Lyrical Breakdown of The Finest - A Journey through Words and Rhymes

Welcome to the detailed analysis of "The Finest" 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 "The Finest" 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 "The Finest" 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!

As the life cycle goes on ... goes on And you learn to hold on (hold on) To things like the mic ... the mic And you learn to appreciate who is the nicest on said device But who is (The finest) Tommy Tashuma, too much drama, blind behind the rumor Time and time and time, my mind, I'm trying to find a tumor Tommy Tashuma, no time for humor As soon as one of ya' men's dead in Hempstead, you trying to find Pumas Sooner the better, even knitted a sweater already Keep your leather, we coming through the brutal weather We ready to do whatever, yo' Doom you with it? (You know it like a poet, my brother) (Hey, Gunn you wit it?) Whatever... I know about going paid to broke, to next day well-off To bust a shell off, to dick-riders: "Get the hell off" Made a call to a client, he must've had his cell off A show-off, he has the same bite but fell off I tell off the bat, from science to pure facts Which niggas is wack 'til they last two tracks Matter fact, y'all could wait for the rep to tell The tall-tale, how he escape from out the depths of hell When die, he gon' die like a soldier die: Holding a swollen eye, drinking Olde Gold Smoking a stog, watching po-po patrol the beach Blowing my high, rolling by, when Gunn die He gon' try to preach the streets then go to the sky Yup! That hold water, like drizzle in a paper cup This one etched in stone, the chisel with the paper up I need a cut: a taper-up, edge-up Niggas can't measure up, I'm here to get the treasure up Stands up and hold 'em high, do or die He got heat, no surprise, stop the beat, close your eyes Got the weed, rolling lah Not sweet, so no demise, all the guys drops seeds so multiply Within the prophecies hold the lie He bled my mother and my father, but can't bleed me OD, ghetto misery, he bled my brother, my sister, but can't bleed me A OG, ghetto misery, bled my mother, my father, but can't bleed ... Me ... sci-fly, whole style stuck up Used to talk to myself, I told him, "Shut the fuck up!" Buckle up, cause it's about to be rough He said, "Keep talking that shit, you 'bout to be snuffed" Then we squashed it, I let em know: "Watch it -- We only met a time to join these rhymers in the mosh pit" Gosh, it feels great just to increase the chance For a pussy nigga face to hit the dance floor I pull ya' top up, got clout, crack rock, what? Now it's all good business, and so this bitch is locked up On the dance floor: you got knocked out, your bitch got knocked up Baby-face, and hey can you brand you, brand new machete Damn, I just shook your hand and can't stand you already Can't stand you, understand you deadly But my hammer's like a band, my man, it's Brand New and Heavy Yo' Doom, you ready? (Yeah! Yo' Gunn, you with it?) Whatever. Come on stay, I wrote this rhyme on my born-day Remind me of the same style I flipped on "Hey!" Yikes! Who can fuck with the likes Of one such who scores touchdown and spikes mic's Metal grill, with many styles, better still Feel like number 26 on a roulette wheel And deal, and run rings around rhymers And run rings like number runners whose old-timers Shorty in the all black, she think she all that I called her, she said, "Don't call back!" She called me, now what you call that? Let's go back, I sold crack Hold gats, smoke that, drink that, toke that Fuck! Where that ho at? Where that dough at? Suffering succotash! This hooker broke into his last buck of cash He love her, motherfuck her ass Metal feet dented your car fender My agenda up in the basement party tipping the bartender Is unbeknownst to you -- who could get body blown? MF like Mike Fran Corleone And got it sown, maricon, like to know what you staring at? An invisible cat, who pull off a disappearing act Raised by a pack a wild womens like Sweetback Front? I'mma be back! (Like brothers in the street act) (Surrounded by a bunch a bad bitches like Sweetback) (Fuck with me I'll be back) Like niggas in the streets act (streets act!)