Decoded Page 18
REGRETS1
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Not Everyone Wakes Up Feeling Invincible. (1:40)
I sold it all from crack to opium,2 in third person3 / I don’t wanna see ’em, so I’m rehearsin / with my peoples how to g ’em4, from a remote location / in the BM, scopin the whole situation5 like, “Dayamm!” / Metamorphic, as the dope turns to cream6 / but one of these buyers got eyes like a Korean7 / It’s difficult to read ’em, the windows to his soul / are half closed, I put the key in / Pulled off slow, hopin my people fleein8 / Chink tried to knock the only link that tied me in9 / Coppers was watchin us through nighttime binoculars / This time they got us on tape, exchangin dope for dollars / Make me wanna holler back at the crib in the sauna / Prayin my people bailed out like Time Warner / Awaitin call, from his kin not the coroner10 / Phone in my hand, nervous confined to a corner / Beads of sweat second thoughts on my mind / How can I ease the stress and learn to live with these regrets11 / This time … stress … givin this shit up . . . fuck / This is the number one rule for your set / In order to survive, gotta learn to live with regrets / On the rise to the top, many drop, don’t forget / In order to survive, gotta learn to live with regrets / This is the number one rule for your set / In order to survive, gotta learn to live with regrets / And through our travels we get separated, never forget / In order to survive, gotta learn to live with regrets / As sure as this Earth is turning souls burning / in search of higher learning turning in every direction seeking direction12 / My moms cryin cause her insides are dyin / her son tryin her patience, keep her heart racin / A million beats a minute, I know I push you to your limit13 / but it’s this game love, I’m caught up all in it / They make it so you can’t prevent it, never give it / you gotta take it, can’t fake it I keep it authentic / My hand got this pistol shakin, cause I sense danger14 / like Camp Crystal Lake and / don’t wanna shoot him, but I got him trapped / within this infrared dot, bout to hot him and hit rock bottom15 / No answers to these trick questions, no time shit stressin / My life found I gotta live for the right now / Time waits for no man, can’t turn back the hands / once it’s too late,16 gotta learn to live with regrets / You used to hold me, told me that I was the best / Anything in this world I want I could possess / All that made me want is all that I could get17 / In order to survive, gotta learn to live with regrets … (when I was young) / I found myself reminiscin, remember this one / when he was here he was crazy nice with his son18 / I miss him, long as I’m livin he’s livin through memories / He’s there to kill all my suicidal tendencies / In heaven lookin over me, or in hell, keepin it cozy / I’m comin19 life on these streets ain’t what it’s supposed to be / Remember Newton, mutual friend well me and him feudin / On your life I tried to talk to him20 / But you know niggaz, think they guns can stop four niggaz / Frontin like they’re Big Willie but really owe niggaz / Hoe niggaz,21 this year I’m sho’ niggaz think I’m slippin / I’m ’bout to send you a roommate, no bullshittin / for my hustle’s goin too well to hit him22 / You was right niggaz want you to be miserable wit em / Anyway, I ain’t tryin to hear it, I think I’m touched / this whole verse I been talkin to your spirit a little too much23
THIS CAN’T BE LIFE / FEATURING BEANIE SIGEL AND SCARFACE
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I’m Gonna Be a Failure. (0:39)
[Jay-Z] / Geah … whassup? / Where’s all my street niggaz, project niggaz / Real niggas, worldwide / Let’s reflect … e’rybody got a story / We all ghetto B—here’s mine / Geah / See I was—born in sewage, born to make bomb music1 / Flow tight like I was born Jewish2 / Used the streets as a conduit—I kept arms / 38 longs3 inside my mom’s Buick / At any given moment Shawn could lose it, be on the news / Iron cuffs—arms through it;4 or stuffed with embalmin fluid / Shit, I’m goin through it—mom dukes too / Tears streamin down her pretty face, she got her palms to it / My life is gettin too wild / I need to bring some sorta calm to it / ’Bout to lose it; voices screamin “Don’t do it!”5 / It’s like ’93, ’94, ’bout the year / that Big and Mac dropped;6 and Illmatic rocked / outta every rag drop, and the West had it locked / Everybody doin ’em, I’m still scratchin on the block / like “Damn; I’ma be a failure”7 / Surrounded by thugs, drugs, and drug paraphernalia / Cops courts and their thoughts is to derail us / Three-time felons in shorts8 with jealous thoughts / Tryin figure where your mail is, guesstimate the weight you sellin / So they can send shots straight to your melon; wait! / It gets worse, baby momma water burst / Baby came out stillborn, still I gotta move on9 / Though my heart still torn, life gone from her womb / Don’t worry, if it was meant to be, it’ll be—soon / [Chorus] This can’t be life, this can’t be love / This can’t be right, there’s gotta be more, this can’t be us / This can’t be life, this can’t be love / This can’t be right, there’s gotta be more, this can’t be us / [Scarface] / Yeah … uhh … / Now as I walk into the studio, to do this with Jig’ / I got a phone call from one of my nigs / Said my homeboy Reek, he just lost one of his kids / And when I heard that I just broke into tears / And see in the second hand; you don’t really know how this is / But when it hits that close to home you feel the pain at the crib / So I called mine, and saddened my wife with the bad news / Now we both depressed, countin our blessings cause Brad’s two / Prayin for young souls to laugh at life through the stars / Lovin your kids just like you was ours / And I’m hurtin for you dog; but ain’t nobody pain is like yours / I just know that heaven’ll open these doors / And ain’t no bright side to losin life; but you can view it like this / God’s got open hands homey, he in the midst of good company / Who loves all and hates not one / And one day you gon’ be wit your son / I could’ve rapped about my hard times on this song / But heaven knows I woulda been wrong / I wouldn’ta been right, it wouldn’ta been love / It wouldn’ta been life, it wouldn’ta been us / This can’t be life / [Chorus] / [Jay-Z ] / This can’t be life.
SOON YOU’LL UNDERSTAND1
You’re my best friend’s sister, grown woman and all / But you see how I am around girls; I ruin ’em all2 / Plus your mom call me son, around you since I was small / Shit I watched you mature—nah, this ain’t right3 / But still when your boyfriend ditched you, life’s a bitch you cried / Over my right shoulder I told you to wipe your eyes / Take your time when you likin a guy / Cause if he sense that your feelings too intense, it’s pimp or die4 / I bought you earrings on your birthday / Drove you to college your first day5 / It must be sad, though it hurts to say / We could never be a item, don’t even like him / You deserve better—this is ugly; Gina, please don’t love me6 / There’s better guys out there other than me / (You need a lawyer or a doctor or somebody like that you know) / Like a lawyer or a doctor with a Ph.D. / Think of how upset your mother and brother would be / if they found that you was huggin me7 / My conscience is fuckin with me / Let him hold you, let him touch you / Soon you’ll un-der-stand / Man, I look in the eyes of a … / this … a kid that stole life we made together … / We’re tryin, really tryin to make it work / I’m young, and I ain’t ready, and I told you / Let him hold you, let him touch you / Soon you’ll un-der-stand / It ain’t like, I ain’t tell you from day one, I ain’t shit / When it comes to relationships, I don’t have the patience / Now it’s too late, we got a little life together / and in my mind I really want you to be my wife forever / But in the physical it’s like I’ma be trife forever8 / A different girl every night forever; told you to leave / but you’re stubborn and you love him and, / no matter what despite all the fuckin and the cheatin, / you still won’t leave him, now you’re grievin / And I feel bad, believe me / But I’m young and I ain’t ready, and this ain’t easy9 / Wasn’t fair to tell you to wait, so I told you to skate / You chose not to, now look at the shit we gotta go through / Don’t want to fight,
don’t want to fuss, you the mother of my baby10 / I don’t want you to hate me, this is about us / Rather me; I ain’t ready to be what you want me to be / Because I love you, I want you to leave, please11 / Let him hold you, let him touch you / Soon you’ll un-der-stand / Mm … listen ma / I mean, I seen you workin two or three jobs / Daddy left … I thought I was makin things better / I made it worse / Let him hold you, let him touch you / Soon you’ll un-der-stand / Dear ma, I’m in the cell, lonely as hell12 / Writin this scribe, thinkin bout how you must feel inside / You tried to teach me better, but I refused to grow13 / Goddamn I ain’t the young man that you used to know / You said the street claims lives, but I wanted things like / bling bling ice I was wrong in hindsight / Shit we grew apart, try to blame it on your new spouse / I know it hurt like hell the day you kicked me out / But your house is your house, I ain’t respect the rules / I brought crack past your door, beefed with rival crews / And who wants to be the mother of a son who sold drugs / Co-workers saw me on the corner slingin Larry Love / Meanwhile, you workin hard like, two or three jobs / Tryin to feed me and my siblings, makin an honest livin / Who am I kiddin I call myself easin the load / I made the load heavy, I need money for commissary / Try to understand, please / Let him hold you, let him touch you / Soon you’ll un-der-stand
My grandfather was a pastor—an Elder, they called them—in the Church of God in Christ, a Pentecostal denomination. He had the same name as my father, Abnis Reid, so they called my father AJ, for Abnis Junior. My grandmother Ruby was a deaconess in the same church. My father came from a strict, religious household, but sanctified churches are rooted in African traditions, so music, especially drumming—even if it’s only drumming by clapping your hands together—played a big part of the service. Worship is never a quiet thing in the Church of God in Christ congregation, people passing out, speaking in tongues, or tarrying for hours until they become possessed with the Holy Ghost and the church mothers, dressed in nurse’s uniforms, come and revive them.
My father’s parents were strict. Secular music like the Motown sound was forbidden in AJ’s house, but he snuck and listened anyway. The whole family had to be in church all the time, like four, five days a week. His three sisters couldn’t wear makeup or pants, and his two brothers spent most of the week in church, too.
Church wasn’t a major part of my life growing up, as it had been for my father—soul in our house usually referred to the music. But when you grow up in a place like Bed-Stuy, church is everywhere. So is mosque. So are a thousand other ways of believing. Street corners were where all these different beliefs met—Pentecostals arguing scripture with Jehovah’s Witnesses, clean-cut brothers in bow ties and dark suits brushing past cats wearing fezzes and long beards, someone with a bullhorn or a mic and an amplifier booming out a sermon. We were all just living life, trying to get through, survive, thrive, whatever, but in the back of our minds, there was always a larger plan that we tried to make sense of. I was always fascinated by religion and curious about people’s different ideas. And like everyone, I’ve always wanted answers to the basic questions. Still, by the time I reached my teens, the only time I’d be anywhere near a church was when someone I knew died, and even then I wouldn’t necessarily go in. But I wasn’t looking for church, anyway; I was looking for an explanation.
YOU AIN’T GOTTA GO TO CHURCH TO GET TO KNOW YO GOD
I think for some people life is always like those street corners in Brooklyn, with everyone arguing for the superiority of their own beliefs. I believe that religion is the thing that separates and controls people. I don’t believe in the fire-and-brimstone shit, the idea that God will punish people for eternity in a burning hell. I believe in one God. That’s the thing that makes the most sense to me. There’s wisdom in all kinds of religious traditions—I’ll take from Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Buddhism, whatever. The parts that make the most sense feel like they’re coming from the same voice, the same God. Most of all, I don’t think what I believe should matter to anyone else; I’m not trying to stop anyone from believing whatever they want. I believe in God, and that’s really enough for me.
I don’t spend a lot of time on records talking about spiritual ideas in an explicit way, although I think a lot of my music sneaks in those big questions—of good and evil, fate and destiny, suffering and inequality. I think about life mostly in pragmatic terms: I think about behavior and intention in the here and now. But I also think about Karma. It’s a complicated idea that I’ve tried to make sense of. At the heart of a lot of these competing ideas of the afterlife and heaven and hell and thug angels and all that is the idea that if the universe is just, things have to even out eventually, somehow. And sometimes that’s a scary thought.
I’ve done things I know are wrong. There are times when I feel like I’ve suffered for those things, that I’ve paid back for my mistakes in spades. But then there are times when I look around me, at the life I have today, and think I’m getting away with murder. It’s something a lot of us who come from hard places go through, and maybe we feel a certain amount of survivor’s guilt for it. I never imagined I’d be where I am today. There’s a line in Fade to Black, the concert film we did for The Black Album, where I say, “I sometimes step back and see myself from the outside and say, who is that guy?” Over time I’ve worked to get more clarity about my past and present and to unify my outside shell and soul, but it’s ongoing. Inside, there’s still part of me that expects to wake up tomorrow in my bedroom in apartment 5C in Marcy, slide on my gear, run down the pissy stairway, and hit the block, one eye over my shoulder.
SENSITIVE THUGS, YOU’LL ALL NEED HUGS
Sometimes this uneasiness comes out in my songwriting. I was on vacation when I started writing “Beach Chair.” This was after my semiretirement with The Black Album and I was really trying to sit back for the first time in my life and get off the grind for a minute. My vacation of choice—even back before I got into music—has always involved water and warmth. I wanted to write a song that matched my mood, a song about the good life. But almost immediately, the song went left. It begins with the line “Life is but a dream to me” but turns into a meditation on ambition and the laws of the universe, on questions I can still only ask but not fully answer.
It’s a song that I think of as one of the hidden jewels in my catalog. Some people absolutely love the song, but other people find it confusing and out of character. But just as I tried to do something a little different on my first album—get deep inside the conflicted mind of the hustler—I’m still trying to push hip-hop into new places. In the song “Regrets,” off my first album, there’s a line addressed to my mother—you used to hold me, tell me that I was the best—that can almost be taken as soft. But what, niggas are supposed to be so hard that their mothers never held them? It’s kind of ridiculous. In “Streets Is Talking,” off of the Dynasty album, in the middle of a pretty hardcore song I threw out a line about my father leaving me—I ain’t mad at you dad, holla at your lad—which might seem odd, because shouldn’t I just be saying, Fuck you, dad, I hope you die, instead of opening myself up to be played by the man who abandoned me? But that feeling was real; I couldn’t deny it. Honest introspection has always been one of the tools I use in my rhymes. Songs like “Beach Chair” are just an evolution of that same technique applied to broader questions, the kind of questions that even the grimiest street cat wakes up wondering about at three in the morning.
I think for hip-hop to grow to its potential and stay relevant for another generation we have to keep pushing deeper and deeper into the biggest subjects and doing it with real honesty. The truth is always relevant.
BEACH CHAIR / FEATURING CHRIS MARTIN
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Did It Cost Me too Much? (0:40)
Life is but a dream to me1 / I don’t wanna wake up / Thirty odd years without having my cake up / So I’m abou
t my paper / 24-7, 365, 366 in a leap year2 / I don’t know why we here3 / Since we gotta be here / Life is but a beach chair / Went from having shabby clothes / Crossing over Abbey Road4 / Hear my angels singing to me / Are you happy HOV?5 / I just hope I’m hearing right6 / Karma’s got me fearing life / Colleek are you praying for me7 / See I got demons in my past / So I got daughters on the way / If the prophecy’s correct / Then the child should have to pay8 / For the sins of a father / So I barter my tomorrows / Against my yesterdays / In hopes that she’ll be OK9 / And when I’m no longer here / To shade her face from the glare / I’ll give her my share of Carol’s Daughter10 / and a new beach chair / Life is but a dream to me / Gun shots sing to these / Other guys but lullabies / Don’t mean a thing to me11 / I’m not afraid of dying / I’m afraid of not trying / Everyday hit every wave / Like I’m Hawaiian / I don’t surf the net / No I never been on MySpace / Too busy letting my voice vibrate / Carving out my space12 / In this world of fly girls / Cutthroats & diamond cut ropes I twirls / Benzes round corners / Where the sun don’t shine / I let the wheels give a glimpse / Of hope of one’s grind13 / Some said HOV, how you get so fly / I said from not being afraid to fall out the sky14 / My physical’s a shell / So when I say farewell / My soul will find an even / Higher plane to dwell / So fly you shall / So have no fear,15 just know that / Life is but a beach chair / Life is but a dream / Can’t mimic my life / I’m the thinnest cut slice / Intercut, the winner’s cup / With winters rough enough / To interrupt life16 / That’s why I’m both / The saint and the sinner / Nice / This is Jay everyday17 / No compromise / No compass comes with this life / Just eyes / So to map it out / You must look inside / Sure books can guide you / But your heart defines you18 / Chica / You corason is what brought us home / In great shape like Heidi Klum / Maricon, I am on / Permanent Vaca / Life is but a beach chair / This song is like a Hallmark card / Until you reach here / So till she’s here / And she declared / The heir / I will prepare / A blueprint for you to print / A map for you to get back / A guide for your eyes / And so you won’t lose scent / I’ll make a stink for you to think / I ink these verses full of prose / So you won’t get conned out of two cent19 / My last will and testament I leave my heir / My share of Roc-A-Fella Records and a shiny new beach chair