Post Jay Z’s best and most quotable bars
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Vic Damone. Jr
Don't support the phonies, support the real
New watch alert, Hublots
Or the big-face Rollie, I got two of those
Arm out the window, through the city, I maneuver slow
Cock back, snapback, see my cut through the holes, Hov
Or the big-face Rollie, I got two of those
Arm out the window, through the city, I maneuver slow
Cock back, snapback, see my cut through the holes, Hov
RennisDeynolds
I am untethered and my rage knows no bounds!
Don't be the next contestant on that summer jam screen 
DonkeyPuncher718
If Your Knee Dont Bend It Can Be Broken
"Blame Reagan for making me into a Monster/
Blame Oliver North, Iran-Contra/
I ran contraband that they sponsored/
Before this rhyming stuff we was in concert"
Blame Oliver North, Iran-Contra/
I ran contraband that they sponsored/
Before this rhyming stuff we was in concert"
“You say you got a man
Ok ma, and?”
Grimy Jay is the best Jay
Ok ma, and?”
Grimy Jay is the best Jay
By the way, yo.
How the fukk you gon' talk about MC's on our heel?
When we just cop them things homie the chromey wheels
Both arms are chunky the sleeves on chill
Any given times a hundred G's in your grill
Don't talk to me 'bout MC's got skills
"He's alright, but he's not real"
Jay-Z's that deal, with Beans and Amil
Never fear for war, hug, squeeze that steel
fukk, you gotta a flow that's cool with me
You got a little dough that cool with me
You got a little cars, little jewelries
But none of y'all motherfukkers could fool with me
You know the wrist frostbit minus two degrees
Bout as blue as the sea the way I manuever the V
Hat cocked can't see his eyes, who could it be?
With that new blue Yankee on, who but me?
nikkas shipped two million, then I blew to three
Then I skated to four, 'fore I went on tour
I came back and it's plain, y'all nikkas ain't rappin the same
fukk the flow, y'all jackin our slang
I seen the same shyt happen to Kane
Three cuts in your eyebrows tryin to wild out
The game is ours, we'll never foul out
Y'all just better hope we gracefully bow out
Throw yo' hands up - nikkas, bytches, bustas
Hustlers - fukk THAT (throw the hands up)
How the fukk you gon' talk about MC's on our heel?
When we just cop them things homie the chromey wheels
Both arms are chunky the sleeves on chill
Any given times a hundred G's in your grill
Don't talk to me 'bout MC's got skills
"He's alright, but he's not real"
Jay-Z's that deal, with Beans and Amil
Never fear for war, hug, squeeze that steel
fukk, you gotta a flow that's cool with me
You got a little dough that cool with me
You got a little cars, little jewelries
But none of y'all motherfukkers could fool with me
You know the wrist frostbit minus two degrees
Bout as blue as the sea the way I manuever the V
Hat cocked can't see his eyes, who could it be?
With that new blue Yankee on, who but me?
nikkas shipped two million, then I blew to three
Then I skated to four, 'fore I went on tour
I came back and it's plain, y'all nikkas ain't rappin the same
fukk the flow, y'all jackin our slang
I seen the same shyt happen to Kane
Three cuts in your eyebrows tryin to wild out
The game is ours, we'll never foul out
Y'all just better hope we gracefully bow out
Throw yo' hands up - nikkas, bytches, bustas
Hustlers - fukk THAT (throw the hands up)
J-A-Y, I flow sick (Uh)
fukk all y'all haters, blow dikk
I spits the game for those that throw bricks
Money, cash, hoes; money, cash, chicks (What?)
Sex, murder, and mayhem – romance for the street (Uh-huh)
Only wife of mines is a life of crime, and since
Life's a bytch in mini-skirts and big chest
How can I not flirt with death?
That's life's enigma, long as life within us
We gon' sin a lot and pray that Christ forgive us – fukk it
Ice the wrist and raise the price on these nikkas
Y'all can't floss on my level
I'll invite you all to get with us, if you ball it's glitter
When I go, on the Hall of Players wall, my picture (Uh-huh)
If you get close enough, you can read the scripture
It reads: "Money, Cash, Hoes – How real was that nikka?" (What)
My favorite collaboration ever
fukk all y'all haters, blow dikk
I spits the game for those that throw bricks
Money, cash, hoes; money, cash, chicks (What?)
Sex, murder, and mayhem – romance for the street (Uh-huh)
Only wife of mines is a life of crime, and since
Life's a bytch in mini-skirts and big chest
How can I not flirt with death?
That's life's enigma, long as life within us
We gon' sin a lot and pray that Christ forgive us – fukk it
Ice the wrist and raise the price on these nikkas
Y'all can't floss on my level
I'll invite you all to get with us, if you ball it's glitter
When I go, on the Hall of Players wall, my picture (Uh-huh)
If you get close enough, you can read the scripture
It reads: "Money, Cash, Hoes – How real was that nikka?" (What)
My favorite collaboration ever
Came in to post thisMy hand around her collar, feedin' her cheese
She said the taste of dollars was shytty, so I fed her fifties
About his whereabouts, I wasn't convinced
I kept feedin' her money 'til her shyt started to make sense
that one always had me like "how did you come up with that?"
So I make no apologies, crooked policies
So a G a nikka gotta be
We playin for property, no monopoly
So I'll pass go and let my nephew follow me
They say the child shall lead
So I'll take it far as I can and then we shall see
Shall we dance with the devil for a beat?
I pray to god I ain't got two left feet
So a G a nikka gotta be
We playin for property, no monopoly
So I'll pass go and let my nephew follow me
They say the child shall lead
So I'll take it far as I can and then we shall see
Shall we dance with the devil for a beat?
I pray to god I ain't got two left feet
'm a BK brawler, Marcy Projects hallway loiterer
Pure coke copper, get your order up
I bring 'em to Baltimore in the Ford Explorer
But it's gonna cost you more if I gotta get 'em to Florida
Rucker game attender with the Bent parked
On the sidewalk with the temp plates on the fender
I ain't hard to find, you catch me front and center
At the Knick game, big chain in all my splendor
Next to Spike if you pan left to right
I own Madison Square, catch me at the fight with Cam
Once again if you pan left of his ice
It be the man that write checks with the hand that don't write
I go off the head when I'm rambling on the mic
And I throw off the feds when I'm scrambling at night
And it was often said I brought hammers to the fight
But we from New York City, right Cam? (Ya, damn right)
Hype inducing
Pure coke copper, get your order up
I bring 'em to Baltimore in the Ford Explorer
But it's gonna cost you more if I gotta get 'em to Florida
Rucker game attender with the Bent parked
On the sidewalk with the temp plates on the fender
I ain't hard to find, you catch me front and center
At the Knick game, big chain in all my splendor
Next to Spike if you pan left to right
I own Madison Square, catch me at the fight with Cam
Once again if you pan left of his ice
It be the man that write checks with the hand that don't write
I go off the head when I'm rambling on the mic
And I throw off the feds when I'm scrambling at night
And it was often said I brought hammers to the fight
But we from New York City, right Cam? (Ya, damn right)
Hype inducing
He has too many, some that just jumped into my head
Came from the dirt
I emerged from it all without a stain on my shirt
You can blame my old earth
For the shyt she instilled in me, still with me, pain plus work
I move light, like my shoes too tight
Leave nikkas confused from the day to the night
At night, see the light, when the pistol's sparking
Daytime it gets dark when that pistol barking
Your flow is brain on drugs, mines is rap on steroids
I lift every voice when I sing, my ability
Make yours look like an exercise in futility
Bring your squad, biceps, triceps, and quads
We don't struggle with undeveloped muscles
Y'all ain't real, that's y'all Achilles' heel
nikkas scheming hard, but fukk it, it's the God
I leave bullets lodged, leave you leaning on your broad
The R pump leave you fukked up in your car
Slumped, Kennedy-style with your memory out
What the fukk y'all want? Daddy-o with the Calico
Let the gatty blow, leave you bleeding on your patio
Came from the dirt
I emerged from it all without a stain on my shirt
You can blame my old earth
For the shyt she instilled in me, still with me, pain plus work
I move light, like my shoes too tight
Leave nikkas confused from the day to the night
At night, see the light, when the pistol's sparking
Daytime it gets dark when that pistol barking
Your flow is brain on drugs, mines is rap on steroids
I lift every voice when I sing, my ability
Make yours look like an exercise in futility
Bring your squad, biceps, triceps, and quads
We don't struggle with undeveloped muscles
Y'all ain't real, that's y'all Achilles' heel
nikkas scheming hard, but fukk it, it's the God
I leave bullets lodged, leave you leaning on your broad
The R pump leave you fukked up in your car
Slumped, Kennedy-style with your memory out
What the fukk y'all want? Daddy-o with the Calico
Let the gatty blow, leave you bleeding on your patio
Boolean
APIDTA
warned you early on about my mindset
you thought it was a empty bomb threat
until i flew into the buildings
like 100 osamas set to do a few million
you thought it was a empty bomb threat
until i flew into the buildings
like 100 osamas set to do a few million