Lyrical Breakdown of N.Y. State Of Mind Part II - A Journey through Words and Rhymes

Welcome to the detailed analysis of "N.Y. State Of Mind Part II" 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 "N.Y. State Of Mind Part II" 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 "N.Y. State Of Mind Part II" 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!

[Nas] Uhh Yo, yo-yo, y'all Whattup? Whattup It's time man (Word, it's time?) Straight up, it's time man Aight, set that shit off (Set it off then nigga, set it off) Broken glass in the hallway, bloodstained floors Neighbors, look at every bag you bring through your doors Lock the top lock, momma shoulda cuffed me to the radiator Why not? It might've saved later from my block N.Y. cops, hookers crawlin off the stroll, coughin stitches in they head, stinkin and I dread thinkin they be snitchin But who else, could it be, shook at these, unmarked vans Parked in the dark -- NARC's, where's your heart? Hustlers starve; they bust a U-e I jog to my building -- come out later wearin camouflage See the sergeant and the captain -- strangle men Niggaz gaspin for air; til they move no more and just stare with dead eyes -- tired of riots, shit is quiet Simple-minded fools infiltrate grimy crews Overcrowded cribs, uncles home from bids, sister's pregnant father's on drugs, moms is smokin, beds is piss-infested Had eight partners growin up, eight turned to seven Seven turned to six niggaz, got two in heaven Six of us, holdin it, now it's five rollin thick The sixth one's parole flipped; five niggaz, went to fo' quick when he went O.T., college life, converted into gangbangin Four niggaz still hangin, years passed and slang changin Three of us now, fourth nigga ain't around We all thought he was real -- he did the snake shit Fake shit -- beat his ass down, yo his mouth could've got us all wasted, what a fuckin clown All I got left in the end is two of my best friends And we all goin out, to the death for these ends, WHAT? New York, New York ("New York state of mind" - Rakim) New York, New York ("New York state of mind" - Rakim) *repeat while Nas is talking* You heard about it, you see about it You read about it, it's in your papers It's in your daily news ("Get money!") New York chronicles, every day The crime rate, the murder rate The money rate, the paper chase, youknowhatImean? New York state of mind baby, check it out [Nas] I'm at the, gamblin spot, my hands on a knot New York Yankee cap cover my eyes, stand in one spot I take a nigga dough, send him home, to a shoebox You lost that nigga I put your dollar in the jukebox Hear my favorite song, all these niggaz sing along All the ciggarette smoke's cloggin my lungs, hoodrats flashin they tongue Young thugs blastin they gun, we got reputations Bitches and niggaz both on parole or probation Shit is sick, niggaz got gats, army fatigues I got my eyes glued on, whoever walk in the lead Cause I ain't playin, niggaz'll run up in here and shoot up this shit Stick yo' ass up, niggaz'll find the loot in your kicks Bunch of triple-cross niggaz, just New York niggaz Lift you off your feet when they was just talkin with you Some of these dudes the Feds be on em, you knew em for years Be the type when you walk in a pub, they offer you beers That ain't gangsta, niggaz is up North with tatted tears Your name's on the affadavit, you ratted kid Faggot-ass niggaz that be scared to do they bids Fuck you, we run you out of N.Y, you can't live Got your quiet niggaz, that relocated down South comin back to floss, then you got the jealous loudmouths All of a sudden we got Crips and Bloods, D.T.'s runnin round quick to split your mug, it's ea-sy to score but it's hard to get the shit off Niggaz fightin over hundred sales, jump in the car and drive off When the fiend come around the block, happy as hell Niggaz, mad cause they ain't get a piece of that sale Cutthroat connivers, universal, ghetto survivors Go to any hood that's live and make it liver A lot of niggaz scheamin, some real, some niggaz frontin But I'm a big dreamer, so watch me come up with somethin New York, New York New York, New York