Lyrical Breakdown of The God Hour - A Journey through Words and Rhymes
Welcome to the detailed analysis of "The God Hour" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.
- Lyric Overview: Witness how A$AP Rocky weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "The God Hour" is a testament to masterful songwriting.
- Rhyme and Rhythm Analysis: Our Lazyjot editor highlights the ingenious use of multi-syllabic rhymes and the rhythm pattern that A$AP Rocky 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$AP Rocky's narrative.
This lyrical analysis of "The God Hour" not only celebrates A$AP Rocky'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!
(Rollin' in my pimpin', ain't no tellin' what I'm finna do) (uh)
(Ay man, this joint crank fool)
(My beeper just a-beepin' so I'm takin' a risk to drop off two)
(Keys in my lap, just incase these niggas stangin') (uh)
(I'm scrapped, bitch don't trip, 'cause I'm equipped with that pistol grip) (where)
(Rollin' in my pimpin', ain't no tellin' what I'm finna do)
(My beeper just a-beepin' so I'm takin' a risk to drop off two) (huh)
(Keys in my lap, just incase these niggas stangin') (yeah)
(I'm scrapped, bitch don't trip)
('Cause I'm equipped with that pistol grip) (cash out)
Used to sip red, now I'm sippin' on Wock'
FedEx, I'm shipping gelato and locks
Cover the weed up, we plantin' the crop
AMG engine, it come with no key
I'm on the beach, I got sand on my feet
Cover my arm, shoot when I reach
I did it first and they got it from me
Count up my deal, and I feel like Bruce Lee
Prada my coat that I rock in the winter
Word at my Benz and I'm up 'til September
When you get famous, they never remember
C.R.E.A.M in my pocket, I feel like I'm RZA, uh
Come get that work, tell that ho' to flip that, twerk
Nigga, this my turf (turf) nigga, it's my turn
B.G., Hot Boy, this that Turk, homeboy kilt look like skirt
Don't get murked, heh
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Dressed like Aquemini, gentle guy, no, I ain't femini'
Long as I keep my hands sanitized
I'ma come clean, I just realized with no analyze
Money can't fit in my pocket no more 'cause I'm sample sized
Shout out to Max, shoutout my guys
Slide out the back, slide out the side
Bought a new drop just to shoot out the top
Just to shoot out the top (uh)
(Rollin' in my pimpin', ain't no tellin' what I'm finna do)
(My beeper just a-beepin' so I'm takin' a risk to drop off two)
(Keys in my lap, just incase these niggas stangin')
(I'm scrapped, bitch don't trip, 'cause I'm equipped with that pistol grip) (what?)
I was at Coachella high off the molly
Taking them mushrooms, I'm out of my body
Natural be blooming, I'm smoking biscotti
Nigga Chanel, white like a Nazi
Hop in the booth, that work my hobby
After my show, 30 bitches in lobby
Money on Whitney, look at them Bobby
Marino on my clothing, it drench down my body
My denim they bummin', they orange like a pumpkin
Stone Island exclusive, I got it from London
Nike Air Maxes, to the money I'm running
I gotta go get it but can't do no fumbling
Come get that work, tell that ho' to flip that, twerk
Nigga, this my turf (turf) nigga, it's my turn
B.G., Hot Boy, this that Turk, homeboy kilt look like skirt
Don't get murked, heh
(Yeah, I get money)
(Ketchup, what? Bitch don't trip)
('Cause I'm equipped with that pistol grip, pistol grip, pistol grip, pistol grip)