Lyrical Breakdown of Brick to a Million - A Journey through Words and Rhymes
Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Brick to a Million" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.
- Lyric Overview: Witness how Master P weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "Brick to a Million" 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 Master P 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 Master P's narrative.
This lyrical analysis of "Brick to a Million" not only celebrates Master P'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!
Featuring Fat Trel & Alley Boy
New niggas wearin' dresses – fuck it, I ain't scared to address it
Gangster niggas on skateboards?
I'm at the house breakin' motherfuckin' headboards
Real niggas stand up – three dollar niggas y'all man up
Real niggas stand up – I ain't hatin', three dollar niggas man up!
Candy paint on my foreign whip
Frito Lay, we got corn chips
Middle finger, we don't give a fuck
Turn a brick to a million bucks
Candy paint on my foreign whip
Frito Lay, we got corn chips
Middle finger, we don't give a fuck
Turn a brick to a million bucks
Hatin' niggas just ride off
I'm the corporation, bitch, and the bylaw
You the motherfuckin' secretary
You got on lipstick, nigga, lookin' hella scary
Bitch nigga be gone, bitch
Starin' at me, what's wrong, bitch?
I'm in the Louis shoes and the shirt
Hoe nigga, you got a Louis purse
Bitch nigga, you ain't right
Mad at me 'cause my paper right
Mad at me 'cause my paper right
And you know your bitch ass can't even fight
Slutty boy game, bitch – who I came with?
Three hoes, one date, fuckin' with the same dick
No metro, .38 Special
Left when she asked for some snots on the petrol
That's a no-no, Louis, no logo
Liquor store, fuck the pussy up and down, pogo
What's next? High-def, shoot slow-mo
In between her legs, turn my Jheris into cornrows
Find me fuckin' on a badass hoe
LA beat with the DC flow
Louis V sheets, said she keep it on the low
Got a nigga out the streets, stripper bitch for my bro
Aye... what these faggot niggas on, P?
Me an Trel Louis'd down all in DC
Aye... I see these niggas made hoes choose 'em
Rare bitch, green eyes with a big booty
You'll get your shit pushed back for the right fact
I got them fakers on sight, we gon' eat that
Ain't with the new cool, we just gettin' money
Foreign whips, candy paint, they gon' look funny
I got 10 exotic bitches for the foreign car
Quarter-piece, groupie hoes, we gon' fuck 'em all
Mr. Chow every day, sushi roll salmon
Master P, five mil', just one album
Brick to a million bucks
Brick, brick to a million bucks