Lyrical Breakdown of Hiding - A Journey through Words and Rhymes

Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Hiding" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.

• Lyric Overview: Witness how Chief Keef weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "Hiding" 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 Chief Keef 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 Chief Keef's narrative.

This lyrical analysis of "Hiding" not only celebrates Chief Keef'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!

What do you want? What do you want? What do you want? What do you want? What do you want? What do you want? What do you want? What do you want? I got choppers, I got gwala I got partners, send you to the doctor I got guns, singing like opera And my partners, they got money We ain't for nu-uh Fuck your momma, fuck your poppa What the fuck you doing, if you ain't getting money? Bitch, I'm 3hunna, my niggas riding And we sliding, bitch, we ain't hiding I got my pistol, that's my issue My pistol get you, it got that grip too I shoot it at you, them bullets catch you And now you're done, you couldn't wrestle All of these niggas, they pretenders Act like they with you, they out to get you So don't trust them, so don't love them They want your spot, they want your hustle You flex and they want your muscle Rings on all ten hands and they want your knuckle Bitches calling me, they want my time But I'm chasing all this money runnin' I got choppers, I got gwala I got partners, send you to the doctor I got guns, singing like opera And my partners, they got money We ain't for nu-uh Fuck your momma, fuck your poppa What the fuck you doing, if you ain't getting money? Bitch, I'm 3hunna, my niggas riding And we sliding, bitch, we ain't hiding What do you want? Where are you going? What you doing, if you ain't getting money? I'm smoking ganja, I'm counting commas I got my llama, so nigga don't try us I'm blasting at you, I'm laughing at you Flexing, throwing cash up on your bitch, and throwing cash up at you I threw some cash up at you, 'cause you need to catch up You full of mayonnaise, I'll let Nina red ya You in the red line, that's the deadline You ain't got my money on time Then that's your head mon Bumbaclottin', Rasta-rockin' Rastafari motherfucker, damn near lion I got choppers, I got gwala I got partners, send you to the doctor I got guns, singing like opera And my partners, they got money We ain't for nu-uh Fuck your momma, fuck your poppa What the fuck you doing, if you ain't getting money? Bitch, I'm 3hunna, my niggas riding And we sliding, bitch, we ain't hiding