Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Hard Times, artist - Ludacris. Album song Chicken - N - Beer, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 31.12.2002
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: The Island Def Jam
Song language: English
Hard Times |
I’m tryin to make it through these hard times |
I’m tryin to make it through these hard times (hard, times) |
I’m tryin to make it through these hard times |
I’m tryin to make it through these hard times (hard, times) |
I’m tryin to make it through these hard times |
I’m tryin to make it through these hard times (hard, times) |
Hard times (hard), hard times (hard) |
You never know how much you miss a person, until they gone |
Like to hear it? |
Hear it go, I’m rehearsing, gotta sing my song |
I know I’ve done some wrong, but I can’t get right |
Cause life is like a big fight |
I’m stickin-and-movin, tryin to get my shit right |
My family’s been houndin me, friends they done turned against me |
Kinda like they hearts was on a full tank, but now they empty |
And they say I’ve changed, but like twins I’m just the same |
It’s because of my job, mo' money mo' prob in this dirty game |
This industry FUCKED UP |
That’s right I said it, and it’s fake as ever |
Keep real niggas around me, stay Space Age 4 Eva |
Po-ppa never went and jumped the broom, never got that one degree |
But if you looked down from heaven, you’d still be proud of me |
Your son was DUI, but my momma made it by |
I didn’t shed no tears when you left me |
But the rest of the family cried |
Trials and tribulations, ruined my concentration |
Losin my patience, hard times for goodness sake’n |
As this Valium slowly starts to kick in |
Them subconcious, subliminal thoughts, start tickin |
This whole world around me, diseased, and crumblin |
Babies doin dope cause daddy did it right in front of them |
Everybody wanna blame music for they bad kids |
Sittin up in the court talkin 'bout Eminem made me do what I did |
My own hard times rolled in like the fog |
Try to think of others, but I can’t get past my own thoughts |
My momma, in 1967, pickin cotton |
While other blacks was gettin liberated, boycottin |
My old man was a player, ain’t no hidin that |
He started tootin then he graduated to smokin crack |
I never saw him, never needed to see that muh’fucker |
He left me and my mother stuck down here in this fuckin gutter |
I tattoed it on my arm so I can’t forget it |
It’s in my mind and my heart so I’m forever with it |
A drum machine, the old fo'-track, and a pack of new tapes |
In the middle of, 1988, in a corner cafe |
We made beats, and hung with old heads, and stayed out late at night |
Do talent shows, fo'-way split the dough, that was our way of life |
My momma stayed, home full time so she could raise me |
Knowin without a, household father, things could get crazy |
Sometimes I listened, sometimes I thought I knew it all |
But nevertheless, momma was with me through it all |
I graduated out of nothin, not out of school, it was like |
12, 13, 14 years I’m thinkin cool |
I might as well, be focusin on me tryin to get paid |
Usin these rhymes I’ve been writin since in the 7th grade |
Our team played, and had physical sex with minimum wage |
It was just like a piece of pussy |
It fucked me long as I stayed |
But still I prayed, Lord I’m tryin now please help me out the water |
It can’t get no harder |
Help me to get back up and get my shit tomorrow |