Lyrical Breakdown of 2Pac - Str8 Ballin' - A Journey through Words and Rhymes

Welcome to the detailed analysis of "2Pac - Str8 Ballin'" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.

• Lyric Overview: Witness how 2Pac weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "2Pac - Str8 Ballin'" 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 2Pac 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 2Pac's narrative.

This lyrical analysis of "2Pac - Str8 Ballin'" not only celebrates 2Pac'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 would share the definition of ballin' with you white folks But now The game is to be sold and not told So eh, fuck me I'm up before the sunrise, first to hit the block. Little bad mothafucka with a pocket full of rocks Learn to throw them thangs, get my skinny little ass kicked And niggas laugh, til' tha first mothafucka got blasted I put the nigga in his casket Now they coverin' the basket with plastic I smoke blunts on a regular buck when it counts I'm tryin' to make a million dollars outta quarter ounce And gettin' ghost on the five-o, fuck them hos Got a 45 screamin' about survival Hey nigga can I lay low, cook some yay-yo Hollar one time when I say so Don't want to go to the pen, I'm hittin' fences Narcs on a nigga's back, missin' me by inches And they say how do you survive weighin' 165 In a city where the skinny niggas die Tell mama don't cry Even when they kill me They can never take the game from a young G I'm street ballin' Street ballin' Still on parole and I'm the first nigga servin' Pour some liquor on the curb for my niggas that deserve it But if I want to make a million, gotta stay dealin' It's kinda boomin' round the way and today I'll make a killin' Dressin' down like a villian', but only on the block It's a clever disguise to keep me runnin' from the cops Ha, I'm gettin' high. I think I'll die if I don't get no ends I'm in a bucket with 'em ridin' it like it's a Benz I hate to strip let my music bump Drinkin' liquor, and I'm lookin' for some hoes to fuck Rather die makin' money than live poor and legal As I slang another ounce, I wish it was a kilo A need money in a major way Time to fuck my bitch, hey, and gettin' paid You other motherfuckers callin' But me and my motherfuckin' thug niggas We street ballin' Street ballin' Damned if I don't, and damned if a nigga do So watch a young mothafucka pull a trigga just to raise up But don't let them see you cry, dry your eyes Young nigga time to do or die I keep a pistol in my pocket Ready on my block Ain't no time for a nigga to even cock shit And now they see that motherfucker beat pain At point blank range 'cause he slept on the game Ain't a damned thing changed Shakin' the dice, now roll 'em If you can't stand pain better hold 'em 'Cause ain't no tellin' what you might roll You might go catch AIDS from a slight cold, nigga Better live your life to the fullest You 'bout to kill a fool, got a pistol mothafucka better pull it 'Cause even when they kill me They can never take the game from a young G We street ballin' We street ballin' To my niggas in the penitentiary Loked up like a mothafucka when they mention me 'Cause you fuckin' with the realest motha fucka ever born And once again it's on I'm bustin' on these bitches till they gone Who the hell can you get to stop me I'm in the projects, parlaying with my posse I keep my glock cocked I need it cause they're all shady I finally made it Now these jealous bitches tryin' to fade me I ain't goin' out I'd rather blast back I'm on the corner with my niggas watchin' cash stack And I came up a long way from food stamps And takin' shit from the low-life ghetto tramps Could you blame me if they sweat me I'm gonna open fire What could I do pull my trigga or watch my nigga die I'm representin' to the fullest givin' devil slugs I'm on the block slangin' drugs with the young thugs And motherfucker, we be ballin' All motherfuckin' day long, stay strong We street ballin'