Welcome to the detailed analysis of "What They Hittin' Foe?" 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 "What They Hittin' Foe?" 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 "What They Hittin' Foe?" 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!
Gettin' down in a crap game
Fools think I'm soft, cause now I'm in the rap game
And I don't hang out as much, bang out dope cuts
Standin' on stage and I'm grabbin' my nuts
But when it comes to gettin' in a circle
I'm hittin' sevens turnin' broke niggas purple
Looking fo' Little Joe and the dumb fools scream and choke
When deuce-deuce hit the floor, yo
Now which of ya wanna fade the twenty?
I'm turnin' your fat pockets skinny
Aww yeah I'm shaking the ivory
And boom, it's like they die for me
Fool you can get loud, get mad, hit the joint
But don't forget my point, there it is yo
I put my Nike on the bet so it won't slide
Money gone cause I'm never hittin' deuce-five
I'm never hittin' four-trey, no way
You wanna leave but come on bro stay
Yeah, fever that'll work
Poppa need brand-new shoes and a sweatshirt
Fool, you can't even get wit' that
And now that I'm winnin', I gots to get my gat
Cause I see, your homies starting to look
And broke little punks, they make the best crooks
And I'm feelin' like a baller
Buckin' fools, now the circle's getting smaller
Now you wanna go and scheme
Little suckas like you just love to triple-team
So I pick up my money and start walkin'
'Cause now I let the gat start talkin'
Now, since y'all lost, you wanna go out like the others
Take that ya' little suckas