Lyrical Breakdown of Hustlers - A Journey through Words and Rhymes

Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Hustlers" 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 "Hustlers" 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 "Hustlers" 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!

Yeah Dre, he a Compton, Compton O.G Nas, he a QB, QB true G, do the history Way before The Firm, like back in the day Nas was the first New York nigga rappin' with Dre So of course I got a track to bring it back to your face The one kid that would have been Aftermath that got away But we still get together like, every several years To sprinkle, a little bit of heaven for your ears Relax, sippin' Cliquot in Rio, stupid fuckers Low-key, no G's, but it's still Gucci luggage I love Cape Cod, and watching fly bitches with gray eyes Wrestle in a tub of KY to get my day by I like to celebrate, why? 'Cause I can vision Collages of images of my lives with no regrets or hate So every breath I take is all about the rules It's hard for you to breath like you at high altitude So crack the Patron, it's on heathens The God's back, hard body, Mr. Jones never leavin' Hustlers, dealers, drop-top riders Make that cake, cop two five fivers Pimps and players, platinum diamonds East to West Coast, we riders Hustlers, dealers, drop-top riders Make that cake, cop two five fivers Pimps and players, platinum diamonds East to West Coastin', oh, yeah He a Compton, Compton O.G Mix that with a QB, QB true G What ya got's a concoction of some different ghetto blocks West Coast kill the tracks, East Coast gunshots He a Compton, Compton O.G Mix that with a QB, QB true G What ya got's a concoction of some different ghetto blocks West Coast kill the tracks, East Coast gun- 1995, eleven years from the day I'm in the record shop with choices to make Illmatic on the top shelf, The Chronic on the left, homie Wanna cop both but only got a 20 on me So fuck it, I stole both, spent the 20 on a dub sack Ripped the package of Illmatic and bumped that For my niggas it was too complex when Nas rhyme I was the only Compton nigga with a New York state of mind Inside the dope house, bottlin' up sherm Bangin' The Firm, Dre was king then so I waited my turn Fast-forward, now I'm makin' 'em burn Ended my peers' careers, hollered at Nas, a hard lesson was learned So I reconciled my differences like he did with Jigga I stopped beefin' with niggas, 'cause I'm "Ether" to niggas Comb the Earth 'til there's no-one left If I ruled the world I'd summons all you weak rap niggas to death He a Compton, Compton O.G Mix that with a QB, QB true G What ya got's a concoction of some different ghetto blocks West Coast kill the tracks, East Coast gunshots Yo, the Jordan's sportin' Come off the dice game with a fortune walkin', you a walkin' coffin The musket, I tucked it, you bluff it, I bus' it You're sideways talkin', so why lay off him I wait patient, to duct-tape hatin' Fuck ass niggas get bucked, ass niggas Pluck ashes of Cuban cigars, you foolin' with Nas That's our name, and I came, with groupies this time And if I'm sane that Soul Plane movie's the bomb Word to my mom's name tattooed to my arm You can't revolve me, embalm me, calm me or harm me Rob me or dodge these bullets I'm bustin' See that's malarkey, you yappin' I open up the tripod to put the Gatling on, and I start clappin' Nasty man, from bagging grams and runnin' from cops To a mil' on the hand, a mil' on the watch, I'm fuckin' with Doc Hustlers, dealers, drop-top riders Make that cake, cop two five fivers Pimps and players, platinum diamonds East to West Coast we riders Hustlers, dealers, drop-top riders Make that cake, cop two five fivers Pimps and players, platinum diamonds East to West Coastin', oh, yeah