Lyrical Breakdown of Germs - A Journey through Words and Rhymes

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

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

This lyrical analysis of "Germs" not only celebrates JPEGMAFIA'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!

Let me call you right back Ok Whoa, what What, what, whoa, what, what, what, what, what, what (Me) What, what, what, what, what, where Nigga, where Sorry Ok Nigga, why you feel- Said Off top, bitch I'm rollin' (rollin') Can't stay focused, I'm hopeless (skee) I want white, like a token (tax) Blunts stay rolling, I'm posted (I'm posted, yeah) Catch you home alone, Macaulay Culkin (ooh) Matt Hardy, my gun, you getting broken (pussy ass nigga) Your bitch wet and she throatin' (skrr) My girl blonde like Goten (shhh, woah) Yeah, I'm waitin', ayy Fuck these niggas It's no shade (No shade at all, baby, none at all nigga) You can't take (Easy money) You know that, I'm grand prize (I'm returnin', I'm returnin', the) Ahh you know, I (gimme the fucking money, nigga) Look, bitch, I got the sauce, and It's wopped up (woo) Stocks up, I might slip and shoot a cop up (that's life) They not us, I'ma make em put his guard up (damn) Jesus, hot sauce, with the cross up (what, what?) (All day) I finesse 'em with a better body (yee) Fresh Prince, no prints on a severed shotty (brraat) Kill Trump, do 'em like Floyd did Gatti (It's no shade) Man, look it ain't no motherfucking shade, I'm just talking You the one that got that liberal arts degree You know I give it, I serve it, you that I'm grand prize (hahaha, yeah, wow) It's no shade (no) You can't take (no, yeah) You know I give it (yeah), I serve it, you know that I'm grand prize (yeah, yeah) It's no shade (it's no shade) You can't take it (it's no shade) You know that I'm grand prize