Jay-Z

I told him, “Please don’t die over the neighborhood

That your mama rentin’

Take your drug money and buy the neighborhood

That’s how you rinse it”

Uh, I just want a Picasso

In my casa, no, my castle

I’m a hassa, no, I’m an asshole

I’m never satisfied, can’t knock my hustle

Thank you, thank you, thank you, you’re far too kind

Hold your applause, this is your song, not mines

America, meet the gangster Shawn Corey

“Hey, Young World,” wanna hear a story?

Close your eyes and you can pretend you’re me

Pops sped off, left mom with a bundle of

Joy, ya boy smacked dab in the jungle

Took tunnel vision, but he would soon become a mogul

They say “They never really miss you ’til you dead or you gone.”

So on that note, I’m leavin’ after this song

So you ain’t gotta feel no way about Jay, so long

At least let me tell you why I’m this way, hold on

“Had a dream,” I said; “Bout who?” he said

“‘Bout B.I.G.,” I said; “That’s big,” he said

“Dig what he said”; “Proceed,” he said

“Indeed,” I said, so, breathe I did

R.O.C. too strong for y’all

It’s like bringing a knife to a gunfight, pen to a test

This is ghetto to ghetto, gutter to gutter

Street corner to street corner, project to project

Worldwide

I spit the murder-murder-murderous

Mur-mur-ma-murderous SHIT

It’s the hard knock life for us

Instead of treated, we get tricked

Instead of kisses, we get kicked

I ain’t no rapper, I’m a hustler

It just so happens that I know how to rap

Yo, I’m making short term goals when the weather folds

Just put away the leathers and put ice on the gold

Decoded is a book like no other: a collection of lyrics and their meanings that together tell the story of a culture, an art form, a moment in history, and one of the most provocative and successful artists of our time.

‘Made in America’ examines the rapper’s role as a poet, an aesthete, an advocate for racial justice and a business, man, but devotes much of its energy to Hova the Hustler.