Lyrical Breakdown of sons - A Journey through Words and Rhymes
Welcome to the detailed analysis of "sons" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.
- Lyric Overview: Witness how Baby Keem weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "sons" 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 Baby Keem 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 Baby Keem's narrative.
This lyrical analysis of "sons" not only celebrates Baby Keem'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!
You a critic, boy, shut the fuck up
I'm a freak ho, hit her, dawg, and I'm in the cut
She on white, 'cause I energize her way too much
If we got up on a pic, ho, it's time to pick it up, up, up, up
And my neck King Tut, ah-ha-ha
I go up with the goons if I must, ah-ha-ha
And my bitch always catch a nut, ah-ha-ha
Double D's, but she throw the B's up, ah-ha-ha
Ayy, this that big road rage, this ain't one-way street
Time to flip the regime, welcome to the new me
She don't know when I land, but she know when I leave
This that raw and uncut, this that young Hykeem
Bitch, dressed in Vogue, she's a slim one, woah
Don't front, you was just where I livе, woah, woah
Ho, my cousin elevator in his crib, woah, woah
Ho, my baby pictures probably on his fridgе, woah, woah
It's a lot of sponge around me
Lot of sons around me, real ones are drowning
Ho, ho, ho, ho
Ho, ho, ho
It's a lot of funds around me
Rap sons around me, get the fuck from 'round me
Ho, ho, ho, ho
Ho, ho, ho
They playin' right long, they ain't talkin' on the phone
We got Telfar bags, what's your taste level on?
Mine is pgLang, no, you didn't hear wrong
Ho, that bag thirteen-hundred, take your peachy ass home
Oh, you a sidekick, ho? Your Luigi ass on
Say he takin' care of you, he just cut the gas on
Okay, baby, get your money, hit me when you're back on
I'm jaded to the hustle, prove my critic ass wrong
It's a lot of sponge around me
Lot of sons around me, real ones are drowning
Ho, ho, ho, ho
Ho, ho, ho
It's a lot of funds around me
Rap sons around me, get the fuck from 'round me
Ho, ho, ho, ho
Ho, ho, ho
Your last one told me that she 'bout to bounce back
I give her backstrokes, ew, now she mad
Oh, you really thought you had one? You ain't had to sweat one
Won the folks hearts, several million for my last one
Listen boys, listen up, listen quick
If your bitch ain't black, don't pose for the pic
Deep down we all know the hoes really hate that shit
Fuck that ordinary bitch, get you an insane bitch
I'm a philosopher, she a brain doctor
Pg headquarters, in the field playin' soccer
Heart of the team, number ten on my locker
Ayy, you niggas silly, boy, hot sauce on your-, boy
What you look like flyin' in? Stay your ass in null and void
Told myself these hoes ain't shit and niggas always makin' noise
Had to flip ten million with 'em, big investments with the (woo)
It's a lot of sponge around me
Lot of sons around me, real ones are drowning
Ho, ho, ho, ho
Ho, ho, ho
It's a lot of funds around me
Rap sons around me, get the fuck from 'round me
Ho, ho, ho, ho
Ho, ho, ho