Lyrical Breakdown of They Point feat. Juicy J, 2 Chainz - A Journey through Words and Rhymes
Welcome to the detailed analysis of "They Point feat. Juicy J, 2 Chainz" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.
- Lyric Overview: Witness how E-40 weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "They Point feat. Juicy J, 2 Chainz" 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 E-40 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 E-40's narrative.
This lyrical analysis of "They Point feat. Juicy J, 2 Chainz" not only celebrates E-40'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!
Every time I stop, hoes like look at him
Every car I drive, niggas want one of them
They pointin', they pointin
They like dammmmmn
They pointin', they pointin
They like dammmmmn
Like Ricky Ross, everyday I'm hustlin'
Gettin' off weight (like who?) Jennifer Hudson
Pack a hammer, Thor
Shooter, score
Slide through batches think I'm hecka rich
Breakin' necks, turnin' heads like the exorcist
Thumbs up like the like button
Eatin' good, no rib touchin'
Runnin' with a bundle, never fumble
Countin' so much bread I got Carpal tunnel
Stock paint (from where?) Maaco
Beige, like a potato
They hate me on the outside, love me in the inside
Suck me in the back seat while I let a friend drive
Half a pound two stacks, half a unit 10-5
I stay out here by Sully so you know a hustler been fly
My pockets some'n serious, mansion on a hilly
Main that nigga got more cheese than a philly
Shoelace tied but a nigga still trippin'
I'm Lionel Richie high, I'm dancin' on the ceiling
Never marry a hoes, I just marry checks
That's how you stay on top, missionary sex
Rubba Band Business, know you heard of that
I got the town talkin, know you scurred of that
None less than ten figures, you know what I'm worth
Record sales, show money, not including merch'
Club full of bitches, pocket full of Franks
Blunt full of weed, cup full of drank
Me going raw dog, ain't no way in hell
Before I risk my life it be a cold day in hell
But bitch take it off, here we go show and tell
And I'm fuckin' that pussy like I'm fresh out of jail
Parallel park while I'm ghost riding
Black diamonds man I'm racial profiling
I'm so fly man I need a co-pilot
So I might let your damn ho drive it
Lil' hair pullin' man I like rough sex
Dropped out, I ain't never passed a drug test
You know my lingo baby let's mingle
So I got a thousand dollars worth of singles
I got racks in the cargo of my camo
Still, still won't give her Nathaniel
Life a gamble so I had to make a bet
These ain't Air Max but I can make a check
They took me out the streets but it's still in me
I been sellin' werk since we had Bill Clinton
I'm the voice of the streets so they still listen
On the back of the milk carton, ceiling missing