Lyrical Breakdown of What We Do - A Journey through Words and Rhymes
Welcome to the detailed analysis of "What We Do" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.
- Lyric Overview: Witness how Jay-Z weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "What We Do" 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 Jay-Z 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 Jay-Z's narrative.
This lyrical analysis of "What We Do" not only celebrates Jay-Z'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!
Man, if I get rocked, this s- for my kids, n-
It's that real s-
Even though what we do is wrong
We still hustle 'til the sun come up
Crack a 40 when the sun go down
It's a cold winter, y'all n- better bundle up
An' I bet it be a hotter summer, grab a onion
Yes, the ROC gets down, you hot now, listen up
Don't you know cops' whole purpose is to lock us down?
An' throw away the key, but without this drug s-
Your kids ain't got no way to eat
We still try to keep Mom smilin'
'Cuz when the teeth stop showin'
An' the stomach start growlin', then the heat start flowin'
If you from the hood, I know you feel me, keep goin'
If a sneak start leanin' an' the heat stop workin'
Then my heat start workin', I'ma rob me a person
Catch a n- sleepin' while he out in the open
An' I'ma get him, keep flowin'
We gotta raise our kids while we livin'
Make a million off a record, bail my n- outta prison
F- a Bentley or a Lexus, just my boys in the squadder
N- talk reckless, then I hit 'em with the Smif an'
But I'm never snitchin', I'm a rider
If my kids hungry, snatch the dishes out ya kitchen
I'll be wylin' til they pick me outta line up
We keep the nines tucked, chopped dimes up, rap about it
Wyle out, f- n- up, laugh about it
I'm not tryin' to visit the morgue
But Freeway move out 'til I sit with the Lord
'Til I get my s- together, clean up my sins
Freeway got it in like 10 in the mornin'
An' I can get it to ya like 10 while you yawnin', man
Still deliver the order, man
An' I ain't talkin' 'bout chicken an' gravy, man
I'm talkin' 'bout bricks 'o ye yo, halves an' quarters
4 an' a halves of hash, you do the math
Swing past us, scoop up your daughter
She wanna roll wit' a thug that rap, you do the math
He won't blast 'til my stacks in order
Man, lemme get 'em Free
Hove never slackin', man, zippin' in the black Range
Faster than the red ghost, gettin' ghost wit' Pac, man
One time, know a got a knack to get that change
Leader of the black gang, ROC, man
Bang like T-Mac, ski mask, air it out
Gotta kill witnesses 'cause Free's beard's stickin' out
Y'all don't want no witness s-, we squeeze hammers, man
Bullets breeze by you, like Louisiana, man
But I gotta feed Tianna, man
So I move keys, you can call me the Piano Man
Rain, sleet, hail, snow, man
Slang dough, E, hydro, man
Know B. Sige in the third lane
Gramps still prayin', workin' on my nerves, man
Like, "Son you gotta get your soul clean
Before they blow them horns like Coltrane"
But still I cry tears of a hustler
Wipe tears from my mother, pull out beers for her brothers
That's above us, make beds for the babies
Tuck kids under covers, buy cribs for their mothers
S-, I'll probably be wylin' with their fathers
Tell Ms. Robert, tell Enijah that I'm ridin' for her father
That's like my brother, like same mother, different father
Any problems? Dog, know I got 'em
An' still we grind from the bottom
Just to make it to the bottom, sold crack in the alleyways
Still gave back Marcy 'A Dollar Day'
Real gangstas make hood holidays
They ain't thank us but we still paid homage, man
Soul Food Sunday, lookin' like Big Momma's, man
Tell the gang I never break my promise, man, man
Even though what we do is wrong