Lyrical Breakdown of BRACKETS - A Journey through Words and Rhymes

Welcome to the detailed analysis of "BRACKETS" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.

Lyric Overview: Witness how J. Cole weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "BRACKETS" 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 J. Cole 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 J. Cole's narrative.

This lyrical analysis of "BRACKETS" not only celebrates J. Cole'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!

Lotta shit happens, like, being in show business

A lot of shit happens, like, like, I make a lot of money, you know

And I'm really happy about it

And I'm not bragging, I just wanna say something

I make a so fuck, it's ridiculous

But wait, wait a minute, wait a minute

Hey, if my father was alive today, I would go home and say

Dad, I wanna tell you how much money I made

You know what he'd say? You's a lying motherfucker

Joe Louis didn't make that much money

Come in here, get your ass out the house

Coming here with that bullshit, hah

Niggas hating on me, I ain't used to that

Know a couple people wanna shoot for that

I say, no, no, no, chill, it ain't no need for that

Them niggas tryna blow and they don't need me for that

And if it work for them, well shit, I'm cool with that

'Cause how they feel, I ain't got shit to do with that

I just sit back on cool and watch my paper stack

And trip off how much bread them crackers take from that

(Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)

It's been a long time since I have felt this way

About something but now, but now

I'm controlling my mind, the days are warm

The nights are cold, the lost is found, I'm found

Lord knows I need something to fill this void

Hell yeah boy, I'm a goddamn millionaire now

Hell yeah, nigga, they can't tell me shit now, bro, hell no, fuck that

Bitch, got my first motherfuckin' million dollar check nigga

I'm goddamn lit boy, you crazy as hell

Hold up, it's my phone real quick, it's my Unc'

Uncle Sam and shit

What's up Unc'? Yup, hey, I told you that check was coming in

I gotchu when it came in, goddamn, I'm a man of my word, goddamn

I told you I'ma have it, and goddamn, I'ma have it for you, Hell

Shit, damn right, but, how much was it though? Uh huh, huh? Half?

Half nigga? You crazy, boy, you crazy

Bitch you crazy as fuck, bitch, bitch, you better suck half my dick!

Yeah, I pay taxes, so much taxes, shit don't make sense

Where do my dollars go? You see lately, I ain't been convinced

I guess they say my dollars supposed to build roads and schools

But my niggas barely graduate, they ain't got the tools

Maybe 'cause the tax dollars that I make sure I send

Get spent hirin' some teachers that don't look like them

And the curriculum be tricking them, them dollars I spend

Got us learning about the heroes with the whitest of skin

One thing about the men that's controlling the pen

That write history, they always seem to white-out they sins

Maybe we'll never see a black man in the White House again

I'll write a check to the IRS, my pockets get slim

Damn, do I even have a say 'bout where it's goin'?

Some older nigga told me to start votin'

I said, democracy is too fuckin' slow

If I'm givin' y'all this hard-earned bread, I wanna know

Better yet, let me decide, bitch, it's 2018

Let me pick the things I'm funding from an app on my screen

Better that than letting wack congressman I've never seen

Dictate where my money goes

Straight into the palms of some money-hungry company that make guns

That circulate the country and then

Wind up in my hood, making bloody clothes

Stray bullet hit a young boy with a snotty nose

From the concrete, he was prolly rose

Now his body froze and nobody knows what to tell his mother

He did good at the white man schools unlike his brother

Who was lost in the streets all day, not using rubbers

So right now, he got two on the way

Still sleep on covers in his mama house

She can't take this shit no more, she want him out

On the morning of the funeral, just as she's walking out

Wiping tears away, grabbing her keys and sunglasses

She remember that she gotta file her taxes, damn

(Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)