Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Mongolia [Feat. Hologram & Meyhem Lauren]" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.
- Lyric Overview: Witness how undefined weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "Mongolia [Feat. Hologram & Meyhem Lauren]" 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 undefined 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 undefined's narrative.
This lyrical analysis of "Mongolia [Feat. Hologram & Meyhem Lauren]" not only celebrates undefined'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!
Well, he knows my name
But my name is not my name
And you?
To them, you're only The Greek
And of course, I'm not even Greek
Yeah, back the five
Yeah, Hologram
Yeah, that's coming up
Yo, it's Mr. 40-40, dressed like I'm Treach from Naughty
A young brother that'll stretch your shorty (damn)
David Caruso couldn't connect the story (what's up)
To solve the puzzle
His favorite murder weapon was a shovel
It the jefe, Spanish women all over my body
Like I'm Machete, homes
All I do is write these essay poems
Let's get dusted at the Mets game, homes
Like 16 handles, catch me swirlin' in the left lane, home (whoo)
I don't even got my left leg on (damn)
Tryna dance tonight (damn)
This ain't your language that I seen
Wrapped up my hands in ice
Me and my brother go together
Just like lamb and rice (fuck me)
I eat African 'shrooms, while rappin' on tombs
Back in June, when I clapped at your goon (ah)
My car color blew off, well, it's new, and it's too awful
The limo driver moved off
Or we'll off your new golf shoes (damn)
Working on my birdie putt, you heard me, slut
Hurry up, curvy butt
I need a bitch to go down on me (down)
I mean really go to town on me (town)
I mean really do a number on me (suck that dick, bitch)
Supplyin' a league, a few fiends died at my feet (whoo)
Got dealt a bad hand off a half gram
Feast to famine, give you a half Xan
And throw you in the Grand Canyon (you fuckin' dead)
Yeah, uh
Uh
Mayhem doin' good, that's a rumor that I heard
Wearin' diamonds, eatin' bluefin tuna
They wanna test me like I'm Bradley Beal
None of you motherfuckers real
My nigga, pass the steel
Mass appeal, mass production
Mass destruction, crime, corruption
Wine consumption
On a private island wildin'
The sun threw shade 'cause it's jealous of my medallion
Bitchin' and then compellin'
Late nights like Jimmy Fallon
Louis silk cuff with Nikes, picture me stylin'
My life story is an open shirt outfit
We gettin money, kid, you niggas ain't 'bout shit