Lyrical Breakdown of Bank Account - A Journey through Words and Rhymes
Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Bank Account" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.
- Lyric Overview: Witness how 21 Savage weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "Bank Account" is a testament to masterful songwriting.
- Rhyme and Rhythm Analysis: Our Lazyjot editor highlights the ingenious use of multi-syllabic rhymes and the rhythm pattern that 21 Savage employs. Understand the construction of each verse and how it contributes to the song's overall impact.
- Syllable Pattern Insights: Dive deeper into the structural elements of the lyrics. See how the syllable count varies across the song, adding a unique rhythm and flow to 21 Savage's narrative.
This lyrical analysis of "Bank Account" not only celebrates 21 Savage's artistic prowess but also serves as an educational tool for aspiring songwriters. If this analysis inspires you and you'd like to see your own songs analyzed in this way, join the Lazyjot community. Register at Lazyjot and start exploring the full potential of your lyrical creativity. Turn your thoughts into rhymes and your rhymes into songs with Lazyjot!
I buy a new car for the bitch (for real)
I tear down the mall with the bitch (for real)
You can't even talk to the bitch (no)
She fucking with bosses and shit (oh God)
I pull up in 'Rari's and shit, with choppers and Harley's and shit (for real)
I be Gucci'd down, you wearing Lacoste and shit (bitch)
Yeah, Moncler, yeah, fur came off of that, yeah (yeah)
Triple homicide, put me in a chair, yeah (in jail)
Triple cross the plug, we do not play fair, yeah (oh God)
Got 'em tennis chains on and they real blingy (blingy)
Draco make you do the chicken head like Chingy (Chingy)
Walk in Neiman Marcus and I spend a light fifty (fifty)
Please proceed with caution, shooters, they be right with me (21)
Bad bitch, cute face and some nice titties
Seventy-five hunnid on a Saint Laurent jacket (yeah)
Bitch, be careful where you dumpin' your ashes (bitch)
I ain't no sucker, I ain't cut for no action (nah)
The skreets raised me, I'm a ho bastard (wild, wild, wild, wild)
I bought a 'Rari just so I can go faster (skrrt)
Niggas tryna copy me, they playin' catch up (21)
I might pull up in a Ghost, no Casper (21)
I been smoking gas and I got no asthma
I got one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight M's in my bank account, yeah (oh God)
In my bank account, yeah (oh God)
In my bank account, yeah (oh God)
In my bank account, yeah (oh God)
In my bank account, yeah (oh God)
In my bank account, yeah (oh God)
I got one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight shooters ready to gun you down, yeah (fast)
Ready to gun you down, yeah (oh God)
Ready to gun you down, yeah (oh God)
Ready to gun you down, yeah (oh God)
Ready to gun you down, yeah (oh God)
Ready to gun you down, yeah (oh God)
Yeah, dog (huh yeah) nah for real dog (21)
Straight up out the 6, now got a house in the Hills, dog (21)
Wanna see a body, nigga? Get you killed dog (wet)
Wanna tweet about me, nigga? Get you killed dog (wet)
Killed dog, I'm a real dog (21) you a lil' dog (21)
Be a dog, wanna be a dog, chasing mil's dog (yeah)
Dunk right in your bitch like O'Neal, dog (wet)
Yes I shoot like Reggie Mill', dog (21)
Chopper sting you like a eel, dog (fast)
I got one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight M's in my bank account, yeah (oh God)
In my bank account, yeah (oh God)
In my bank account, yeah (oh God)
In my bank account, yeah (oh God)
In my bank account, yeah (oh God)
In my bank account, yeah (oh God)
I got one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight shooters ready to gun you down, yeah (fast)
Ready to gun you down, yeah (oh God)
Ready to gun you down, yeah (oh God)
Ready to gun you down, yeah (oh God)
Ready to gun you down, yeah (oh God)
Ready to gun you down, yeah (oh God)
Ruler clips, send a ruler hit
Pull up on your bitch, she say that I got a ruler dick
Spray your block down, we not really with that ruh-rah shit
Glock cocked now, I don't really give no fuck 'bout who I hit
Yeah, your bitch, she get jiggy with me
Keep that Siggy with me
Bitch, I'm Mad Max, you know I got Ziggy with me
Keep a mad mag in case they wanna get busy with me
'Rari matte black and I got a Bentley with me
I got one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight M's in my bank account, yeah (oh God)
In my bank account, yeah (oh God)
In my bank account, yeah (oh God)
In my bank account, yeah (oh God)
In my bank account, yeah (oh God)
In my bank account, yeah (oh God)
I got one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight shooters ready to gun you down, yeah (fast)
Ready to gun you down, yeah (oh God)
Ready to gun you down, yeah (oh God)
Ready to gun you down, yeah (oh God)
Ready to gun you down, yeah (oh God)
Ready to gun you down, yeah (oh God)
Seventy-five hunnid on a Saint Laurent jacket (yeah)
Bitch, be careful where you dumpin' your ashes (bitch)
I ain't no sucker, I ain't cut for no action (nah)
The skreets raised me, I'm a ho bastard