The armchair psychiatrists on Twitter and elsewhere would pin his tossing and turning on the infamous elevator incident that shattered his family’s perfect veneer three years ago. The way some of the album-his thirteenth-and its weightier moments paint the picture, one imagines Jay hadn’t been sleeping well for quite some time. Just the time on the clock, much like Rosebud was just a sled. 4:44 isn’t a numerically-coded ode to his BFF Obama, a reference to his favorite number, a numerology message, nor a Bible verse. That’s the answer to the grand puzzle the internet spent a month trying to decode, thanks to some crafty, minimalist marketing.
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