sorta sad, actually, a damn shame
What the fuck ever happened to the game? Simple and plain
Most of the real are locked up on main
The while, more or less seem tame
Not want to name names
But you know who the fuck you are when you fake the game, word up
Now it's time to meet your maker, move faker
Like a Cee-lo game, I swear to god I'ma break ya
Take ya to the fourth then drop you off
And let them Brownfloor niggas take your fuckin' head off
And you'll be screamin' for CO
With a half a broken back and a bloody ass nose
I suppose this what happens when you fake to all
Someone from the yard always pulls your card
'Cause your persona knows no way
And faggots like you always jump the gate
Let's set the whole world straight
Before you meet your death and it's too damn late
Why do you wish to perpetrate, when there's other jobs to do?
Like tables to wait, that better suit you
And I advise you to step two
'Cause when I bring the pain there'll be nothing you can do
You never did a bit in your life
Imagine you being another mans wife
You probably wait to late at night
And slit your wrist and take your own muthafuckin' life
For real (for real)

[Chorus]
Who's hard?
Is it you? Is it me?
Is it the fact that you had your own faculty?
Is it the fact that you choke the double triple threes?
All of that don't mean shit to me
For real
Who's hard?
Is it you? Is it me?
Is it the fact that you had your own faculty?
Is it the fact that you choke the double triple threes?
All of that don't mean shit to me
For real, for real

[Verse 2]
Still wanna be gangsta, still wanna claim thug?
My boxcutter flow make eyebrows spit blood
Fake gangsta get shot in the mug, wrapped in a rug
Weeks later your body discovered covered with bugs
Let's face it you ain't gangsta you straight up bitch
Real gangstas don't eat shit or drink piss
They fight for they right all day and all night
But the main thing is to keep they game tight
New jacks come around wanna take my spot
But on my block I'm the cock so you must be the twat
Big Shug, feel me like forebearer hands
Or get punched in your mouth and earth slammed
Or get shot in the ass and stuffed in a trash can
Word life, I'm reppin' it hard for Murdapan

[Outro]
Yeah yeah there's too many you niggas out there fakin'
You understand we watchin' all of y'all
And personally, I'll slap the jack rabbit bunny hoppin' shit out of your punk ass
Don't think twice about it, you understand?
And all them fake corny niggas you rollin' with
I don't trust 'em
So when they make moves I'ma bust 'em
That's how I'm feelin'
Fuck it, we keepin' it real, we keepin' it underground
You niggas ain't hard, the fuck outta here
For real, for real