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 undefined 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 undefined 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 undefined's narrative.
This lyrical analysis of "Rock N Roll Is Dead" not only celebrates undefined'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