Lyrical Breakdown of 187 Proof - A Journey through Words and Rhymes
Welcome to the detailed analysis of "187 Proof" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.
- Lyric Overview: Witness how Freddie Gibbs weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "187 Proof" 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 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's narrative.
This lyrical analysis of "187 Proof" not only celebrates Freddie Gibbs'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!
I grew up wishing my life would be like the Cosby's
I go that extra mile to escape this ghetto monotony
See how this vicious cycle could fuck with you psychologically
Just cooperate with the state or become they property
Bitch, my name be breaking bail from the street to the jailhouse
And it ain't no transaction unless I came with my scale out
When you roll in your college, I just might fuck up and fail out
Fucking bitch after bitch, stacking my chips, all I care 'bout
Fuck with GBA, bitch I need a CPA, come and count it up
Thousand thugs be all tryna catch him, crowded around the bus
Guess it's 'bout to go down, if you down to fuck, then you down with us
I know hoes that'll smoke a stick, sloppy drunk, and get powdered up
This corporate thug world, they like you, but they love the realest
Straight Gary gangsta shit, didn't come up off no fucking gimmicks, bitch
2Pac ain't back 'cause he got set up and shot in the chest
Biggie ain't either, so won't y'all gon' let them niggas rest?
I'm 187 proof, in the streets or the fucking booth
I'm hard to kill like Steven Seagal with your fucking troops
Your choppas ain't chopping shit if your niggas ain't down to shoot
And I'm ready to RIP any nigga that y'all recruit
'Cause I'm 187 proof, streets or the fucking booth
I speak a foreign language, I think y'all call that the truth
Bitch, I'm 187 proof, in the streets or the fucking booth
I speak a foreign language, I think y'all call that the truth
It's Gibbs, bitch
Of the thug life
A walking 187, 187 crazy
Sick like Moammar Gadhafi, straight 187 babies
I reach for that reefer stench and my shit knocking brother Lynch
So lock me in correctional, but you can't fix me or fucking see me
You know who you fucking with? A nigga who got shit to lose
I got niggas that rob you and rape your bitch if they in the mood
Check my record, I've been a fool, semi autos all in my locker
Flow stupid like I rode the bus to school with walker fly
187 ways to die, bitch, this the end
Six niggas put 600 holes in your 600 Benz
Bitch, I'm murder proof, I'ma live forever
Duncan block, Virginia street, bitch, we the clique together
Ask Pill who the real, bet he mention (Gibbs)
Killers in that 4th Ward, shout out to my nigga $lick
Shout out to my nigga Hit, Westside murder cat
Some of my niggas flow, but most of them beat that murder rep
Bitch, I'm 187 proof, in the streets of the booth
I speak a foreign language, I think y'all call that the truth
Bitch, I'm 187 proof, in the streets of the booth
I speak a foreign language, I think y'all call that the truth
Bitch, I'm 187 proof, in the streets of the booth
I speak a foreign language, I think y'all call that the truth
It's Gibbs, bitch