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188 lyrics
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It’s Alright - Jay Z

Album: Vol. 2... Hard Knock Life

genre: Rap Rap / Hip Hop

Bounce if you wanna bounce, ball if you wanna ball
Play if you wanna play, floss if you wanna floss
It’s Alright, you heard?, It’s Alright, Holla back
You can ill if you wanna ill, smoke if you wanna smoke
Kill if you wanna kill, loc if you wanna loc
It’s Alright, you heard? It’s Alright, yeah yeah

I need a ho in my life to blow on my dice
So we can make our points twice and skate out of town
I need that glow in my ice, E-Class
Ladies screamin Jigga you know we needs that, flowin out like Jees-ass
They ain’t seeing me holdin’ the mic
So when you like you find MC’s so impolite
And me I’m so into nice, got cats on the corner like
Don’t me and Jigga be flowin alike?
Nah, Not in your life ain’t nobody poppin’ like
Mr. Jay-Z, shit you’re crazy
I’m hot like the six maybe, deep dish with the great seats
I flow greater than your navigator
I drop in your town, block your data
Pimps all comin’ through with a hot pair of gators
And a crew with rocks the size of craters
Can’t be touched like hot potatoes, Ya Heard?

In the middle of a war rockin a vest
Who’s the illest shorty alive, I confess
I take lah to the chest and I swear to the heaven sky’s, I bless
The mics until the day I rest, till they can feel what I feel
I’mma try my best, and if you real like I real
You can provide the rest
Everything left out, you can blame it on the brain, not the heart
I’m playing my part, stretched out, just about the best out
Any nigga realer than me, is in a messhall with their chest out
Any rapper with less clout, sell more records than me
We extort them as soon as they record ’em, Bleek
I made this clear, back when shorty used to braid my hair
On the project stairs, Once I crop to a ceaser Ma I don’t need ya
From the block to the hot two-seaters

On the jew-els I blew more money than Latrell, who else?
They don’t know you, think they know you too well, you jel
Like Flubber I hover above the city in a private jet, the livest set
Press you’re brakes, feds wanna investigate
Mr. I don’t cop nothing less than eight
And anything involved with my name, regardless of the fame
It’s hard, I can’t even walk through Harlem again
Charge it to the game, I’m platinum like American Express
My boy died, and all I did was inherit his stress
To make every jam tougher, you ain’t my man fuck ya
I should just let you live, right? Negative, I swear
It’s dough or die, I hope your soul provides you with an afterlife
Close your casket tight, take your last two deep breaths
And pass the mic, to Jay-Z nigga, that’s right!

photo credit: admin

Lyrics added by Anne Ladybug

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Song details
  • Recording: Quad Studios
  • Mixing: Joe Quinde
  • Composition: Memphis Bleek, J. Harrison, M. Weymouth, C. Franz, David Byrne, Brian Eno, L. Leeper, Dame Dash & Jay Z
  • Vocals: Jay Z
  • Release Date: May 12, 1998
  • Samples: The Hall of Mirrors by Kraftwerk Once in a Lifetime by Talking Heads