Lyrics
[Intro: Justin Timberlake]
You'd steal the food right out my mouth and I'd watch you eat it
I still don’t know why, why I love you so much, ohh
You curse my name, in spite to put me to shame
Have my laundry in the streets, dirty or clean, give it up for fame
But I still don't know why, why I love it so much
[Hook: Justin Timberlake]
And baby, it's amazing I'm in this maze with you
I just can't crack your code
One day you screaming you love me loud
The next day you're so cold
One day you're here, one day you're there, one day you care
You're so unfair, sipping from your cup 'til it runneth over, Holy Grail
[Verse 1: Jay-Z]
Blue told me remind you niggas
Fuck that shit y'all talking 'bout, I'm the nigga
Caught up in all these lights and cameras
But look what that shit did to Hammer
Goddammit it I like it
Bright lights is enticing but look what it did to Tyson
All that money in one night, thirty mill for one fight
But soon as all the money blows, all the pigeons take flight
Fuck the fame, keep cheating on me, what I do, I took her back
Fool me twice, that's my bad, I can't even blame her for that
Enough to make me wanna murder, momma please just get my bail
I know nobody to blame, Kurt Cobain, I did it to myself
[Bridge: Justin Timberlake]
And we all just entertainers
And we're stupid and contagious
And we all just entertainers
[Hook]
[Verse 2: Jay-Z]
Now I got tattoos on my body, psycho bitches in my lobby
I got haters in the paper, photo shoots with paparazzi
Can't even take my daughter for a walk, see 'em by the corner store
I feel like I'm cornered off enough is enough, I'm calling this off
Who the fuck I'm kidding though, I'm getting high, sitting low
Sliding by in that big body, curtains all in my window
This fame hurt but this chain works, I think back you asked the same person
If this is all you had to deal with, nigga deal with, this shit ain't work
This light work, camera snapping, my eyes hurt
Niggas dying back where I was birthed, fuck your IRIS and the IRS
Get the hell up off your high horse
You got the shit that niggas die for, dry yours
Why you mad, take the good with the bad
Don't throw the baby out with the bath water
You still alive, still that nigga
Nigga you survived, you still getting bigger nigga
Living the life, Vanilla wafers in a villa
Illest nigga alive, Michael Jackson's Thriller
[Hook]
[Bridge: Justin Timberlake]
You get the air out my lungs whenever you need it
And you take the blade right out my heart, just so you can watch me bleed
And I still don’t know why, why I love you so much, yeah
And you play this game in spite to drive me insane
I got it tattooed on my sleeve forever in ink with guess whose name
But I still don't know why, why our love is so muAnnotatech
Review
Jay-Z is richer than God, and probably about as famous. He headlines the hugest rock festivals, parties with Warren Buffett and, thanks to an unprecedented business maneuver, his 12th solo album went platinum before it even came out. What could he possibly have to complain about?
Plenty, it turns out. "Fuck the fame," Jay spits on the LP's surprisingly moody opener, "Holy Grail," where he vents about intrusive paparazzi and fickle fans, name-checks Kurt Cobain and brings out his buddy Justin Timberlake for a round of twisted "Teen Spirit" karaoke: "And we're all just entertainers/And we're stupid and contagious." And, yet, on the next song, "Picasso Baby," he's celebrating the perks of superstardom by giving us a grand tour of his art collection, displaying his Basquiats, Warhols and Rothkos – names he's been working into his verses for years – over a museum-quality boom-bap backdrop: "House like the Louvre or the Tate Modern/Because I be going ape at the auction."
This is how it goes for most of Magna Carta . . . Holy Grail. Jay-Z sorts through his mixed feelings about celebrity, then cheers himself up by itemizing the awesome things he owns. The production, mostly handled by Timbaland, is woozy and grand – another luxury possession. But Jay often sounds like he's trying to convince himself that he should still be excited about making music. What's disappointing is, he doesn't always seem to be winning that argument.
Take "Tom Ford," which might mark the lyrical nadir of Jay-Z's catalog. "Numbers don't lie, check the scoreboard," he says in a distracted tone. "Tom Ford, Tom Ford, Tom Ford." He sounds bored half to death by the basic rhyme, listlessly repeating the designer's name like it's going to magically transform into a clever or catchy hook. It hurts to see him waste a primo Timbaland beat like this. What happened to the guy who would have devoured those jiggly synth squelches a couple of years ago?
In part, he's the victim of his own remarkable longevity and extraordinary success. Jay-Z has been telling us about himself since 1996. He retired, then unretired, and that was four albums ago. Maybe he's starting to run out of things to say – or maybe, absent a foil like Kanye West on 2011's superb Watch the Throne or Kendrick Lamar on this year's "Bitch, Don't Kill My Vibe" remix, he can't find the energy to push himself creatively.
Even at his most checked-out, Jay-Z remains a great MC; listen to how he layers his imagery on the Frank Ocean-assisted "Oceans": "On the holiday, playing 'Strange Fruit'/If I'm-a make it to a billi, I can't take the same route." But there's not much on Magna Carta . . . Holy Grail that he hasn't said before in more interesting ways.
He sounds most engaged on "Jay-Z Blue," where he grapples with his deepest fears about parenthood: "Father never taught me how to be a father, treat a mother/I don't wanna have to just repeat another, leave another/Baby with no daddy." It's a vivid, powerful moment that reminds you what he can do when he really cares.
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