Lyrical Breakdown of Nasty - A Journey through Words and Rhymes
Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Nasty" 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 "Nasty" 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 "Nasty" 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!
Y'all ready for Nas?
Queensbridge, y'all ready to see Nasty Nas?
Uh-huh, they ready
Yeah, word
Got some Rémy Martin
And some good-ass cigars, check it out
Ayo, late night, candlelight, fiend with diesel in his needle
Queensbridge leader, no equal
I come from the Wheel of Ezekiel
To pop thousand-dollar bottles of Scotch
Smoke pot and heal the people
Any rebuttal to what I utter get box-cutter'd
Count how many bad honeys I slut, it's a high number
Name a nigga under the same sky that I'm under
Who gets money, remain fly, yeah, I wonder
Eyes flutter, it's love when Nas pops up
Stars get starstruck, panties start drippin'
The ways of Carlito, blaze, torpedo cigars
Drop Rolls, hoes drop clothes
Louis the XIII, freaks, women nice size
I ride like Porsches, thick, brown and gorgeous
It ain't my fault, semi-automatic weapons I brought
The world crazy, I'm rich and I'm girl-crazy
Dick 'em, convince 'em all to praise me
They ideology is confusion, I lose 'em
Fellates me, who hate me? My gun off safety
Since the Tunnel and Skate Key, my jewelry in HD
Silent rage, pristine in my vintage shades
I'm not in the winters of my life or the beginning stage
I am the dragon
Maserati, pumpin' Biggie, the great legend
Blastin', I'm after the actress who played Faith Evans
My little Jackie Onassis, dig?
I'm so high I never land like Mike Jackson's crib
Vest on, .45 still crack ya rib, sacrilege
Talk trash 'bout the Nasty kid
Past nasty now, I'm gross and repulsive
Talk money, is you jokin'?
Cash everywhere, in my bank, in the sofa
In the walls, in the cars, in my wallet, in my pocket
On the floors, ceilings, the safe, bitch, I got it
You envy, but don't offend me
I'm skinny, but still I'm too big for a Bentley
You are your car, what could represent me?
Too Godly to be a Bugatti, you honestly
Must design me somethin' Tommy Montana from Queens had before the '90s
Drug dealer car, rush to the bar
Move, niggas! We don't give a fuck who you are
Black card heavy like a magnet in my stitched denims
Pretty women see them saggin'
Bet a hundred stacks niggas'll run it back
Just havin' fun, I ain't even begun to black
Light another blunt in fact, haha...
(Nasty) Nasty kid
(Nasty) yeah
(Nasty) the kid! (Nasty) yeah
(Nasty) Nasty kid (Nasty)
For the hustlers, thick as yellow bitches for the suck of it
Got a bunch of niggas in prison braggin'
Saying, "It was Nas I used to hustle with"
I display fashions while my lungs engage hashish
Guns on my waist, past this
Since I'm cakin' up, put funds in my safe, laughin'
And joinin' the blunt passin' you niggas was straight assin'
Excuse the vulgarity, I'm still not fully adjusted
Or used to the new fans hearin' me spit rapidly
I never see the whips niggas be claimin' they drivin'
I guess entertainment means blatantly lyin'
Fake it 'til you make it, I've driven those toys
Been in them wars, in the streets, cops kickin' in doors
For my team, nigga, your flow cheap as limousine liquor
I'm no fake rap CD listener, sit back and roll a mean swisher
For my G's, tell these clowns make room for the king, nigga