Lyrical Breakdown of Hell Yeah (Ft. Slim Dunkin) - A Journey through Words and Rhymes
Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Hell Yeah (Ft. Slim Dunkin)" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.
- Lyric Overview: Witness how Gucci Mane weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "Hell Yeah (Ft. Slim Dunkin)" 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 Gucci Mane 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 Gucci Mane's narrative.
This lyrical analysis of "Hell Yeah (Ft. Slim Dunkin)" not only celebrates Gucci Mane'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!
Thousand bags of that mid shit (hell yea)
This that shit that get yo kidz rich (hell yea)
Hundred bags of that kush shit (hell yea)
This that president bush shit (hell yea)
[x2]
This that arm on my kush shit
My girlfriend think she president bush bitch
Hell yea, and I'm gon off that lean shit
My brotha duke keep on sendin me that green shit
Fuck jail gucci time, and I'm hoodrich
I'm in that zone 6, and I throw it like the first pitch
My yellow rari, in the front and I parked it
A black chick in some heels match the carpet
I'm pullin up to the club like I own it
Ain't with that bullshit, gucci don't condone it
My tolerance get low with the flexxin
I woke up bought my main chick a lexus
Thousand bags of that mid shit (hell yea)
This that shit that get yo kidz rich (hell yea)
Hundred bags of that kush shit (hell yea)
This that president bush shit (hell yea)
[x2]
I be the bricksquad youngin
Stankin like a funyan
All these otha rap niggas, toed like a bunyan
I'm BS and you BS
But I'm BRICKSQUAD and you BULLSHIT
Pistol like a chapporone
We goin on a school trip
Places that you neva seen
Blowin on that stoopid green
Rollin on a stoopid beam
Hit the scene in limozine
Coke and promthzine
Diamonds I'm my pinky ring
Nigga wat the fuck u mean
Bricksquad dream team
I got money to blow, naw I ain't drizzy
Money make the world go round, that's why I'm dizzy
Standin behind gucc, flock, the like who is it
Slim dunkin in this mothafuck
Cut the chicken
Thousand bags of that mid shit (hell yea)
This that shit that get yo kidz rich (hell yea)
Hundred bags of that kush shit (hell yea)
This that president bush shit (hell yea)
[x2]
It's big gucci, excuse me while I ball
Until my release, my nigga, no lights out
Lights out, creep on in silence
Why do I pull more violence
Wen unviolent
While my tatoos smilin
To remind me of the time they robbed me, with no problem
Now my problems solved, and they rovolvin around all these countries
And I'm country, stretch from here to compton, to boldacrest...
That's something to those who have nothin
No bluffin bricksqaud no cuffin
Thousand bags of that mid shit (hell yea)
This that shit that get yo kidz rich (hell yea)
Hundred bags of that kush shit (hell yea)
This that president bush shit (hell yea)
[x2]