“To some degree charity is a racket in a capitalist system, a way of making our obligations to one another optional and keeping poor people feeling a sense of indebtedness to the rich, even if the rich spend every other day exploiting those same people.”

No, that is not Noam Chomsky. That is an excerpt from Jay-Z’s new memoir, “Decoded” out on Tuesday. The street philosopher dishes up all types of deep thought on a wide range of subjects: George Bush’s failure to save Katrina victims, Jay’s role in President Barack Obama’s campaign, Cristal’s reluctance to embrace hip-hop culture consuming their brand, to name a few.

The anecdotes about Jay’s philanthropy, electioneering and smoking weed with Notorious B.I.G are by far the most interesting parts of the book, even though they are played down in favor of other aspects of his personal life, namely, his time spent on the block.

The book is structured around telling the story of some of Hova’s lyrics. The ideas contained in a chapter revolve around the subject matter of a few songs, with the lyrics being reprinted with footnotes that further break down the lyrics coming at the end of every chapter.

Almost too much light is shone on Jay’s lyrics. Aside from his biggest fans, most aren’t interested in his use of synonyms, homonyms, alliterations, double entendres (all words he uses) to illustrate how intricate his rhymes are. I think Jay might be the only one to get his subtle shout-out to Vogue editor Anna Wintour in his line from “Empire State of Mind,” which reads, “and when the winter gets cold, in vogue with your skin out.”

Even a song whose narrative is not about hood life does not seem as deep as Jay describes. According to Jay, the song “Beach Chair” was written “like a will to an unborn child in anticipation of the day when I wake up from the dream of life.” Say what?

Perhaps the most interesting dissection is saved for arguably his best song, “99 Problems.” Before his thoughts on the lyrics were made public, everyone knew the song was ambiguous. It turns out the song is semi-autobiographical (most of his are) in its accounts of getting pulled over for virtually no reason and having a sizable amount of crack cocaine stashed is his car. When Jay refused to let the cop search his car, the k-9 squad was called in, but the k-9 was not in the area, so they let Jay go.

After telling this story, Jay retracts to the famous line, “I got 99 problems, but a b**** ain’t one.” Finally, Jay goes on record to say the line was not referring to women, but rather, in this case, female dogs. In fact, in every verse the word is used to describe something completely different.

The song touches on another recurring theme in Jigga Man’s lyrics — his days as a crack-cocaine drug dealer.

Virtually every song included in his memoir has some reference to his hustling days spent on Harlem corners, and as the book goes along, the references get a little tiring.

Oftentimes the prose retreats back to familiar hip-hop talking points: crack dealing at 15, seeing your friends die, your father leaving for good, having a gun pointed in your face, etc. I can’t fault Jay for spending the majority of his time dissecting these occurrences, as they were all events that defined him and his lyrics, but they really weren’t that interesting.

Jay-Z is one of the most powerful and influential artists and businessmen in the music industry, and at that level, his story is worth telling.

But his quasi-philosophical interpretations of his own lyrics were not that insightful, and the space it took up could have been better served discussing, for example, his short stint as Def Jam CEO. His story is phenomenal because he made it from being a crack dealer to a powerful mogul. Sadly, however, his memoir didn’t reflect that.