Can’t Be Done

Lyrics

[Intro: Jay-Z] Yeah! Nigga, I could make four more albums off memory! Y'all ain't never gonna be better than me I'ma do this 'til I'm eighty [Verse 1: Jay-Z] Everybody wanna rhyme like Hov' 'Cause I rhyme like I be rhyming in the Rov' Climbing in them hoes Mind like a diamond, I'll blind you at the shows I don't shine, I glow; I remind you of that dough, don't I? Did I? Hustle the game Just the thought alone give me a boner Coach cater to a coma Can't out-hustle a hustler, you can't outplay a player This rap shit is a layup In my former biz, motherfuckers will spray ya In the music biz, motherfuckers just say stuff Spit on you and spray ya, niggas just play tough when the cameras on When the cameras gone, niggas want to set up meetings 'Cause they know most likely, when I see 'em, I'ma set up a beating Windows, no tints (Tints); cars, no rims (Nope) That's because we handle ours like grown men I ain't touch a wheel since I drove the Bent' That's 'cause it was a coupe—nah, I ain't souped I was telling the truth, and you Tom Cruise—you can't handle it Handle it, nigga, is what I do I tried to be modest on Blueprint 2 (Tch) But y'all don't respect modest; y'all respect my dollars You got to believe I think like a artist But my bills through the roof—can't do numbers like The Roots No disrespect, I be trying to disconnect But niggas keep pulling me back in, I'm trapped in My pops got a liver disorder My whole living's disordered, and I just got his living room ordered And you wonder why the chip on my shoulder's more like a brick or a boulder You'll understand maybe when you get older (Maybe) Got a hundred niggas on your dick saying, "You ought to record like this," or what have you Niggas is back-stabbing you Bitches mad at you 'cause they can't have you Press want to know about the daughter of Matthew (What up, Bey?) Now it's back to the hood again, all-black hood again Back to old ladies saying what I could've been Back to the gats—you forgot I'm real good with them They gon' put a nigga in jail—oh, well [Hook: 50 Cent & Jay-Z] If I can't (Yeah) do it (Ugh) Homie, it can't be done [Verse 2: Jay-Z] I'm the one, I'm not the two, not the three, not the four, the five I take the pain from my life, pour it all on the side Take my strain and my stride, take my ego and pride Used them to kick down the door, brought my people inside And I hope you ain't think I wrote this to entertain you, 'cause that ain't what I came to do I will bang you, I will act like orangutans do I give you hot wings, turn niggas to angels Understand my angle, I'm safety-first Don't make me act like the safety don't work Tough niggas get it the worst, I'm begging you, come for us I'm giving motherfuckers dirt comforters [Outro: Jay-Z] Ahahaha Young! Night-night, nigga, take a dirt nap S. Carter Collection! Black Album on its way I know you hear the footsteps Tap, tap, tap Yes!