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