Lyrical Breakdown of Some L.A. Niggaz - Instrumental - A Journey through Words and Rhymes

Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Some L.A. Niggaz - Instrumental" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.

• Lyric Overview: Witness how Dr. Dre weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "Some L.A. Niggaz - Instrumental" 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 Dr. Dre 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 Dr. Dre's narrative.

This lyrical analysis of "Some L.A. Niggaz - Instrumental" not only celebrates Dr. Dre'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!

Yeah nigga, MC Ren up in this motherfucker, West West y'all Yeah, L.A. niggaz, L.A. niggaz rule the world nigga Y'all niggaz gotta recognize, yaknahmsayin'? Niggaz don't wanna peep game, yaknahmsayin'? But this shit come all the way back around here My nigga Dre, droppin' heat box on y'all bitch-ass Yaknahmsayin'? You gotta recognize L.A. niggaz, connected all over the motherfuckin' world, nigga Recognize this Now in my younger days I used to sport a rag Backpack full of cans plus a four-four mag G'd from the feet up, blued up from the sewer's how I grew up Lockin' smokin' and drinkin 'til we threw up At Leimert Park, taggin', hittin' fools up Ditchin my class, just to fuck yo' school up You don't wanna blast, nigga tuck yo' tool up But don't sleep, y'all niggaz quick to shoot you Now there's another motherfucker with no future But Time Bomb much smoother when I maneuver, dope like Cuba Got 'em jumpin' I'm comin' "Straight Outta Compton" with a loose cannon Smoke big green, call it Bruce Banner Watch your manners, at last another blast from the top notch From way back with the pop rocks, I pop lock witcha Picture this, Dr. Dre twistin' wit Tha Liks And Hittman bought a fix Don't trip, it's a Time Bomb in this bitch Here it tick tick tick tick Wait a minute it's on, I tell it like a true mackadelic Weed and cocaine sold separate, check it From sundown to sunup, clown done run up The aftermath'll be two in your gut, nigga what? We roll deep, smoke on weed drink and pack heat Requirements for survival each day, in L.A. It don't stop, we still mash in hot pursuit from the cops Analyze why we act this way, in L.A. Gimme that mic fool, it's a West coast jack move They call me Hitt, 'cause I spit like gats do Cock me back Bust caps for my max crew, at Fairfax Who used to wear Air Max shoes, that's true But I grew up where niggaz jack you, harass you Blast you, for that set you claim Mash on you for your Turkish chain, C.K. B.K. Blued up or flame, I ran wit a gang I helped niggaz get jacked for they Dana Dane's My pants hang below my waistline I look humble wanna rumble? I bang though, like Vince Carter from the baseline, don't waste my time Fuck a scrap in killa Cali, AK's and 9's One-time's, sunshines, and fine-ass bitches Hawaiian Thai, drive-by, six-fo's on switches I was raised in the hood called What-The-Dif' Where the brothers in the hood, refused to go Hollywood Slugs for the fuck of it Anybody hatin' on us can suck a dick If I catch you touchin' mine you catch a flatline, dead on the floor Better than yours, drivin' away gettin' head from a whore It's AvireX-to-the-Z Fuckin' with me might get you banned from TV Cassette and CD it's all mine the whole nine the right time Multiply, we don't die, the streets don't lie What, so neither do I, I'm bad for your health Like puttin' a pistol up to your face and blastin' yourself Five in the mornin', burglars at my do' Glock forty-five in my dresser drawer Let 'em come in, blaow, he see the thunder roll Roll with niggaz, who by fifths by the fo' And bruise by the case Slap you in the face with the bass, Dr. Dre laced Likwit Kings wit Sedans and gold rings Haters fold the style, but can't find no openings We roll deep, smoke on weed drink and pack heat Requirements for survival each day, in L.A. It don't stop, we still mash in hot pursuit from the cops Analyze why we act this way, in L.A., in L.A. That's how we ride That's how we ride That's how we ride That's how we ride