Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Gat Damn - Instrumental" 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 "Gat Damn - Instrumental" 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 "Gat Damn - Instrumental" 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, pour some liquor, yeah, yeah, yeah
Free my niggas, yeah, yeah, yeah
Pour some liquor, yeah, yeah, yeah
(This shit, nigga, for real though), yeah
Man, I miss my nigga Greg, pour some liquor, yeah, yeah
I got homies in the feds, free my niggas, yeah, yeah
I just wrapped a hundred cash, zipped it in the air, yeah
I'ma go fuck up a bag, know that ho can't stand that
Yeah, I got shooters but I'm duckin' shooters
Pop 'em up, they hit the homie sister, guess we both the loser
Po-po pull me over with a half a kilo and a Ruger
I can't move the same, I gotta readjust how I maneuver
I reminisce that feeling when I think about it
A million in the bank, I used to dream about it
No heat up in the whip, I used to sleep up out it
Up in the morning whippin' cocaina 'bout it, yeah, yeah
I got bags, ho, is you fuckin' with me? Yeah, yeah
Time to blast, ho, is you fuckin' with me? Yeah, yeah
Let that yayo dry on the table, droppin' fat slabs
Porsche Spyder look like a spaceship, they like, "Goddamn"
Ah, goddamn, I'm callin' Lam'
MoneyGram, go send the bail, I'm in a jam
In the jail, I'm in the cell, can't see the fam
Say my prayers, alhamdulillah, no bacon ham
Bacon ham, and cold salami, that's all they serve us
Stomach hurtin', the devil working, but I ain't nervous
Beat the verdict, but lost a milli', guess life ain't perfect
Whippin' birdies, the devil working, but I ain't nervous
I reminisce that feeling when I think about it
A million in the bank, I used to dream about it
No heat up in the whip, I used to sleep up out it
I take the pot and whip a Cuban link up out it, yeah, yeah
I got bags, ho, is you fuckin' with me? Yeah, yeah
We can blast, ho, is you fuckin' with me? Yeah, yeah
Let that yayo dry on the table, droppin' fat slabs
Porsche Spyder look like a spaceship, they like, "Goddamn"
Yeah, pour some liquor, yeah, yeah, yeah
Free my niggas, yeah, yeah, yeah
Pour some liquor, yeah, yeah, yeah
Free my niggas, yeah, yeah, yeah
See, man, free that nigga, yeah, yeah
Hot dog, uh
Free my nigga, yeah, yeah
I know how it be, man
You know, pent down in that motherfucker, yeah
I remember I was on, on bail and shit, you know what I'm sayin'?
This, this, damn, the beat ran out
Fuck it, that's enough right there
Fuck it, I ain't even gotta talk no shit