Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Molasses (feat. RZA)" 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 "Molasses (feat. RZA)" 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 "Molasses (feat. RZA)" 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!
Search inside my purse to buy something worthless
99 problems all gone in that one joint
And the neck gold froze like he held it at gunpoint
I'm a bubble in the belly of the monster
With a duffel full of troubles, trunk rattle in the Mazda
Ragged with the Contra, Phantom of the Opera
And I'm standing on the cop's truck, stacking for the long run
The bags packed, roadside with the thumb out
Toe tag, don't gag, spit your gum out
Nomadic, chrome-grabbing when it's danger
I'm a manger-born puppy, holding flight like a hangar do
Knife to the trachea, spit scabies and bet
The label don't like me but they pay me a grip
And you see how his day going by the state of his wrists
Y'all niggas busy Play-Dohing, bet the baker came swinging like
What the fuck you saying? All that aiming and miss
Hey, I'ma fuck the freckles off your bitch, nigga
I'll fuck the freckles off your face, bitch
We could do this shit all night
I'll fuck the freckles off your face, bitch
You know me, drugs out, 'front the telly
I'm couch-drunk, ready to fuck, count fetti and bucks
Pack loud as that slap 'cross the belly
What's up? Fuck nigga, what's up?
I'm at the deli scheming on a Fanta and a Camel Crush screaming, "Saddle up!"
Like, "Fuck is beef?" Get your cattle cut, pansy
If them fans only local, why them flights trans-atlantied up?
The rice and the patties cooked nice for the chancellor
Them teeth with the golds bright, the light switch's mad at us
Snapchatted panty-clad baddies, I'm a bachelor, uh
High and polite because po-lice is in back of us
And write with the same hand I smack 'em up with
Stretching out the 15 I had initially
Icky Thump, sticky kush lit up in a rental Jeep
We could do this shit all night
I'll fuck the freckles off your face, bitch
We could do this shit all night
I'll fuck the freckles off your face, bitch