Lyrical Breakdown of Wool (feat. Vince Staples) - A Journey through Words and Rhymes

Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Wool (feat. Vince Staples)" 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 weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "Wool (feat. Vince Staples)" 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 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's narrative.

This lyrical analysis of "Wool (feat. Vince Staples)" not only celebrates Earl Sweatshirt feat. Vince Staples'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, yeah, yeah

Soon as I catch the vibe tell 'em to fetch the hearse

Shorty I'm pressin' lines lifting the Lauren shirt

Tell her to bless the girth if she with it

I'm in that kitchen, wrist water whippin' work (psych)

Nigga, I don't do that

Niggas get bloop-blapped and blown away

Wessons making Mexicans wetbacks like "Órale!"

Okay, I'm on to something

Momma should've told you it'd be days like this

It's just a tale from the crip

I'm on my séance shit, I'm tryna make a million dollars

Keep it hood while crossing over on some A.I. shit

I need a foreign baby momma to match a nigga model whip

Ramona Park made me from scratch

A lot of lotto picks lost inside this game called rap

I be the underdog

Bullet hit his forehead, it exit out his under arm

Ain't nobody bigger than my hood, my nigga, fuck a boss

Baby-mama killer, you offended, and I fuck her raw

Stretchy doing federal time for busting at the law

And he gonna be a neighbor of mine, you play me for a pawn

Shawty, I be swimming with sharks, your posse full of prawns

Pistols rip his body apart, now he afraid of dark alleyways

Niggas better listen when the pastor say

Ugh, hold on, hold on, let me hear me that

Ugh, hold on, hold on, ugh

It's Golf on that-, bitch, it's Golf on that ball cap

I guzzle the tall boy, Jehovah ain't call back

And y'all still debating over Earl music

Troops got the group nationwide moving merch units crazy

Peanut butter to paisley, walking down the street

In the different color McGrady's, that first grader was me

Now my fist full of spliffs and the old banker receipts

Bitches grip the stick and jerky like cold shanks of the beef, dry

I'm taking purses like they chances in the evening

Pick your pants up, boy, you dancing with a demon

On my momma I been limiting my features, filling swishers up with reefer

Bitch, it's difficult to beat him like a soft dick

Golf clique deep, and we don't hit the streets passive

That nigga Sweaty got the gas and Shreddy K brought the matches

Pitch your body in the water like a Lipton teabag and then

Switch to different fucking whip to let them piggies speed past him

It's the rats, try and get the cheese

What it do? Rap like I'm mincing meat

Call me Lou, if I'm on the track, these niggas skip to me

Niggas want to fade me, bitches feel some type of way for me

50's in my pocket falling out like fucking baby teeth

Vince be with the rocket, he gone pop it when it's danger round

Fingertips to tapers, now, salute us when you face us

Give a fuck about the moves all these loser niggas making now