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) (Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah) (Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah) (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 Lord knows I need something to fill this void Lord knows I need something to fill this void 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) (Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah) (Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah) (Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)