Lyrical Breakdown of 4:20 - A Journey through Words and Rhymes
Welcome to the detailed analysis of "4:20" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.
- Lyric Overview: Witness how Method Man weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "4:20" 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 Method Man 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 Method Man's narrative.
This lyrical analysis of "4:20" not only celebrates Method Man'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!
Roll that s***, light that s***, smoke it
Roll that s***, light that s***, smoke it
Roll, roll, roll that s***, light that s***, smoke it
Roll that s***, light that s***, smoke it
Yeah, fast or slow mo, oh no, Meth done made a killing
Call the po-po, oh n***** is squealing, oh, y'all ain't feeling
N***** no more, the bigger they are, harder they go though
Good p**** put a hump in my back like Quasimoto
Hah, my sex ain't h*** season vet, hold the adobo
Got rappers on that low carb diet, y'all can't get no dough
I keep a low pro, file, excuse me as I get s**** out
Put hands on these n*****, then put the roach out
Go head, I'm wishing you would, ask if it's good
Man, this Tarzan s*** in the woods, my s*** is hood, b****
That means I'm hood rich, telling you lies
Straight out the pull-pit, it's like Merrill Lynch I'm on that bulls***
Real s***, money come first, and even worse
You need all your toes and fingers to count up what I'm worth, t****
So when I blow a smoke cloud in your face, just take a hint
D****, you crowding my space, it's Mr. Meth, pa
It's 4: 20, roll up, n**** getting smoked out
No seeds, California w*** have you choked out
No doubt, roll up, which rims s***** out
4: 20 mean you either roll up or roll out
Roll that s***, light that s***, smoke it
Roll that s***, light that s***, smoke it
So on and so on, I flow on, power to our people
Get your s**** on and I'm so gone, off, that s*** d*****
Hard to hold on, but hold on, it's like I'm Pretty Toney
With that robe, got terrorist shook, because I'm so bomb
The hood, put, me in position, I'm in the kitchen
With that cook book, the service I'm giving, birds they vision
Not a good look, told ya my n****, Tical deliver
Or crook, lots of a**** to kick, wish I had a bigger foot
Yeah, taking it there, hating who care
Y'all stay out my mental, I got killas waiting in here
To get you, as I sharpen my pencils, tear apart instrumentals
Fuck it, y'all n***** is p****, so is the d*** that sent you
RZA, we done it again, Co-D occasion
Here's to short skirts and Ol' Dirt McGirt, okay, then
Let's get it popping, like it ain't nothing to get it popping
The big and rotten's the city, too good to be forgotten
It's 4: 20, roll up, n**** getting smoked out
No seeds, California w*** have you choked out
No doubt, roll up, which rims s***** out
4: 20 mean you either roll up or roll out
It's 4: 20, roll up, n**** getting smoked out
No seeds, California w*** have you choked out
No doubt, roll up, which rims s***** out
4: 20 mean you either roll up or roll out
Roll that s***, light that s***, smoke it
The rap game won't like me
You can tell that a n**** is shiesty
If I die, my second born'll be like me, slide d*** to your wifey
Never know your baby boy just might be
Quick to rob a jack, he's so icey, stay dressed to kill
From the Hill, never ran, never will
Attitude, like, fuck you still, I see you missing the point
This is not a rap song, you get clapped on
B****** break the bone, like the joint, call you out your name
Disrespect ya moms, spit on your dame
Go public, then, s*** on your fame, you overlooking the fact
Where you from, is where we at and y'all don't want no, parts, in that that
Caught your verse for sale, but real n***** don't shoot and tell
We'd rather do the time and rot in the cell
Roll that s***
The inner outer state, bi-coastal smoker
Inhale, Cali piff with a swift of glaucoma
Black jeans, black Timbs, black Benz roaster
Smoke rise, out the sun roof when I roll up
Verrazano, with no relation to Gravano
Carlo, shots are hollow, still cop a bottle
And pour some out, moment of silence, then I swallow
I'm still alive and still the sun'll come out tomorrow
Shine, shine, shine and grind, 'cause it's money on my mind
And I'm moving like my life is on the line
For the bulls***, I really got no time, a full clip
Really gon' let ya n***** know what's on my mind
When ya getting out of line, have them choppers lit up
You won't need a camera phone to get the picture
Chalk down, tape around, body bag zipped up
Carlo Verrazano, you can call me mister
It's 4: 20, roll up, n**** getting smoked out
No seeds, California w*** have you choked out
No doubt, roll up, which rims s***** out
4: 20 mean you either roll up or roll out