Playboi Cartiâs HBAâreleased in March 2025 as part of his latest sonic onslaughtâis a sprawling, introspective banger that oscillates between braggadocio and existential reflection. The track, laced with hypnotic repetition and jagged flows, feels like a fever dream where Carti wrestles with his demons, flaunts his victories, and carves out his legacy in real time. With its minimalist intro and verses that spiral into unexpected tangents, HBA showcases Carti at his most unfilteredâboth a chaotic force of nature and a man peering into the abyss of his own making. Letâs unravel this track, letting its themes, lyrical quirks, and cultural echoes weave together organically.
The introââYou gotta get high like this / You gotta get high like meââsets the stage with a mantra-like repetition thatâs equal parts invitation and command. Itâs not just about getting high in the literal sense (though drugs are a constant in Cartiâs world); itâs a call to ascend to his plane of existenceâuntethered, untouchable, and unapologetic. The hypnotic loop mirrors the trance-like state he often evokes, a nod to the syrup-soaked haze of tracks like Magnolia or EVIL JORDAN. Here, though, it feels less celebratory and more insistent, as if heâs daring the listener to keep up with his relentless pace.
This obsession with elevationâphysical, emotional, chemicalâbleeds into Verse 1: âMy eyes are open, Iâm high / I canât believe I can die / I just realized I was high.â Thereâs a rawness here, a flicker of mortality piercing through the bravado. Cartiâs not invincible, and he knows itâthe high is both his armor and his vulnerability. This juxtaposition of excess and awareness isnât new for him, but in HBA, itâs delivered with a clarity that cuts deeper, hinting at the toll of living so fast.
Cartiâs journey as an artist surfaces vividly in lines like âI was seventeen on the mic / Iâm tryna be Carti, not Mike.â The reference to Michael Jordan (or perhaps Mike Tyson) is a rejection of traditional iconsâheâs not chasing anyone elseâs blueprint; heâs forging his own. This ties into his broader ethos of defying categorization, a theme echoed across his discography and crystallized in Whole Lotta Redâs punk-trap fusion. âMy whole career, they biteâ doubles down on this, a jab at imitators whoâve trailed in his wake since he flipped the script on Atlanta rap.
The trackâs title, HBAâlikely a nod to Hood By Air, the avant-garde streetwear brandâreinforces this idea of Carti as a cultural shapeshifter. Like HBAâs boundary-pushing designs, heâs redefining what a rapper can be: âIâm a gigolo, ho, I biteâ blends predatory swagger with a wink, while âYâall niggas donât know how to grow up, I been an OG since I was youngerâ positions him as both a young titan and a seasoned vet at 28. Itâs a paradox he revels in, and the track thrives on that tension.
Cartiâs wordplay in HBA is a mix of visceral flexes and surreal detours, delivered in his signature half-mumbled cadence. âBuffy the body, my bitch got bodyâ riffs on Buffy the Vampire Slayer with a playful nod to his girlâs curves, while âShe screech like a hyena when I get her bodyâ adds a wild, animalistic edgeâsex as a primal act, not a tender one. The repetition of âmy bitch got bodyâ feels almost hypnotic, locking into the beatâs relentless thrum, a testament to how Carti uses rhythm as much as lyrics to paint his world.
Verse 2 takes this further, spiraling into a globe-trotting frenzy: âTravel the world, huh, huh, schyeah, holâ up / On tour with your girl / Itâs not my world, itâs Mali world.â The mention of âMaliâ could be a shoutout to a friend or a stand-in for his inner circle, but itâs the casual ownershipââsheâs Maliâs girlââthat stings, a flex on anyone who thinks they can claim whatâs his. Lines like âI jump out the Lamâ truck, she thought that I lost it / I jump out my Redeye, push out, then I go to Bostonâ are pure Cartiâcars as status symbols, movement as identity, all wrapped in a cadence that feels like itâs tripping over itself in the best way.
The violence creeps in too: âPut him in a coffin, put him in a coffinâ is blunt and repetitive, less a threat and more a mantra, while âAll of my friends are dead, leave âem in the cold, put âem in the tundraâ echoes the nihilism of XXXTentacion or even Juice WRLD, artists Cartiâs crossed paths with stylistically. Yet he flips it with humorââI go Ray Charles, I cannot see her, I make her fumbleââblinding himself to drama with a sly grin.
Cartiâs Atlanta roots pulse through HBA, from the slang (âschyeah,â âholâ upâ) to the flexes tied to his hometownâs trap legacy. âI was just in Texas with Aaliyah, her pussy a jungleâ name-drops a woman (perhaps a real fling or a symbolic stand-in) while evoking the wildness of Southern rapâs raw energy. The reference to âDouble 0, yeah, the biggest everâ could hint at his Opium collective or a James Bond-level cool, but itâs the crossover lineââwe just gettinâ ready for the crossoverââthat ties it to his genre-bending ambition, a nod to basketballâs fluidity mirrored in his sound.
The materialism is there too, but itâs less ostentatious than in CRUSH or EVIL JORDAN. âEverything is awesome, FA, Fucking Awesomeâ shouts out the skate brand while doubling as a life motto, and âWhen you play this shit, wear a white tux, young nigga, like you in a formalâ flips the scriptâhis music isnât just club fodder, itâs an event, a ritual. Itâs Carti elevating his art to high culture, even as he stays rooted in the streets.
### A Glimpse of Fatherhood and Closure
The outroââI was twenty-four when I had lilâ Onyx / Twenty-seven when I had Yves / Now I can finally sleepââis a rare moment of stillness in Cartiâs chaos. Naming his kids (Onyx, born around 2020, and Yves, born 2023) grounds the track in something real, a counterpoint to the high-flying escapism of the verses. âI let the sun lead me home / I let the moon set me upâ feels almost poetic, a surrender to natural rhythms after years of fighting gravity. Itâs not redemption, exactlyâCartiâs too defiant for thatâbut itâs a pause, a breath, a hint that even he craves peace amid the storm.
HBA doesnât follow a straight lineâitâs a collage of moods and moments, stitched together by Cartiâs restless energy. The production, with its booming bass and eerie synths, mirrors this, shifting from aggressive drops to dreamy fades. His flow is jagged yet hypnotic, leaning on ad-libs (âschyeah,â âhuhâ) as much as lyrics to keep the vibe alive. Itâs less a song and more a state of mindâhigh, wild, and unapologetic.
In the end, HBA is Playboi Carti wrestling with his own mythos: a gigolo biting back at biters, an OG outpacing the kids, a father finding sleep in a world that never stops spinning. Itâs messy, magnetic, and unmistakably himâa testament to an artist whoâs not just riding the wave but reshaping it, one high at a time.
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