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