Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Pac Blood" 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 "Pac Blood" 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 "Pac Blood" 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!
[Verse 1]
The Shakespeare of 16's, dipping my ink pen
Made a sculpture of me but my dick was too thin
Painting pictures of me but they never get my chin
One writing scriptures bringing tears to the princess
Every time I indent, you can see the intent
Leave your mind bent, hanging on the every sentence
Have no apprentice, style uninherited
Laughing at you peasants cause my penmanship is excellent
We're never in the present, eyes get wide
I'm the town hero cause my words give them pride
And what they feel inside, I say the perfect words for 'em
Some say I'm a prophet with the visions I get cursed for
Leave them all astonished, ride with the birds
Make a grown man cry with shrimp on the words
[Hook]
Tears to Mona Lisa, Medusa to liquid
Fork'll make Gandhi grab the burner while they shoot shit
Rhymes that make the Pope wanna get his dick sucked
Had Virgin Mary doing lines in the pick-up
Make Sarah Palin deep-throat 'til she hiccup
Had T.D. Jakes round this bitch doing stick-ups
Rhymes so real, thought I wrote it in Pac blood
Told me in my dreams that these niggas is not thugs
[Verse 2]
What's in the portfolio? Sicker than polio
Shit so personal, my mom can't listen to
Oh so original, nigga's extra-crispy
Bars so Bukowski, Soda Popinski
World Match could never be number one, your time's done
Bomb filling smelling like napalm, your day's gone
Langston Hughes with a blue fuse and a screw loose
Maya Angelou abused child with her notebook
Spitting like Kiplin with a tooth missing
Tom Greene torture to men, women and children
Memoir's sacred, hid in the basement
Await my next peace at a formal engagement
Crowds walk for miles just to hear that sound
Start to get more power than the ones that wear crowns
[Hook]