Lyrical Breakdown of Monkey Suit - A Journey through Words and Rhymes

Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Monkey Suit" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.

• Lyric Overview: Witness how MF Doom weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "Monkey Suit" 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 MF Doom 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 MF Doom's narrative.

This lyrical analysis of "Monkey Suit" not only celebrates MF Doom'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!

Villain'll hold the mic like he's mean and his tummy hurt In a clean pair, ripped jeans and a bummy shirt Wonderin' would you clap your hands if he was friendly? Dapper Dan dipped and pretend to be Fendi and gold sellin' No tellin', slap a fan hand down, tell 'em "no yellin" DOOM all capitals, no trick spellin' Got what it take to get it through your thick melon (Woop, woosh) Fresh witty city skits When he get wreck, pretty emcees catch titty fits Told them call the cops, just don't hold your breath For the ball to drop Better yet, hold on to your halter top Kept reppin', steppin' in hotta Ignoring pigs like Bigs Top Shotta Surviver of a live crew, not out to jive you It stings when he laugh when he at the bank drive-thru Wylin', get me every red penny Sold a lonely only child a imaginary enemy When he sees the mask and the microphone gizmo He's the broke host this is like his own quiz show This go out to all my brothers doin' long bids and sisters Who got brothers bein' fathers to the wrong kids Stay strong and ride like the funky flute Won't find the villain in the street inside no monkey suit Or either at the bar in no gorilly bra Nor raceway park scoring on no silly car Ask the stranger he knows who you really are Behind the mask face stay dark, no boring willy star Gleaming, dreaming, screaming, he'll be off the heezy soon Cunning live rats drive at your steaming greasy spoon In participating places tip your waitress' A sure fire way to wire, trip the matrices Skip ya laces, all black tennis miniature Ball stack, gall tall pack, Guinness minister Tussle the hustle, cut your dank with dirt Won't be in the club in a muscle tank shirt You could find 'em in the pub with the grub stain Chuggin' on a small tub of pain to his bugged brain Sane, some say he plum crazy Amazed at how he still get paid but dumb lazy That's for him to know and for you to guess Won't be caught in a suit vest at no computer desk A suede front, maybe may stunt khaki dig Not in no braids or no lace-front yaki wig