Jay-Z, “Threat”

Wow…this song is really, really hitting me right now. My new job interview pre-game music.

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Jay-Z, “Threat”
The Black Album
circa 2003

[Verse One]
Put that knife in ya, take a little bit of life from ya
Am I frightenin ya?  Shall I continue?
I put the gun to ya, I let it sing you a song
I let it hum to ya, the other one sing along
Now it’s a duet, and you wet, when you check out
the technique from the 2 tecs and I don’t need two lips
To blow this like a trumpet you dumb shit
This is a un-usual musical I conductin
You lookin at the black Warren Buffett so all critics can duck sic
I don’t care if you C. Delores Tuck-it
Or you Bill O’Reilly, you only rylin me up
For three years, they had me peein out of a cup
Now they bout to free me up, whatchu think I’m gon’ be, what?
Rehabilitated, man I still feel hatred
I’m young black and rich so they wanna strip me naked, but
You never had me like Christina Aguiler-y
But catch me down the Westside, drivin like Halle Berry
Or the FDR, in the seat of my car
Screamin out the sunroof death to y’all
You can’t kill me, I live forever through these bars
I put the wolves on ya, I put a price on your head
The whole hood’ll want ya, you startin to look like bread
I send them boys at ya, I ain’t talkin bout Feds
Nigga them body-snatchers, nigga you heard what I said

[Chorus]
I make ’em wait for you ’til five in the mornin
Put your smarts on the side of your garment
Nigga stop fuckin with me
R. — I. — P.

[Verse Two]
Grown man I put hands on you
I dig a hole in the desert, they build The Sands on you
Lay out blueprint plans on you
We Rat Pack niggaz, let Sam tap dance on you
Then, I Sinatra shot ya God damn you
… I put the boy in the box like David Blaine
Let the audience watch, it ain’t a thang
Y’all wish I was frontin, I George Bush the button
Front of all you in your car lift up your hood nigga run it
Then lift up your whole hood like you got oil under it
Your boy got the goods y’all don’t want nuttin of it
Like, castor oil, I Castor Troy you
Change your face or the bullets change all that for you
… y’all niggaz is targets
Y’all garages for bullets, please don’t make me park it
in your upper level, valet a couple strays
from the 38 special, nigga, God bless you

[Chorus]

[Verse Three]
When the gun is tucked, untucked, nigga you dies
like numchuks held by the Jet L-I
I’m the one, thus meanin no one must try
No two, no three, no four, know why?
Because one’s four-five might blow yo’ high
You ain’t gotta go to church to get to know yo’ God
It’s a match made in heaven when I {*blaow*} ‘splay the 7
Put you on the nigga news, UPN at 11
Where you been, you ain’t heard, got the word that I’m
{*blaow blaow*} that I’m so sin-surr?
I’m especially Joe Pesci with a grin
I will kill you, commit suicide, and kill you again

[Chorus]

via OHHLA