Lyrical Breakdown of New York Times (feat. 50 Cent & Bas) - A Journey through Words and Rhymes
Welcome to the detailed analysis of "New York Times (feat. 50 Cent & Bas)" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.
- Lyric Overview: Witness how J. Cole feat. 50 Cent & Bas weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "New York Times (feat. 50 Cent & Bas)" 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 feat. 50 Cent & Bas 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 feat. 50 Cent & Bas's narrative.
This lyrical analysis of "New York Times (feat. 50 Cent & Bas)" not only celebrates J. Cole feat. 50 Cent & Bas'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!
This for all my niggas in the city
This shit really for Queens though
Really for Queens though
Ya know?
Big city of dreams, motivated by schemes
Getting money regimine with my get money machine
Nah mean? Yeah
New York times
Come listen to these New York rhymes
A southern nigga with a New York mind
In the concrete jungle of Queen trying to be kings
Getting to the money, it seems, by any means
As I, watch it all pan out, try not to stand out
Fish out of water, yet an official reporter
Up here, life is a bitch I blow a kiss at her daughter
In a city where niggas will leave you shit outta order
So yeah, you heard the news, disturbing news
Shot a brother in the head, thank the Lord he ain't dead
Was in a coma for months, eyes ain't opened them once
My nigga visibly stressin', a mess, he smoking his blunt
What could I say, I can't relate to that
All I do is pray for that
This is the city God told me, 'go and make it at
I got a date with destiny, I'm running late for that
Grab a paper, hey kid, you gotta pay for that
The New York Times, yeah
The New York Times
Extra, extra, read all about it
They say you can win anywhere
If you can win here
And you ain't been nowhere if you ain't been here
We hustle hard, yeah, it really ain't a game man
Same place, different faces, on the train, man
New York, New York
Hop on the F train, took the express train
Skip that local shit, my vocal sick
That's how success came
Once kings now we pawns in this chess game
Wall Street got black slave blood stains
Which means, we built this city
And never got scraps while the devil got fat
In fact, reparation for niggas in desperation
Fuck money, get my kid a real education
Blood money spills, had a real revelation
Southside make you realize there's still segregation
Don't wanna preach I'm just thinking out loud
Sometimes I wanna save the world and I be thinking 'bout how
My motive, to lead my niggas to paradise
Imagine a world, free from pain
And we no longer scared at night
Far from the crime, the blind leading the blind
We don't make it to primetime 'til we dyin'
The New York Times
The New York Times, yeah
The New York Times
Extra, extra, read all about it
They say you can win anywhere
If you can win here
And you ain't been nowhere if you ain't been here
We hustle hard, yeah, it really ain't a game man
Same place, different face, on the train, man
New York, New York
How I go from selling reefa and plates
To eating steaks with Cole and playing FIFA with Drake
Should've been in the States, property of the Jakes
Now I'm plotting on profits and properties on the lake
Let me properly intergrate you to it
To show you how the heads of states and gangsters do it
Them niggas talk a lot of shit but they ain't been through it
I done been up in everything, cars you never seen
Cities you never heard of, from the streets where they murder
Police observe us 'til they reach the verdict
Kill 'em all, fucking kill 'em all
If you can't send 'em to the pen', send 'em to the morgue
Send 'em to the Lord, fuck it, send his broad
Hundred shots through the dark but they never hit my heart, nigga
Bitch nigga, take a pause
Hundred shots through the dark you can never hit my heart
The New York Times
The New York Times, yeah
The New York Times
Extra, extra, read all about it
They say you can win anywhere
If you can win here
And you ain't been nowhere if you ain't been here
We hustle hard, yeah, it really ain't a game man
Same place, different face, on the train, man
New York, New York