Lyrical Breakdown of Rock N Roll Is Dead - A Journey through Words and Rhymes

Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Rock N Roll Is Dead" 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 "Rock N Roll Is Dead" 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 "Rock N Roll Is Dead" 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!

(You think you know me) Big Daddy Hoffa coming to you here with a Kimber Team Match II .45, 1911 This baby oughta be nice, right there (Ooh) Cocked locked and ready to rock! One, two High key, uh Gone with the sauce Got the .45 tucked in the bag Hit 'em with the hawk, nah, fuck it dawg Whip 'em wit the strap I've been on the fucking road (Uh) I just ended rock and roll (Uh) We've been running up the score (Uh) Turnt your house into a home, uh (Yeah) I don't fucking roam All I do is count the cash Bitch, I'm comin' in your house Let's get freaky with the strap (Nasty!) We don't fuck with alt-right Y'all ain't never been a threat (Right) If y'all come to Baltimore We gon' stick 'em for their racks (For their racks, nigga) We gon' beat them crackers dead We gon' fuck up on they wife Take 'em for a ride More hits, more life Tight grip on the chopper That kickback light Put hands on a blogger Make 'em beg for his life Gone with the sauce Got the .45 tucked in the bag Hit 'em with the hawk, nah, fuck it dawg Whip 'em wit the strap I've been on the fucking road I just ended rock and roll We've been running up the score (Hoo!) I say that pussy's off the richter No shit, uh, I fucked that bitch (Go back) I fuck your baby sitter, I hit her I took her to a show, man, what's the issue (Blat) I split her, this groovy nigga bangin' on your sister No kicker, I can't breathe How many cars does it take To make this shit an easy race? Yuh (Pussy pop) Uh, how many cars does it take To make this fucking pain go awa- (Truth!) Ooh Ooh, early This shit poppin', comin' out the f- I'm out of options I'm out of options