Lyrical Breakdown of Dec. 17, 2002) - A Journey through Words and Rhymes

Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Dec. 17, 2002)" 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 "Dec. 17, 2002)" 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 "Dec. 17, 2002)" 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!

Staten Island in this motherfucker, yeah, yeah, yeah New York god is here in the motherfucking building (Nas-Nas-Nas-Nas-Nas-Nas-Nas-Nas is like) This is 'round 1998 shit You know I was around then too 1998 Lil' Premiere shit right here now (Nas-Nas-Nas-Nas-Nas-Nas-Nas-Nas is like) Freedom or jail, clips inserted, baby being born Same time a man is murdered, the beginning and end As far as rap go, it's only natural I explain Plateau, and also, what defines my name First it was nasty, times have changed Ask me now, I'm the art-, but hardcore, my sign's for (pain) I spent time in the (game), kept my mind on fame Saw fiends shoot up and do lines of (cocaine) Saw my close friends shot, flat line, (am I sane?) That depends, carry MAC-10s to (practice my aim) On rooftops, tape CD covers to trees Line the barrel up with your weak (picture then squeeze) Street scriptures for lost souls in the crossroads To the corner thugs hustling for cars (that cost dough) To the little ones (what they do) doing it right Pushing big toys, enjoying your life It's what you make it, suicide, few try to take it Belt tied around their neck in jail cells naked Heaven and Hell, rap legend, presence is felt And of course, N-A-S are the letters that spell (Nas) New York, what the fuck is up? A yo, where are my motherfucking ladies at? What we doing? Zone out? A yo How many motherfuckers got the God's Son album? A yo, we called Brave Hearts 'cause we stand up for what we believe in man We don't let the little radio stations tell us what the fuck to do We tell the radio station what the fuck to do When I put out a new record Motherfucking Hot 97, 105, whoever the fuck is out here Better play it or ain't nobody gon' give a fuck about it, yeah That's what God's Son is for It ain't for no radio or none of that shit This is my niggas