Lyrical Breakdown of Big Money - A Journey through Words and Rhymes

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

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

This lyrical analysis of "Big Money" not only celebrates DJ Drama'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!

Talkin' big money, boy it come in thousands Trap house bunkin', J's runnin' out it Rich Homie baby! (DJ Drama!) Talkin' big money, boy it come in thousands Trap house bunkin', Js runnin' out it Twelve saw me comin', double back for me I supply my neighbor cul-de-sac money (Whatchu talm bout Quan?) Cul-de-sac money Make so much that twelve double back for me All I stack are dead men, run it back for me Like a daddy, cul-de-sac money Money comin' faster, bitches gettin' thicker Watchin' over my back cause niggas get quicker Got some bubblegum and hard dick for his sister Cause food stamps is all she get from the system She like fuck them niggas but they can't do this shit for her What your issue? You make nathan off this comma Blazin' off this ganja while standin' in this circle Slangin' to your momma, while Stefan geeked on Urkel And that cul-de-sac still fool me That cul-de-sac never sleep In that cul-de-sac we movin' Ain't nothin' get past me And I stop cross, call it short stop You talk small, call it short guap I eat beef like a pork chop What you talkin' bout nigga? Cul-de-sac Talkin' big money, boy it come in thousands Trap house bunkin', Js runnin' out it Twelve saw me comin', double back for me I supply my neighbor cul-de-sac money My bitch she just be from London She ain't pronouncin' nothin' Yeah we can work on the stove top Turn a little to somethin' Met a little bitch, she let me up And found out it was the 3rd cousin Met a little bitch, she let me up And found out it was the 3rd cousin Know a couple niggas in a fuckin' situation Gettin' 40's, 60's change your occupation Got a couple riders with me, Harley Davidson Coulda had three of 'em but turned to eight of 'em Models bitches with a zero Tapin' bricks to her stomach just to add a little weight on 'em Niggas dyin' left and right like my head Know in the trap be a man for the bands Call my older brother Top, uh Grind ran on you with number nine, uh Little brother, he servin' time I just hope he don't even lose his mind I ain't the richest but I'm in line Speakin' of lines, my girl sniffin' lines Then line after line, got product like designs And you catch a dime, got six in the clip Talkin' big money, boy it come in thousands Trap house bunkin', Js runnin' out it Twelve saw me comin', double back for me Like a daddy, cul-de-sac money Hold on, dollar signs on commas, on motherfuckin' commas This cannon on me now, lil nigga you do not want this drama I need that cash, that fetti, that lucci Need my retribution or else we start shootin' Them choppers go off, make your block sound like New Years SOS gang, I do not need a new pair, hold up I done put stacks in the holes in my walls If you touch 'em with cinnamon, it's holes in your face PSA for all you pussy ass niggas who hate Get off my dick and go get the cake I got my hand on the grain and my foot on the gas I have no use for a break I feel like Michael Corleone with the graves I feel like JJ right after the bay Better watch what you say bout me Cause I keep gunners around, hoe play bout me Niggas phony, tryna act like we homies but barely know me If you don't want the money then boy you ain't around me Ain't nothin' fake about me I put killers on they feet, down to spray 'bout me We poppin' tags but them niggas pop shit We gon' pop in these mags, let the AK scream Big money, boy it come in thousands Trap house bunkin', Js runnin' out it Twelve saw me comin', double back for me I supply my neighbor cul-de-sac money (Whatchu talm bout Quan?) Cul-de-sac money Make so much that twelve double back for me All I stack are dead men, run it back for me Like a daddy, cul-de-sac money