Lyrical Breakdown of Hive (feat. Vince Staples & Casey Veggies) - A Journey through Words and Rhymes
Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Hive (feat. Vince Staples & Casey Veggies)" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.
- Lyric Overview: Witness how Earl Sweatshirt feat. Vince Staples and Casey Veggies weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "Hive (feat. Vince Staples & Casey Veggies)" 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 Earl Sweatshirt feat. Vince Staples and Casey Veggies 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 Earl Sweatshirt feat. Vince Staples and Casey Veggies's narrative.
This lyrical analysis of "Hive (feat. Vince Staples & Casey Veggies)" not only celebrates Earl Sweatshirt feat. Vince Staples and Casey Veggies'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!
Promise Heron I'll put my fist up after I get my dick sucked
Quick buck, maybe a gold chain
With that fucking flow that s-s-so belittles men
They tentatively tend to turn and go when I am finished
Stone cold, hardly fucking with these niggas, nigga listen
The description doesn't fit, if not a synonym of menace
Then forget it, in turn these critics and interns
Admitting the shit spit, it just burn like six furnaces
Written to fix learning them digits and simultaneously
Dispelling "one-trick-pony" myths, isn't he?
One adolescent, fucking six nigga energy
And crawling down 'Fax like a rich nigga centipede
Crack ceramic and slap a hand out of cash account
Stamp and shouting, thrashing, these niggas done let the Kraken out
Crack-a-lackin, like snap, crackle, poppin' your ammo off
Hide your face, and throw your flannels off, Sweatshirt, nigga
'87 rooftop Bronson
Whippin' hoopties, tryna boost raw chronic
Brutus in that booth, double scoop, hock vomit up, sub rocking
Thud knocking niggas teeth loose)
Bruh, I don't fuck with no cops (Rolling with that flow swamp)
Catch me over stove top (Rapping to that coke rock)
Passionless in old Jive clothing with them doors wide open
Dim the floor lights focused like it's nothing, cause it's nothing, bitch
From that city that's recession-hit
Stress niggas could flex metal with peddle to rake pennies in
Desolate testaments trying to stay Jekyll-ish
But most niggas Hyde and Brenda just stay pregnant
Breaking news: death's less important when the Lakers lose
It's lead in that baby food, heads try to make it through
Fish-netted legs for them eyes that she cater to
Ride dirty as the fucking sky that you praying to
So here I sit, eye in the pyramid
God spit it like it's truth serum in that beer and then
(Blows)
Disappear again, reappear bearded on
Top of a lear steering it into the kids' ear again
Provider of the backdrop music
For the crack rock user and the mascot Earl
Rawer than the skinned knee cap on the black top
Salivary glands lighter fluid for the matchbox
Striking, wait, wait, who the fuck you badder than?
Boy oh boy, I'm bad as burnt pollo off the grill and shit
Spitter of the little Nick, nimble, rickrolling
Bitch niggas pick litter, piff-blower, plus I pillage shit
'87 rooftop Bronson
Whippin' hoopties, tryna boost raw chronic
Brutus in that booth, double scoop, hock vomit up, sub rocking
Thud knocking niggas teeth loose)
Bruh, I don't fuck with no cops (Rolling with that flow swamp)
Catch me over stove top (Rapping to that coke rock)
Passionless in old Jive clothing with them doors wide open
Dim the floor lights focused like it's nothing, cause it's nothing, bitch
Quit with all that tough talk, bruh, we know you niggas ain't about shit
Come around, we gun 'em down, bodies piled, Auschwitz
Bulletproof outfits, weapons concealed
I'm ready to kill, so test it, all my weapons is real
Selling thizz, couldn't tell him what the recipe is
Got 'em wishing that they never gave these weapons to kids, cheers
Send chills up spines of fat bitches after
Shows throwing out sandwiches, niggas get it how they
Live and I live for money, other words, I'm getting money
Little boy told me when it's time to ride, they'll send them for me
Ain't nobody scaring me, niggas ain't prepared for heat
Tools hit like pool sticks, the way I cue shit
If this was '88, I would have signed to Ruthless
'94 would have had them walking down Death Row
First is when the best go, hate is what the rest do
Voice inside my head told me wet 'em if they test you
So it's raging water season
That yomper big as Larry Johnson, leave your momma seedless
Everybody hard until it's only God they seeing
Kittens soft but in they songs be trapping hard as Jeezy, I don't believe it
But to each his own, I ain't tripping long as I can reach the chrome
Heat your home like Southern California Gas, police pass
Tell 'em free Smalls, off Palm with the heat drawn
Strapped up long as the chief for police armed
Raised where the beasts are, north of the Beach
A couple streets past Baby J, bony niggas sprayin' K's
Ruger with the pork face, Jewish for the court case
Here to save you niggas from the sorbet, coldchain
Like it's nothin', 'cause it's nothin' bitch