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 undefined 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 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 "Wool (feat. Vince Staples)" 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!
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
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