Hard to Choose One by Future Lyrics Meaning – Unraveling the Complexity of Choice in Modern Hedonism
Lyrics
Pluto (yeah, Freebandz), you dig, you dig
Yeah (yeah, yeah)
Yeah (yeah, 808 Mafia)
Yeah, yeah (yeah, yeah)
Motor in the back with the trunk in the front
Smokin’ on gas, three-five in a blunt
Poppin’ new tags, it’s one of a one
I got them chopsticks, ain’t going to lunch
Came out the creek, had to drop off a ton
Made it off the streets, I came up from a crumb
Two thousand just for the shoes I put on
Spin out and do a three-sixty for nothin’ (skrrt)
Freestylin’ while I got kush in my lung
Crocodile Burberry, that’s what I’m on (brrt, brrt)
Packed out the club, that’s a quarter million (brrt, brrt)
High-priced fashion, Italian, Milan (fashion)
If she get attached, then I’m goin’ on the run (she get attached)
Took the big batch and I can’t feel my tongue (took the big batch)
Hundreds of baddies, it’s hard to choose one (hundreds of baddies)
Green light the shooters, it’s already done (brrt, brrt, brrt)
Green light the shooters, they already on you
Take a few Addies, then go in a coma
Takin’ and rappin’, them bales my diploma
Drivin’ my space coupe, goin’ to Daytona
Line ’round the corner like Ronald McDonald’s
Count on my llama, you call me Obama
Whippin’ that bird like the Number 1 Stunna
Put on reserve, she come when I want her
Hop in the vert, it go over two hundred
She kept it real with her, shout outs to London
I bought her Gucci, she bought me a chopper
Money and sex is bringin’ me problems
But I’m at my best when I’m runnin’ through models
Look at your rings, you done dipped ’em in vodka
Talkin’ Emilio Pucci, I got ’em
Came out the trap, a hood nigga role model
Motor in the back with the trunk in the front
Smokin’ on gas, three-five in a blunt
Poppin’ new tags, it’s one of a one
I got them chopsticks, ain’t going to lunch
Came out the creek, had to drop off a ton
Made it off the streets, I came up from a crumb
Two thousand just for the shoes I put on
Spin out and do a three-sixty for nothin’ (skrrt)
Freestylin’ while I got kush in my lung
Crocodile Burberry, that’s what I’m on (brrt, brrt)
Packed out the club, that’s a quarter million (brrt, brrt)
High-priced fashion, Italian, Milan (fashion)
If she get attached, then I’m goin’ on the run (she get attached)
Took the big batch and I can’t feel my tongue (took the big batch)
Hundreds of baddies, it’s hard to choose one (808 Mafia)
Green light the shooters, it’s already done (brrt, brrt, brrt)
Crashed out on pills, but it’s makin’ me numb (let’s go)
I paid the bill, you consider it done (pay the bill)
Trap in the field, made a mil’ on my own (trap in the field)
Peel off the seal on that Hi-Tech I’m sprung (yeah)
Cash out on diamonds, Italian, Milan (cashin’ out)
One hundred bad bitches havin’ fun (what’s up?)
Rollin’ up X and I can’t feel my arms
Platinum ice on me, it’s clearer than Patron
Money and power, it got me on meds
Load up my rifle, I don’t go to bed
Coppin’ a Viper gon’ make them upset
Fuckin’ rich niggas gon’ get you baguettes
Pussy was leakin’, I fucked on a jet
We made a bond to never forget
Cancel that ho, she tried fuck up my check
Get in this Lambo’, this not a Corvette (skrrt, skrrt)
Motor in the back with the trunk in the front
Smokin’ on gas, three-five in a blunt
Poppin’ new tags, it’s one of a one
I got them chopsticks, ain’t going to lunch
Came out the creek, had to drop off a ton
Made it off the streets, I came up from a crumb
Two thousand just for the shoes I put on
Spin out and do a three-sixty for nothin’
Freestylin’ while I got kush in my lung
Crocodile Burberry, that’s what I’m on (let’s go)
Packed out the club, that’s a quarter million
High-priced fashion, Italian, Milan (brrt, brrt, brrt)
If she get attached, then I’m goin’ on the run
Took the big batch and I can’t feel my tongue
Hundreds of baddies, it’s hard to choose one
Green light the shooters, it’s already done (hundreds of bad bitches)
Brrt, brrt
Hundreds of bad bitches
Hundreds of bad bitches
Hundreds of bad bitches
Hundreds of baddies, it’s hard to choose one
For those who indulge in the art of dissecting hip-hop, Future’s ‘Hard to Choose One’ is not just another addition to the rapper’s discography—it’s a mosaic of modern indulgence, a cultural document. The track, part of his 2020 studio album, ‘High Off Life,’ quakes with the vibrations of excess, opulence, and the emotional paralysis induced by having too much choice—in luxury, in love, and in life.
Unraveling the fibers of this musical narrative, ‘Hard to Choose One’ is a stark illustration of Future’s inner conflict between the glittering superficiality of fame and the deeper cravings for genuine connection. It is within these bass-heavy beats and coldly delivered lyrics that the listener is invited to explore the paradoxes of a man torn between the seductive illusions of plenty and the haunting void they mask.
Decoding the Duality: A Hedonist’s Heart in a Material World
Future weaves the fabric of his narrative with a thread of duality—each line dripping with the trappings of success while hinting at an underlying emptiness. ‘Motor in the back with the trunk in the front’ sets the stage with a cipher of luxury that conceals the labor of ‘Smokin’ on gas, three-five in a blunt.’ It’s a portrait of a lifestyle elevated by wealth, yet anchored in a relentless grind.
This struggle isn’t merely financial; it’s existential. Future’s declaration of ‘Made it off the streets, I came up from a crumb’ is both a triumph and a revealing insight into his psychological odyssey—from scarcity to surplus, and the relentless pressure to maintain that ascent. This dichotomy teases the listener’s palate, suggesting that beneath the hedonistic feast lies a deeper hunger for something lost or perhaps never had.
The Currency of Attachment: Is Love Just Another Commodity?
In the cutthroat economy of Future’s world, everything has a price, and emotions are no exception. He references attachments and relationships almost interchangeably with fashion brands and drugs, as exemplified by ‘If she get attached, then I’m goin’ on the run.’ Love in this context is a liability, a potential threat to the sovereignty of his self-constructed empire.
Yet, despite his aversion to emotional commitment, there’s an undeniable yearning threading through the bars. ‘Hundreds of baddies, it’s hard to choose one’ isn’t just about the paralysis of choice in a world of excess—it’s a confession of searching for unique value in a sea of sameness. The pursuit of genuine connection is complicated when quantity constantly overshadows quality.
Infamous Verses: The Lines That Cut Deeper Than Diamonds
‘Poppin’ new tags, it’s one of a one’—Future captivates with verses that emphasize the rarity and exclusivity of his lifestyle. But these lines serve a double purpose: they underline the alienation inherent to his distinct path. The solitary joy in possessing what others cannot is as much a victory as it is a sentence to isolation.
This is mirrored in ‘Money and sex is bringin’ me problems’ where the listener is drawn into the paradoxical woes of the high life. Money buys luxury and pleasure yet schemes to rob him of peace. Every line is a memoir of contradictions, an anthem of the opulent life shackled with chains of solitude and unease.
The Hidden Meaning: A Metaphor for Our Collective Social Dilemma
Beyond the flash of ‘High-priced fashion, Italian, Milan,’ ‘Hard to Choose One’ strikes a resonant chord with the contemporary human condition. We’re engulfed in an era of seemingly endless choice, from streaming platforms to dating apps, each promising more but often delivering less. Future’s narrative is our narrative—a labyrinth of options that often leads to the central question of what we truly value.
By unveiling this personal tumult, Future inadvertently holds up a mirror to society. The very human fear of missing out is counterweighted by the dread of choosing poorly, making ‘Hard to Choose One’ an anthem for an indecisive generation stymied by its own abundance.
A Whisper of Melancholy Amidst the Trap Beats
‘Crashed out on pills, but it’s makin’ me numb’—slipped between the stomping trap beats are whispers of melancholy, shedding light on the emotional self-medication that accompanies the stress and anxiety of maintaining an icon’s visage. The spirit-numbing habits are as much a binding as the reptilian textures of his Burberry.
The song is an exposition of the hollowness that can accompany fame’s excesses, a sobering reminder that beyond the glamour, there lay a spectrum of sentiments that no amount of material success can aptly fill. Future’s lyrics, with their melodic despondency, craftily weave a sonic tapestry that is both glittering and gray.
