Lyrical Breakdown of Baby $hit - A Journey through Words and Rhymes

Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Baby $hit" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.

• Lyric Overview: Witness how Freddie Gibbs feat. The Alchemist weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "Baby $hit" 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 Freddie Gibbs feat. The Alchemist 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 Freddie Gibbs feat. The Alchemist's narrative.

This lyrical analysis of "Baby $hit" not only celebrates Freddie Gibbs feat. The Alchemist'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!

The world is uncivilized, and these are our works Champ (What's up? What's up?) James Brown, nicotine (Yo, yo) Cocaine (Okay, there we go, yeah, yeah, yeah) Ayy, man, don't never fuck with a nigga that— That don't get girls (Yeah, yeah) The nigga always gon' be jealous of you (Yeah) I swear to God, on my mama, nigga Yeah, yeah Yeah, ain't nobody ever gave me shit, I had to take this shit, go get your paper, bitch Rappin', potty trainin' every mornin', Ho, I'm cookin' dope and cleanin' baby shit Versace robe drapin' like a nigga Got a cape, but I can never save a bitch Fuckin' ball player baby mamas hit me When them niggas play the Lakers, bitch We don't do no postin' or no name taggin' California blow, she got a 'caine habit I don't want the pussy if the gang had it Was a ho before she got the same habit Hold on, do no postin' or no name taggin' Dope and cocaina got my name brackin' I don't sell a whip, I let the gang have it Got a pocket full of dead slave masters (Yeah) Get that white and I beat it up like I'm Mike Drop a broke man, a nigga can't be like Mike Share the dick, man, a bitch gotta sacrifice Diamonds in my shit look like some flashin' lights Presidential, I flooded that bitch with ice Cougar pussy, I fuck a rich nigga wife Doja Cat let me hit from the byke, byke Porsche engine, that bitch in the byke, byke Louie luggage, that sit in the front trunk Uncle threw Forgiato on Dodge trucks Throw VL out the window, I'm mobbed up Hit that proper until that bitch locked up Dinner plate, my shit porcelain, rocked up R.I.P Robert Davis, we chopped up Screw a bitch in the drop with the top up (With the top up) Yeah, ain't nobody ever gave me shit, I had to take this shit Go get your paper, bitch Flew a ho like 20 hours just to have a Threesome with my new Australian bitch Versace robe drapin' like a nigga Got a cape, but I can never save a bitch Everyday I get an internet threat, boy, these niggas soft as baby shit Give them 36's to my side piece 40 millimeter on the timepiece Take a ho to brunch and get mimosa drunk She give me sloppy toppy on massage seats Keep them yucky bitches from around me Feel like Usher, ho, 'cause you remind me Of a bitch I used to fuck with when I was Broke but now my 750 got massage seats, uh Get that white and I beat it up, like I'm Mike Drop a broke man, a nigga can't be like Mike Share the dick, man, a bitch gotta sacrifice Diamonds in my shit look like some flashin' lights Presidential, I flooded that bitch with ice Cougar pussy, I fuck a rich nigga wife Doja Cat let me hit from the byke, byke I'll be right back Yeah, ain't nobody ever gave me shit, I had to take this shit Go get your paper, bitch Rappin', potty trainin' every mornin', ho I'm cookin' dope, be cleanin' baby shit Versace robe drapin' like a nigga Got a cape, but I can never save a bitch The streets is tryna judge a niggas music Tell the pussy niggas suck a baby dick, bitch Yeah, yeah yeah (Nothin' else to say, bitch, gang) (Yeah, yeah) You know why I love to sell a ton of drugs in Harlem, Bumpy? It's not 'cause of the money, why? 'Cause every miserable street junkie Every skinny who goes to bed hungry Because his momma is workin' for a fix Every nigga baby born with a "habit" Makes me happy, makes my heart sing