H.A.R.D.

We met each other on a magazine cover

It's like God told us we had to be brothers in this rap music

Never fuckin' with beat makers, just the (Heatmakerz)

We makin' (Crack music)

All hail the king, I'm back

This time around I'm coming to get it all

Bigger in the hood than Fentanyl

Yeah, I'm killin' y'all

Porsche with the ceilin' off

Pink blacker than the skin of Senegal

I'm night crawling like Jake Gyllenhaal

All independent though, but you can't tell by the way I'm spendin' though

Out here talkin' slick as the kitchen floor

Y'all rock aluminum cans, your jewelry's Michelob

Mine got 'em green with envy, these niggas Piccolo

Pick a flow

I smack a rapper with a lyric that'll hit 'em harder than that nigga Riddick Bowe, then go, go and let critics know

Crooked came up on food stamps, he knew he'd be a champ

Now the Louis V is stamped on my boot clamp

Bitches know, they wave when I smash past

Try to flag me down like the Star-Spangle at half-mast

My money was young, I didn't have cash

Now I'm like the comedian headlining: I knew I'd get the last laugh

Really though

I've been way too humble for way too long

And I think it's time you know what it takes me to sing these songs

Sometimes I just wanna take my ball and go home

'Cause if I want it bad enough I might have to go alone

Really though

Yeah, brother, been a ride since that cover

From the hood to seeing the whole world with one another

With two other motherfuckers among us: the four sluggers

To this day we break the internet, we talk to each other

Maybe one day we'll reunite at Coachella

'Til then it's just me and my dawg, Ol' Yeller

Joell is just a fresh pawn teller from the 'jects with dope sellers

War vests and chrome metal would ejecto whole melons

Was a mess in front of the buildin'

I'm mindin' my business, bumpin' that Audio Two

Sippin' my Yoo-hoo milk, I was chillin'

Buffalo hat top billin', man, give me credit