Lyrical Breakdown of Trussmidaddi - A Journey through Words and Rhymes
Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Trussmidaddi" 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 "Trussmidaddi" 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 "Trussmidaddi" 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!
If I hear one more nigga sayin' all lives matter
Gat to your back, bitch, all lives splatter
No love loss in the land of the free
When your race be on the ID
Trust me, daddy
(When your race be on the ID)
(Trust me, daddy)
(What is so controversial?)
(Trust me, daddy)
(Now trust me, daddy)
While you niggas was bumpin' lightskin dance hall tracks
I was, clicking and picking all my guns off of Amazon
Trust me
I shoot real good, never fake it
I had to hit a marksman to make it out the basic
All my bitch niggas know what I'm talking about
I had to take it back to '05 and walk it out
Why every woke song you niggas make you be shittin' on yourselves?
Pathetic
Somebody gotta be Ice Cube and dead it
Now if I said it I meant it
You run this verse back enough times you get infected
I got the antiseptic
I dropped BBC three months ago
And haven't heard shit that I'm impressed with
So fuck it, Imma press this
That good shit you got?
The one you keep in a secret folder
And stay tryna flex with
Ain't fuckin' with my next shit
Shout out to my nigga Micah Johnson out in Texas
He fucked them cops good, I can't wait for the next hit
Hit after hit, after hit, after hit
Since you crackers love stats and percentages
I got a fresh one for you and it goes like this
Every last cop that died in Dallas can suck my dick
In the afterlife
And if a war comes, I'm shootin' husbands after wifes
They don't want me in the suburbs
Giving your girl that good wood, cracker
She said I'm suberp
Suberp, like no other
I grip that ass tight when I'm doggy styling your mother
She keep throwing it back, Imma give you some tanned brothers
I'll be damned If I hold hands with a cop like he's my cousin
You rock a blue uniform? Then Peggy don't see colour
And I ain't tryna get smothered
I just wanna bust a nut in her
Plan B, Peggy such a sinner
I want that John Oliver, Bill Maher, real sex, HBO Go money, nigga
Don't shoot!
Don't shoot!
Don't shoot!
Don't shoot!
Don't shoot!
Don't shoot!
Don't shoot!
Don't shoot!
Don't shoot!
Don't shoot!
Don't shoot!
Don't shoot!
Don't shoot!
Don't shoot!
Don't shoot!
Don't shoot!
Don't shoot!
Don't shoot!
Don't shoot!
Don't shoot!
Don't shoot!