Lyrical Breakdown of Shootouts - A Journey through Words and Rhymes

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 Nas 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 Nas 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 Nas's narrative.

This lyrical analysis of "Shootouts" not only celebrates Nas'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