Low Life by Future Lyrics Meaning – Decoding the Depths of Hedonism and Existence
Lyrics
Everybody getting high
Getting high, you’re unbelivably
High
I just took some molly, what else? (Hey)
Got some bitch from Follies with us (‘scuse me, ‘scuse me)
She gonna fuck the squad, what else? (I swear)
I’ma fuck her broads, what else? (Get, get)
Bitch from Pakistan, what up? (Foreign)
Ferraris and them Lambs, what else? (Skrrt)
‘Bout to fuck this club up, what else? (Get, get)
(Metro Boomin’ want some more nigga) (turn up)
I turn the Ritz into a poor house (turn up)
It’s like eviction number four now
Go ‘head and ash it on the floor now
Girl go ‘head and show me how you go down
And I feel my whole body peaking (yeah)
And I’m fucking anybody with they legs wide
Getting faded with some bitches from the West Side
East coast, nigga repping North Side
Never waste a hoe’s time (Freebandz), bitch I’m on my own time
Fuck a nigga co-sign
Always change my number and my phone line
Baby girl, I don’t lie
Used to have no money for a crib
Now my room service bill cost your whole life
If they try to stunt me, I go all out military
I’m camo’ed all out, like I’m in the military
I free up all my niggas, locked up in the penitentiary (squad)
‘Cause I’m always repping for that low life
Repping for that low life (turn up)
Low life, low life, low life
Know I’m repping for that low, low life, yeah (representing, I’m representing)
Said I’m repping for that low life (representing)
Low life, low life, low life, low life (I’m representing for that low life)
Said I’m repping for that low life (I’m repping, that’s repping, I’m repping)
Low life, low life, low life, yeah (rep, rep, rep, rep, rep, rep, rep)
(Woo, woo, woo, woo)
Wake up, take a sip of Ace of Spade like it’s water (water)
I been on the molly and them Xans with your daughter (daughter)
If she catch me cheating, I will never tell her sorry (I swear)
If she catch me cheating, I will never tell her sorry
Porsches in the valley, I got Bentleys, I got Raris
Taking pain pills on the plane, getting chartered (zoom)
Popping tags on tags, I was starving (‘scuse me)
Bitch, I got the juice and the carbon
Turn a five star hotel to a traphouse
Roaches everywhere, like we forgot to take the trash out
Flood my cross with ice, getting money my religion
Got my baby mama and my side bitch kissing
I turn the Ritz into a lean house
This the sixth time getting kicked out (woo)
I can’t feel my face, I’m on Adderall, nauseous
Niggas tryna ride my fuckin’ wave, now they salty
Running with the wave, get you killed quick
Shoot you in your back like you Ricky
Lil Mexico, with no life to afterlife
My whole life, my whole life
‘Cause I’m always repping for that low life
Low life, low life, low life
Know I’m repping for that low, low life, yeah (representing, I’m representing)
Said I’m repping for that low life (representing)
Low life, low life, low life, low life
Said I’m repping for that low life (I’m repping for the low life, for the low life)
Low life, low life, low life, yeah (wait, wait, low life)
Yeah, they stereo-typing
‘Cause they know a nigga keep ten rifles
And they know a nigga keep ten snipers
Keep a baby bottle like we wearing diapers
Yeah, they stereo-typing
‘Cause they know a nigga keep twenty rifles
And they know a nigga keep twenty snipers
And they know a nigga keep ten wifeys
Sniper, sniper, sniper, sniper, sniper
Wifey, wifey, wifey, wifey
That’s your wifey, wifey, wifey, wifey?
I think I like her, like her, like her, like her
That’s your wifey, wifey, wifey, wifey?
I think I like her, like her, like her, like her
Oh, that’s your wifey, wifey, wifey, wifey?
I think I like her, like her, like her, like her
(Getting high, getting high, everybody getting high
Getting high, everybody getting high, high
Getting high, everybody getting high
Getting high, and I’m the reason why
Getting high, getting high, everybody getting high)
I just took some molly, what else?
Got some bitch from Follies with us
She gonna fuck the squad, what else?
I’ma fuck her broads, what else?
Bitch from Pakistan, what up?
Ferraris and them Lambs, what else?
‘Bout to fuck this club up, what else?
‘Bout to fuck this club up, what else?
In the cacophony of trap beats and autotune that has come to define much of modern hip-hop, Future’s ‘Low Life’ stands out as a petri dish of our era’s excesses, paradoxes, and unspoken despair. Featuring the drawling, intoxicant-fueled vocals of Future, alongside the enigmatic allure of The Weeknd, the song paints a chiaroscuro of the high life that digs its heeled boots deep into the trenches of the low life.
But to dismiss ‘Low Life’ as another addition to the glorification of hedonism is to overlook a web of intricacies spun with genuine threads of melancholy and candid introspection. What lays beneath isn’t just a blueprint for an unfettered bon vivant lifestyle but a confessional’s insight into how success, materialism, and the desolation of expectation converge in a paradoxical symphony.
The Hedonist’s Credo: Retching the Glut of Success
Future’s openers are a siren call to the recklessness of intoxication – a wanton embrace of escapism. ‘I just took some molly, what else?’ isn’t just a line but a motto. It encapsulates the essence of seeking the next high, be it chemical, emotional, or physical. Dropping names of luxury cars and locations, Future is both the braggadocio narrator and the self-aware commentator, acutely conscious of his environment and the ludicrousness it spirals into.
The repetitive nature of ‘what else?’ serves as both a rallying cry and a haunting refrain; it’s the hedonistic pulse of the ‘more’ eating away at the soul of contentment. This reflects a culture perpetually on the brink of the next rush, disposing of the present in anticipation of a future high that never quite satiates.
Shifting the Spotlight: The Weeknd’s Eloquent Descent
Enter The Weeknd, with a velvety contradiction to Future’s voracious appetite; his confession is one of infidelity, but with a chilling detachment ‘If she catch me cheating, I won’t ever tell her sorry.’ This line isn’t a boast but a stark acceptance of moral decay, suggesting an arid emotional landscape where remorse has no currency and human connections are mere transactions.
The juxtaposition of opulent imagery with the dirt and grime of the traphouse metamorphoses the track into a Dantean exploration of modern Inferno. As holiness is profaned and the high is equated to the low, The Weeknd brings a perspective that deepens the narrative, stressing the song’s Lowlife title not as a geographical indicator but as a state of being.
Internal Battlefields: War and Peace in the Mirror
Future’s boast of freeing his ‘niggas locked up in the penitentiary’ is a jarring reminder of the societal constructs of freedom. It’s a rebel yell against a system that incarcerates physically and metaphorically, an echo of breaking free from the shackles imposed by one’s background, expectations, or socioeconomic status.
The military metaphor speaks volumes, juggling the duality of an assault on external perception and an introspective reflection on how the artist sees himself in the context of his own lyrics. The battle is as much with oneself as it is with the external. The camouflage is a uniform of resilience and a guise under which suffers the human, ever vulnerable.
A Symphony of Excess and the Echo of Silence
As the song fades into a spin of echoes and ad-libs, it’s the silence between beats that sticks. ‘High, high, getting high, everybody getting high,’ underscores the unison of societal clamor for elevation, but to what end? In the whirlwind of materialism, the numbing of senses isn’t just a side effect, it’s a goal.
The silence following the cacophony bears the weight of reflection—the ‘Low Life’ isn’t just a mantra of indulgence, it’s a recognition of the hollow at the feast. It holds a mirror up to the listener, presenting an anthem that could equally serve as an arousal or a caution. One must peel away the layers of synths and snares to hear the soft whimper of wisdom within the roar.
Dissecting the Anthem: Memorable Lines and Their Hidden Bleakness
One cannot ignore the lines that have cemented themselves into the consciousness of the audience—’I turn the Ritz into a poor house,’ ‘My whole life, my whole life.’ These lines are laced with a blend of pride and veiled sadness. Future and The Weeknd aren’t just making a declaration; they’re recounting an alchemy that turns gold into lead, luxury into a cesspool.
By claiming representation for the ‘low life,’ there is an acceptance of the darkness that the lavish lifestyle and limelight conceal. It’s an undercurrent of acknowledgment that true wealth isn’t in the ‘Porsches in the valley’ and ‘Bentleys,’ but perhaps in something ineffable and not for sale. The refrain of ‘representing’ is a subtle admission that the value lies in the experience, the journey—regardless of the destination being a rags-to-riches story, or conversely, a riches-to-rags revelation.
