Lyrics: Threat
Album: The Black Album
Artist: Jay-Z
 

[Intro]
Yo what’s up pimp dis threats
That’s right, this – the that’s, this threats pimp
And I’m serious about mine, I’m so sin-surr
And I, nigga I’ll kill ya, I’ll chop ya up
Put ya inside the mattress like drug money nigga

[Jay-Z]
Yeah, I done told you niggaz
9 or 10 times stop fuckin with me
I done told you niggaz
9 albums, stop fuckin with me
I done told you niggaz
stop lyin on me, stop fuckin with me
You niggaz must got 9 lives
9th wonder

[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 techs 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 Tucket
Or you Bill O’Reilly, you won;t be 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 moves 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 the smocks on the side of your garment
Nigga stop fuckin with me
R. — I. — P.

[Interlude]
That’s right , nigga I’m wild
Nigga I keep trash bags with me
Never know when you gotta dump a nigga out
This sin-surr, this some sin-surr SHIT right hurr!

[Verse Two]
Grown man I put hands on you
I dig a hole in the desert, then 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 it was frontin, I George Bush the button
pour the oil in your car lift up your hood nigga runnin’
Then lift up your whole hood like you got oil under it
>Your boy got the goods y’all don’t want none 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]

[Interlude]
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

[Verse Three]
When the gun is tucked, untucked, nigga you die
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
That’s right

[Chorus]

[Outro]
Whattup? 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, nigga what – hold on, I’ll be – nigga what?