Lyrical Breakdown of B Boy (feat. Big Sean & A$AP Ferg) - A Journey through Words and Rhymes

Welcome to the detailed analysis of "B Boy (feat. Big Sean & A$AP Ferg)" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.

• Lyric Overview: Witness how Meek Mill weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "B Boy (feat. Big Sean & A$AP Ferg)" 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 Meek Mill 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 Meek Mill's narrative.

This lyrical analysis of "B Boy (feat. Big Sean & A$AP Ferg)" not only celebrates Meek Mill'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!

Log in or Sign up All that ass, Lord have mercy All that champagne, these bitches thirsty rchy, no hold up, I meant Versace I prolly pull up Roberto over Cavalli Puffin' on Cali, prolly out in the valley Sippin' on something drowsey Bitches twerkin' like Miley Twerk, twerk for a real nigga sellin' work Promise I won't tell a word I been on that trill shit, way back North Philly nigga, but I'm laid back Get shot in your head drivin' your Maybach Homie the clown know I don't play that Sippin' dirty, riding dirty, I say hi to thirty Call your dog, I call my dawg and he'll buy a birdy Try to school me, I'm getting out here early Dope dealer, Puma life, back of this soccer jersey Mink draggin', tell PETA I'm swaggin All these karats like I'm tryna lure in a rabbit Just to put it, on my jacket What you doin? I'm doin' fashion Okay, I walk with a limp and I talk with a slur I might wear every single chain and mix it up with my fur I might get every single drink and mix it up til I blur I tell the bitch get on my lap, but don't you get on my nerves I need that bag full of green like I lawnmow it John Doe and all Sean Doe it And I keep it G, yeah, I ground floor it And I'm pound blowin' If her pussy good then I might one, two, three, round four it Got her down for it Yeah, nigga overthink, never under stress Yeah, I understand, your girl over, I'm so unimpressed Yeah, and she tryna fuck me raw, unprotect But if I don't have that rubber on it I feel under dressed Yeah, and I got money bags under my eyes, ho, cause I ain't sleep They all Goyard too cause I ain't cheap Finally Famous, Aura Gold is my I-N-C And I put everything in motion like I-N-G And when we flyin' private you could bring the gun on with us I got this freak to 3rd base, she tryna run home with us And I got comma on comma on comma on comma... on comma And I ain't talking about no run on sentence Yeah, nigga hot headed so I need that Chings Chili Put my P up on her head like that bitch is reppin' Philly And I wheelie in that pussy like my nigga Meek Milly On my way to meet millis Lawyer drafting up the deep deep dealies I got rich decided that ain't rich enough When I did it big, bitch, I decided that ain't big enough Dead Pres, who you diggin up? Who that nigga that you hating on, but just can't get enough? Fuck, the jig is up, little bitch I'm like Madoff when I made off, scheming on niggas' payoff I never take a day off, your stash is short like Adolf, Hitler You should lay up on the gangsta talk cause you're fake, dog You never pushed no yay, dawg, ain't see no keys like Ray Charles Me and Meek in the Maybach, we get Wale and take off We got your bitch in a big house, she walk in hype like "Hey, Ross" Get money, dreamchasers, we ballin' hard like the Lakers You ballin'? Nah, you a faker, you prolly catchin' a fader I'm at your house on the hill, I fucked your girl and your neighbor You thinkin' Khloe don't know me, I'm in the car dashin' haters I'm in the Kardashian, get it? I'm lyin', can't I pretend? They say fake it 'til you make it, well, let the fakin' begin I got a bitch with fake titties, fake ass, she all in the Benz Them titties'll prolly fall like a ball when she bends My niggas from Harlem and Philly all get it in Your bitch come around and we fuckin' her and her friends Get money, dreamchasers, we ballin' hard like the Lakers You ballin'? Nah you a faker, you prolly catchin' a fader Come get with the dreamchasers, we ballin' hard like the Lakers You ballin'? Nah you a faker, you prolly catchin' a fader I'm at your house on the hill, I fucked your girl and your neighbor I'm at your house on the hill, I fucked your girl and your neighbor I'm at your house on the hill, I fucked your girl and your neighbor I'm at your house on the hill, I fucked your girl and your neighbor What she do? She, just, put heart eyes under my pic nigga That's my bitch nigga Bought her a first class ticket to put the dick in her Explanations Meanings Share Email Print Correct Tweet LikeTweet+1