Lyrical Breakdown of Whoa (feat. Tyler, The Creator) - A Journey through Words and Rhymes

Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Whoa (feat. Tyler, The Creator)" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.

  • Lyric Overview: Witness how Earl Sweatshirt feat. Tyler, the Creator weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "Whoa (feat. Tyler, The Creator)" 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. Tyler, the Creator 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. Tyler, the Creator's narrative.

This lyrical analysis of "Whoa (feat. Tyler, The Creator)" not only celebrates Earl Sweatshirt feat. Tyler, the Creator'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!

Nah, no, fuck- nah, nah, fuck that

Niggas think cause you fuckin' made Chum and got all personal

That niggas won't go back to that old fuckin' 2010 shit

About talkin' 'bout fuckin' all that

No, fuck that, nigga, I got you

Fuck that

Grab mittens who have to spit blizzardous

Actually flick cigarette ash at bitch niggas

Harassment, eight nickels of hash, delay quick, and then dash

To Saint Nicholas pad to taste venison

Still in the business of smacking up little rappers with

Racquets you play tennis with, hated for bank lifting and

Spraying that hotter wind in the shade of his maimed innocence

Suitcase scented with haze and fileted sentences

Advanced apathy, smashing the man cameras up

Tan khakis and antagonists Dan-dappered up

Vagabond, had it since a Padawan

Rapping hot as fuck in cattle brands, wearing flannel thongs

Grab a bong, momma and some food, beer, tag along

Get a nice spanking, new Sears catalog

Send them nettled critics to the bezzle stop, dead and wrong

Get 'em higher than the pitch of metal tea kettle songs

Four deep in a Rover cannon

Riding dirty through a Saugus canyon, niggas know that it's the

G-O-L-F-dub-A-N-G

G-O-L-F-dub-A-N-G

50 K for the last check

But the Dollar Menu still be on deck

Nigga it's the mutherfuckin'

G-O-L-F-dub-A-N-G

G-O-L-F-dub-A-N-G

Yeah, the Misadventures of a shit talker

Pissed as Rick Ross's fifth sip off his sixth lager

Known to sit and wash the sins off at the pitch alter

Hat never backwards like the print off legit manga

Get it? Like a blue pill, make ya stick longer

Or a swift fist off your chin from his wrist launcher

Chick, chronic thrift shopper, thick like the Knicks roster

Stormed off and came straight back like pigs' posture

Pen? Naw, probably written with some used syringes

From out the rubh bin at your local loony clinic

Watching movies in a room full of goons he rented

On the hunt for clues, more food, and some floozy women

Bruising gimmicks with the broom he usually use for Quidditch

Gooey writtens, scoot 'em to a ditch, chewed and booty scented

Too pretentious, do pretend like he could lose to spitting

Steaming tubes of poop and twisted doobies full of euphemisms

Stupid, thought it up, jot it quick

Thought out, toss it right back like a vodka fifth

Spot him on a rocket swapping dollars in for pocket lint

Then lob a wad of chicken at a copper on some Flocka shit

Posing nigga try to disrespect

Get a fucking thunder to his neck, shout out to Nak, cause it's the

G-O-L-F-dub-A-N-G

G-O-L-F-dub-A-N-G

Looking bummy, posted on the block, looking like I ain't make

A quarter million off of socks, nigga, cause it's the

G-O-L-F-dub-A-N-G

G-O-L-F-dub-A-N-G

Bitch niggas, Wolf Gang (motherfuckers)

Golf Wang nigga

Trash Wang, motor squad.

Yeah, stay off the block niggas

You not welcome (motherfucker)

Bitch, O-F nigga (yeah)