Everybody has to deal with hard times

Yo
(chorus)
We take pride in the way we live our lives, respect human life and accept sacrifice that it takes to get by, we know the stakes is high, so we strive for the prize and realize it's hard times.
(/chorus)
(x2)

I feel for the artist, the dearly departed that died young, for the funds, for stacks of green ones, 'n' some young guns fell victim to the slums. The same ones we try to escape from, be the same ones that have a nigga done. Comin' short of the highly publicized "real niggas don't die", it's a god damn lie. The signs is in the times. Watch what you say, you create these rhymes, 'cause in the blink of an eye, day or in the night, what you portray could be the takers of your life; you paid your price and rolled your dice to make your mic sound nice, but still got killed and crucified like Christ. Tears for my peers, traces and smears, peace and love to the ones we lost throughout the years, it should be lessons well learned, beneficial to us. This life is like a dream; when you die, that's when you wake up.

(chorus X2)

I take the bad from the good, the words from the sour, hurtin' now, your Eddie Bauer, certain power, fightin' against, face pressed against a fence too high to climb, screw life, but I'm no quitter, don't walk around bitter, not nervous, don't jitter or have shakes. Life is a script full of hard takes, from the Caspian to the Great Lakes, we perish in earthquakes, sorrow and heartbreaks, and sleep where a killer waits, no bread, but got a (feel?) place, will validates, faith calibrates. I combine and levitate. Stress comes in and renovates, just when I was flyin' straight, another challenge? For me to demonstrate, the unknown, seldom seen, bring-it-home, hella clean, with my Bay folks, holla. ("Wit tosk nan an gatta"?") Haters can't take me out, no nada, the game is noddin' to the dun datta. Hot air, you got a lotta heat, natural ("real roofs"??) throwin', for Erik Estrada and Don Johnson, undercover in the Datsun.

(chorus X2)

Yo, we hate MCs who mimic rap. (??). They choose a cheesy style and people give it that. Why do we seldom welcome people like Malcolm X? We'd rather listen to style, then after style comes sex. Now check out how some flex, got they gats n' stuff. Y'all ain't got that stuff. Y'all just act that tough. So stop frontin' and learn a little somethin'. Burnin' like a candle, man do we be bumpin'. What we kick out, stick out like a sore thumb. Pages we tear will prepare you for when the war comes, 'cause armageddon is threatening our existence. When bombs drop, only your corpse will exist. Henceforth, and then people judge us all, but mortal sin is the mud that will smudge us all, and y'all know, only righteous lives with wives take off the make up and wake up and recognize...

(chorus X2)

Pharcyde get the party live, Pharcyde get the party live.
J5 get the party live, J5 get the party live.
Pharcyde get the party live, J5 get the party live.


Lyrics submitted by farukofaruko

Hard Times (feat. Pharcyde) song meanings
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