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Threat - Jay Z

Album: The Black Album

genre: Rap Rap / Hip Hop

Yo , what’s up, pimp, this Threats
That’s right, that’s the – the that’s, this Threats, pimp
And I’m serious about mine, I’m so sincere
And I, nigga I’ll kill ya, I’ll chop ya up
Put ya inside the mattress like drug money, nigga

Yeah, I done told you niggas
9 or 10 times stop fuckin with me
I done told you niggas
9 albums, stop fuckin with me
I done told you niggas with
The 9 on me, stop fuckin with me
You niggas must got 9 lives
9th wonder

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 unusual musical I conducting
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 rilin’ 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

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

[Interlude: Cedric the Entertainer]
That’s right there nigga, nigga I’m wild
Nigga I keep trash bags with me
Never know when you gotta dump a nigga out
This sincere, this some sincere shit right here!

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 niggas, 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
For the oil 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 nothing of it
Like, castor oil, I’a Castor Troy you
Change your face or the bullets change all that for you
… y’all niggas 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

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

Yeah I’m threatening ya, YEAH I’m threatening ya!
Who you thank you dealin’ with?
They call me Threats, nigga I been makin’ threats
Since I been in kindergarten nigga!
Huh, ask about me, see if you ain’t heard

When the gun is tucked, untucked, nigga you dies
Like nunchuks held by the Jet L-I
I’m the one, thus meaning 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 {*silencer shot*} ‘splay the 7
Put you on the nigga news, UPN and 11
Where you been, you ain’t heard, got the word that I’m
[Two silencer shots] that I’m so sincere?
I’m especially Joe Pesci wit it, friend
I will kill you, commit suicide, and kill you again
That’s right

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

Whatup? Motherfucker I keep three motherfuckers what?
Nigga I’ll throw a Molotov cocktail through your momma’s momma’s house
Nigga what the – where everybody live!
Undercover nigga take your teeth out your mouth nigga
Chew your food up and put the shit back in your mouth nigga
And help you swallow
Nigga I take a mop handle off nigga
And sweep nigga – hold on, I’ll be – nigga what?

photo credit: admin

Lyrics added by Anne Ladybug

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Song details
  • Mixing: Young Guru
  • Composition: R. Kelly, P. Douthit & Jay Z
  • Vocals: Jay Z
  • Release Date: November 3, 2003