Who's Hard? chords by Big Shug

SimplifiedAm · A

GuitarPianoUkulele

Verse 1
Am 
 (A minor) Who's up? Is it you? Is it me?
Is it the fact that you had your own faculty?
Is it the fact that you took the double,
triple, threes?
All of that don't mean shit to me.
For real, for real.
I've been in this hip -hop game for mad
I sat back and watched
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 or maimed
The wild, more or less seem tame
Not one to name names
But you know who the fuck you are
when you fake the game
A 
Word up, now it's time  (A major) to
Am 
meet your  (A minor) maker
Move faker like a CeeLo game
I swear to God, I'ma break ya, take ya
To the fourth ten, drop you off
And let them ground floor niggas
take your fucking head off
And you'll be screaming for a CO
with a half a broken back
And a bloody ass nose,
I suppose this what happens
when you fake too hard
Someone from the yard
always pulls your card
Cause your persona holds no weight
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 man's wife
You'll probably wait till late at night
And slit your wrist
and take your own motherfuckin' life
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 took 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 told the
double -triple -threes?
All of that don't mean shit to me.
For real, for real.
Still wanna be gangster?
Still wanna claim thug?
My box cutter flow
make eyebrows spit blood.
Fake gangsters
get shot in the mug,
wrapped in a rug.
Weeks later, your body discovered,
covered with bugs.
Let's face it, you ain't gangster,
you straight -up bitch.
Real gangsters 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 gang tight
New jacks come around,
wanna take my spot
But on my block, I'm the cock,
so you must be the twat
Big Suge, feel me like four pair of hands
Or get punched in the mouth
and earth slammed
Or get shot in the ass
and stuffed in a trash can
Word life, I'm reppin'
it hard for murder ban
Yeah, yeah, there's too many of niggas
out there fakin'
You understand, we watchin' all of y 'all
And personally,
I'll slap the jackrabbit,
Am 
bunnyhop (A minor) pin' shit out
of your punk ass
and don't think twice about it
You understand?
A 
Am 
 (A major) And them fake  (A minor) corny niggas
you rollin' with,
I don't trust them
So when they make moves,
I'ma bust them,
that's how I'm feelin'
Fuck it, we keepin' it real,
we keepin' it underground
You niggas ain't hard,
A 
the  (A major) fuck outta here
For Red Ale, for Red Ale