Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Shootouts" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.
- Lyric Overview: Witness how undefined weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "Shootouts" 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 undefined 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 undefined's narrative.
This lyrical analysis of "Shootouts" not only celebrates undefined'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!
Yo, release what's in me
Besides the Henny, it's eyes that's seen plenty
Fiends get skinny as if Queens was a Craig Jenny
Instead of diet plans, it's crack, 200 grams
I pump a G-pack, peepin' for where the D's at
It's slow, lookin' for Rambo
The cop who got grazed back in the days
Chasin' niggas through my project maze
That cop — he got a death wish
He run behind niggas until you breathless
Everyday, he makin' ten arrests, shit!
My nigga, check this, I know the bitch he rest with
I even blessed it, forty-dash-ten, inspect it
(Already checked it, dunn, near his ankle you could see his gun)
Peep, he parked his Jeep in the back of the slum
To check Tanisha, fat ass, real fly with the blonde caesar
Vittadini summer gear, she push the two-seater
I heard she brag about the way he eat her
A Irish man, short, slim with a tan, they say he laced her cheeba
She due, be lookin' weaker, now her teeth are foul
Speakin' loud, peep her style, in and out of every reefer cloud
Fat ass dissolvin', like cotton candy in a mouth that's starvin'
Rock the same gear daily, like a soldier in my squadron
I heard she let Jake investigate from her window
'Cause she's a nympho, suckin' dick and coughin' up info
So now it's set up, her and the beast to get wet up
I know he's vest up, we blazin' from the neck up
(Yo, let me knock first) Soon as he open, let your Glock burst
They had the chains on, son, hit the lock first
We busted in, the cop jerked, Jungle popped one in his shirt
I grabbed the bitch by her tits, she tried to say she Earth
We saw the cameras, tape recorders and the monitors
They eyein' us, (Nas, yo, he survived one from the fo'-five)
Pull his shades down, they seen his last days now
There's no way now, we can be treated just like a slave now
Two in the dome, he's laid down
A-yo, the bitch is saved now
She's livin' in a snitch grave now
Shootouts is similar to Wild West
Broad daylight, face-to-face without a vest
You know the episodes, thugs camouflage the spectacles
Please God, just save the life that the Devil sold
See, It Was Written, but was never told
Peep the jewels, black man, it's even better than gold
Niggas roll with iron
Police roll in hot pursuit, tryin' to stop the loot
Fuck Jake, cock and shoot
Still on the streets with my peeps so deep
We threw a block party for my man goin' up creek
To do his two-to-four, niggas show love from all around the board
Peace, Lord, Sony Handy-Cam on record
Pop a bottle, 'cause when you come home, we still got it sewn
We can watch the tape, play back and just zone
Film all the bitches, on the benches with ill extensions
We block the streets off, only crew cars can enter
Music was loud and it was crowded
Barbecued wings, we fed the fiends
(Gamble in the back!) Killa shouted
And Frank tried to stop the bank, lost about what a Roley cost
Guzzled his drink, and staggered off
He's a Big Will, used to slang krill, now he own The Hill
Couldn't take losin' his cash, and I could feel
Something in the air, yeah
Frank returned with Pierre
A gunslinger, who niggas hadn't seen in a year
I usually be holdin', 'specially this type of weekend
And everyone except for me had started reachin'
They had gats in each others faces
With kids and grandmothers around
Frank's only concern was his papers
My man Killa let off, half of them fake niggas jet off
Police blitz quick, waitin' for that to set off
Runnin' the static, it got me mad 'cause they a bunch of faggots
Startin' shit in my hood, I can't have it
Yo, High, get the 40-Cali stainless
Jake is still out, let's make it real and still make 'em niggas famous
Dip behind trees in fatigues and squeeze, dodge and weave
Hearin' Jake retaliatin', and Wiz was up the alley waitin'
We breeze, jump in the ride, heard Pierre died
Internal bleedin' inside, and ain't been back since '95
Shootouts is similar to Wild West
Broad daylight, face-to-face without a vest
You know the episodes, thugs camouflage the spectacles
Please God, just save the life that the Devil sold
See, It Was Written, but was never told
Peep the jewels, black man, it's even better than gold
Niggas roll with iron
Police roll in hot pursuit tryin' to stop the loot
Nigga, fuck Jake, cock and shoot