Lyrical Breakdown of Empanadas - A Journey through Words and Rhymes

Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Empanadas" 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 "Empanadas" 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 "Empanadas" 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!

Yeah, yeah Yeah, yeah, yeah Fuck it, this my freestyle on this shit Uh, check, check Yeah, as I cruise On my '68 in my '72s Blue suede shoes Benz seats, still Make a bitch pat her feet To the concrete Yeah, yeah, uh Uh, hit me, uh, hit me Ay, yo, for-sheezy Nigga, that ho was thick, that bitch was greasy, believe me Bitches be always tryin' to Billie Jean me, Waikiki Took these hos on trips, came through too blingy, she clingy (yeah) I don't like fuckin' hos in the snow, 84 degrees me (whoo) I'm posted in Nicaragua with Tasha, that bitch a rider She don't want shit but dick and a couple dollars, so I supplied her Treat that ho like Henry Hill, got 'em mixin' and sniffin' powder, uh I gotta go home, my baby mama makin' empanadas Gracias, de nada, I'm blessin' tables and sayin' grace Smacked him in Miami, his boys jumped me, he played it safe Bitches in Buffalo get the same thing, they was throwin' plates Limped away on his good foot, but he ain't bust a grape These nigga fake, sealed documents, still poppin' it Fuck the certified crack babies, come get your mama hit (yeah) Shit ain't sellin', they gotta resort to drama shit Fuck these Love & Hip-Hop niggas, I'm at the Oscars, bitch When I was livin' with Sid, I had a roster, bitch (yeah) Candice with the good pum-pum, got me watchin' soccer, bitch Chelle fucked me so good in Bali, might have to bring her back If she get pregnant, I'll teach my son to shoot like Tee Morant Ho, I'm court-side, drunk as fuck like I'm Tee Morant Caught the ball in Barclay's Center, I should've dunked that bitch Never catchin' feelings, these bitches might suck a hundred dicks And put you in the system, ho, get a job with the government, bitch Bitch, go work for the motherfuckin' FBI Detectives or somethin', bitch, you feel me? Workin' my motherfuckin' nerves (And she said, and she said) I love you, baby (And she said, and she said) I need you, baby Don't leave me, baby Lil' bitch, say okay, say okay Don't leave me, baby Don't leave me, baby Don't leave me, baby Don't leave me, baby Don't leave me, baby Yeah What you wanna do? How do you wanna handle it? I got it I gotta handle this shit myself