Lyrical Breakdown of Rich Nigga Shit - A Journey through Words and Rhymes
Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Rich Nigga Shit" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.
- Lyric Overview: Witness how Juice Wrld weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "Rich Nigga Shit" 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 Juice Wrld 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 Juice Wrld's narrative.
This lyrical analysis of "Rich Nigga Shit" not only celebrates Juice Wrld'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!
Juicy
(Yo)
Navy
(Yo, Pi'erre, you wanna come out here?)
Ayy
Rich nigga shit, calamaris
I done pump faked on a split, I'm so sorry
1996 Benz, Tyler Perry
1996 rims like Atari
Ayy, brown diamonds on, bitch, I'm Nestlé
I don't play the radio, I'm not Greg Street
Chicken bock-bock like a Mexican
I keep Wockhardt on my belly, yeah (yeah)
I just spent your salary
Walked inside of the exhibit and bought the gallery (uh, uh-huh)
I'm so wealthy, I done bought out all my cavities (uh-huh)
Havin' sex with your old lady, I lost calories (uh-huh)
Rich shit, I'm playin' Louis ping-pong with my bestie (uh)
Made a TV show with some lesbians (uh-huh)
Like the TV show, I done next-ed (uh)
G-Star, pull your thorns out your carat (uh-huh)
Bought my dog a new kennel, it's a palace (grah, grah, grah)
I'm the fortune and the winners wanna best me (skrt, skrt, skrt)
I rock minks when it ain't December
'Cause my diamonds (drip, drip, drip)
Women lie and men lie, but not this money (bitch, bitch)
I'm a 'rilla, call Coachella, tell 'em comin' in Margiela
I don't like her, I can't sweat her, I just cum and keep it mellow
I got ninety pills on me like I'm Julius Peppers
Rolls-Royce truck umbrella
Go in for my brother
Rich nigga shit, calamaris
I done pump faked on a split, I'm so sorry
1996 Benz, Tyler Perry
1996 rims like Atari
Ayy, brown diamonds on, bitch, I'm Nestlé
I don't play the radio, I'm not Greg Street
Chicken bock-bock like a Mexican
I keep Wockhardt on my belly, yeah (yeah, yeah, yeah)
Back in 'em days, minimum wage
Now a nigga up top, gettin' too paid
Slide on a opp block with a Blu-Ray
Extended clip, we movie gang
Your boyfriend like, "Ooh, she can't"
Went and took her anyway
Now he want his girl back, fuck you, have a nice day (yeah)
Burberry on my coat
If it's a problem, I'm pulling up ten-four
Walk in his house, smoke a nigga like indo
Percocet popper, don't fuck with the benzos
Party in the brib, hit the line for the info
Murder every nigga, murder every instrumental
They not my kinfolk
They finna get fucked up when I hop out the Benz like Rambo, uh
Uh, shit'll make the devil dance
Leanin' all over this song, don't think I stand a chance
Separate my rights from my wrongs, to never be wrong again
I'm DJ Khaled with it all 'cause all I do is win
Rich nigga shit, calamaris
I done pump faked on a split, I'm so sorry
1996 Benz, Tyler Perry
1996 rims like Atari
Ayy, brown diamonds on, bitch, I'm Nestlé
I don't play the radio, I'm not Greg Street
Chicken bock-bock like a Mexican
I keep Wockhardt on my belly, yeah