Lyrical Breakdown of Blood On My Denim - A Journey through Words and Rhymes
Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Blood On My Denim" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.
- Lyric Overview: Witness how A Boogie wit da Hoodie weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "Blood On My Denim" 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 A Boogie wit da Hoodie 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 A Boogie wit da Hoodie's narrative.
This lyrical analysis of "Blood On My Denim" not only celebrates A Boogie wit da Hoodie'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!
It's JoeFromYo
I thought every girl I had was the one (Uh, huh), but she was not it
Ninety nine percent of bitches be thottin' (Thottin')
If I do the same thing, you'd say I'm not shit (Not shit)
I could do the same thing and leave you cryin' (Cryin')
She got a little deeper through the process (Process)
Still addicted to the streets, can't hide it (Hide it)
Walk around with two Glizzy's in my pocket (Pocket)
I really cocked it, flip a nigga like a socket (Socket)
Nigga, way before the fame we was wildin'
Then they killed my nigga Quado from the projects (Projects)
And it's a shame, all the bitches that was curvin'
I see the same damn names in my comments (Comments)
She was lookin' O.D. from her side eyes
Say she ain't an eater, oh she lied, oh she lied-lied
Woke up to three bitches in my bed
Made me say it three times, "Oh you fine, oh you fine-fine"
I ain't rockin' with no ho' niggas or bozo
That's a no-no, nigga nah, nah
I know they know my flaws, the way I rock Dolce and Gabbana
I lost my niggas to the streets when it coulda been me
It's fucked up, they either dead or doin' Fed time
Boy, you all about your bread, so am I
If it's money on your mind, .45 to your hairline
And I keep it by the dresser
That's for any bitch who ever tried to break my heart, I won't let ya
Still got blood on my denims
That was all the blood that was in 'em, no more love in a nigga
No more love in the nigga but I
Swear her company made me so comfortable
I don't fuck with her (Yeah), the way she fuck with me
And it's probably 'cause I'm from the X, where they take for respect
Thought I woulda been it 'til they grave on my depths
Same fit for a week, now I hate Nike tech
Now I'm a trendsetter from my sweater to my hat
Dicks put me on the big ass purple Puma jet
I'm flexin' more than ever, she like, "Money make me wet"
And if I die, I'ma die for my respect
Bury me with like a milli' on my neck, uh
She was lookin' O.D. from my side eyes
Say she ain't an eater, but she lie all the time, time
I woke up to three bitches in my bed
Made me say it three times, "Like you fine, oh you fine-fine"
I ain't rockin' with no ho' niggas or bozo
That's a no-no, nigga nah, nah
I know they love my fly, the way I rock Dolce and Gabbana
I lost my niggas to the streets when it coulda been me
It's fucked up, they either dead or doin' Fed time
Ho', you all about your press, so am I
If it's money on your mind, .45 to your hairline
And I keep it by the dresser
Just in case a bitch try to break my heart, I won't let ya
I still got blood on my denims
That was the blood that was in 'em, no more love in a nigga
Run through it, all the bands that a nigga got
I wonder, if the streets still care about me
Long story, I can never really talk about it
I'm numb to it, I stand still when I hear shots
Numb to it, I stand still when I hear shots
I hear niggas talkin' 'bout the money that they don't got
I used to be up on the corner with my young akh
Now I go buy a couple pounds of the fronto
I still smoke it by the pound, I get dumb high
I still smoke it by the pound like a rasta
I send money to my niggas sittin' up, yeah
I send money to my daughter, she's a rugrat
I been through it but I'm not givin' up, yeah
I switch up of different cars now they upset