Lyrical Breakdown of Gossip Folks (feat. Ludacris) - A Journey through Words and Rhymes

Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Gossip Folks (feat. Ludacris)" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.

• Lyric Overview: Witness how Ludacris weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "Gossip Folks (feat. Ludacris)" 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 Ludacris 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 Ludacris's narrative.

This lyrical analysis of "Gossip Folks (feat. Ludacris)" not only celebrates Ludacris'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!

Yo, yo, yo move out of the way We got Missy Elliott coming through Girl, there is Missy Elliott, she lost a lot of weight Yeah, I heard she eats one cracker a day Girl, well I heard the bitch was married to Tim' And started fuckin' with Trina Well, I heard the bitch got hit with three zebras and a monkey I can't stand the bitch no way (ooh, ooh) When I walk up in the piece (ah) I ain't gotta even speak (ah) I'm a bad mamajama, goddammit Motherfucker, you ain't gotta like me (ah) How you stuntin' these hoes? (Ah) Need to talk, what you know? (Ah) And stop talking 'bout who I'm stickin' And lickin', just mad it ain't yours (ah) I know ya'll poor, ya'll broke (oh) Ya'll job just hanging up clothes (oh) Step to me, get burnt like toast (oh) Muthafuckas, adios, amigos (oh) Hop, hop, pose, pose (ah) I don't brag I mostly boast (ah) From the VA to the LA coast (ah) Izzo kizzay, lezzy goh (ah) Millze cillzan sillzome plilzay dilzzouble dilzutch (Hilzzoo?) My gizzirl (brillzing her izzin) Izzo kizzay (izzall rizzight), izzo kizzay (izzall rizzight) Nizzow wizzee wilzzo-izzo-zee When I pull up in my whip (ah) Bitches wanna talk shit (ah) I'm drivin', I'm glad, and I'm stylin' In these muthafuckas eyes did you see it? (Ooh) I'm grippin' these curbs (ah) Skrrt, did ya heard? (Ah) I love 'em, my feathers, my furs, ah I fly like a bird (ah) Chicken heads on the prowl (prowl) Who you tryna fuck now? (Now) Nah, you ain't gettin' loud Better calm down for I smack your ass down (uh-huh) I need my drums, bass, high-hat Has to be my snare, strings, horns, yes I need my Tim', sound, right, left Izzy kizzy, looky here Millze cillzan sillzome plilzay dilzzouble dilzutch (Hilzzoo?) My gizzirl (brillzing her izzin) Izzo kizzay (izzall rizzight), izzo kizzay (izzall rizzight) Nizzow wizzee wilzzo-izzo-zee I don't go out my house, shorty, you just waitin' to see Who I'm gon' roll up in the club with then report that next week Just wanna see who I am-, boy sniffing some coke I know by the time I finish this line I'ma hear this on the radio (uh-huh) Okay, once upon a time in College Park (hoo) Where they live life fast and they scared of dark (hoo) There was a little nigga by the name of Chris (hoo) Nobody paid him any mind, no one gave a shit (yeah) Knowin' he could rap, no one lifted hands (hoo) So he went about his business and devised a plan (hoo) Made a CD, then he hit the block (hoo) 50 thousand sold, seven dollars a pop (hoo) Hold the phone, uh, three years later (hoo) Stepped out the swamp in ten-and-a-half gators (hoo) Now all around the world on the microphone (hoo) He leave the booth smellin' like Burberry cologne (cologne) Still ridin' chrome (hoo) Got bitches in the kitchen, never home alone (hoo) And he's on the grind (hoo) Please let me know if he's on your mind (hoo) And respect, you'll give me (hoo) Ludacris, I live loud, just like Timmy (uh) Had to clear these rumors (hoo) I got a headache and it's not a tumor (hoo) Get up on my lap, keep my head tucked tight (ah) Sprayed, so I never let the bedbugs bite (bite) Hard to the core, core to the rotten (ah) Jump down, turn around, pick a bale of cotton, (ah) yah, yah, yah Millze cillzan sillzome plilzay dilzzouble dilzutch (Hilzzoo?) My gizzirl (brillzing her izzin) Izzo kizzay (izzall rizzight), izzo kizzay (izzall rizzight) Nizzow wizzee wilzzo-izzo-zee Yo, straight up, Missy killed that shit tonight, for real (I know, I know) I don't really care about her being pregnant by Michael Jackson (no shit) You know what we should do? We should go get her album when it comes out There she go, there she go, there she, "Hi, Missy" (Hi, Missy?) What's up fools? You think I ain't knowin' y'all broke, Milli Vanilli J.J. Fad wannabes ain't over here gossipin' 'bout me? Yo, how 'bout you buff these Pumas for twenty cents So your lights won't get cut off Yo' soggy breasts, cow stomachs Yo, take them Baby GAP shirts off, too You just mad 'cause Payless ran out of plastic pumps for the after party Yo, by the way, go get my album (damn) Millze cillzan sillzome plilzay dilzzouble dilzutch (Hilzzoo?) My gizzirl (brillzing her izzin)