Lyrical Breakdown of Pimpin - A Journey through Words and Rhymes
Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Pimpin" 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 "Pimpin" 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 "Pimpin" 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!
Yeah, them niggas talking bout y'all
always want some lyrics, right?
Real lyrics, well here we go, I'm a
tell you a little story
That's right, watch this shit, nigga,
here we go, y'all, your ass
Yeah, we write for days, hot shit, uh-huh
Dope, drugs, sex, murder, King
James version
Aiyo, needle was left hanging, in the
arm of a pimp
He walk with a limp, had bitches
on the payroll
He gave the seeds candy and his
family was poor
Drove a '68 Caddy with the fur on the door
The other macks ain't have jack on
him, not even Goldie
Slowly, he would rise, kept his
runners with the police
Jim Brown was his man, his brother
was Muslim, they tried to convert him
And turn righteous, but the streets got the good of him
Big hats with gorgeous stones, honey
designed the slacks
With two attempts on his bottom
bitch, her name was Precious
Silky skin, priceless pussy, she took karate
Her bubble ass got Pretty Chipp rich
You can smell her perfume on every street corner
A sexy motherfucka with the mean
face on her
Precious, sported bulletproof
dresses, defending caring sex
Thirteen smith, this boo that study
her lessons
She was the key to Pretty Chipp
riches, bitches is fortune slang
Control the south side, her name rings
Lookout for the black cherry pussy extortion
Any other hoes get pregnant, bet they get an abortion
Back at the pub, at the Alice
spot, bumping the sounds of Curtis
Playing Live in the jukebox, this broad named Cookie
In the purse, fifty thou' in cash
Passed off to Chipp, told him count it fast, another 10 in my bloomers
Fuck the rumors, it's lies, baby, you my daddy
Bitches never saw me jumping
out of Dirt Dog's cabby
I'm a loyal bitch, and chicks can't stand me, pimps
They know I'm ill, that's why they never put hands on me
From Fillmore Slim to Goldie, Pretty Toney
Frank War told me, C.C. get that money
My potentials, credentials, my mouth stay hot
Like Chinese mushrooms, wasabi with spicy lentils
The other day I brought a little gat, where I keep near my lower back
Cause these niggas don't know how to act
At the Apollo, Ray Charles told me
Bitch just get in the car, cuz I want you to swallow
I jumped in, and his bodyguards follow
He was quick, I spit the nut on his '74 wallos
He wanted to invite me to Chicago, I said 'nah, daddy'
He pushed me out and lit up a Marlboro
(Nah, papi) Cause I'm from New York
He taught me the talks, he taught me the walk
Cause I'm Chipp's bitch, we dine and resort
Only nigga ever taught me, don't put swine on my fork
And that's the truth, rest in peace, papi
This Cookie, I still got another tall Goose for you daddy
I'm a stick in the grave for you, baby
Fuck them other pimps, they ain't got shit on you, daddy