Lyrical Breakdown of 8 Ball - Remix - A Journey through Words and Rhymes

Welcome to the detailed analysis of "8 Ball - Remix" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.

Lyric Overview: Witness how N.W.A. weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "8 Ball - Remix" 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 N.W.A. 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 N.W.A.'s narrative.

This lyrical analysis of "8 Ball - Remix" not only celebrates N.W.A.'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!

Get that shit

City of Compton

Cold kickin' ass, cold kickin' ass

Cold kickin' ass, cold kickin' ass (kick that shit)

Pull up a chair

I don't drink brass monkey, like to be funky

Nickname Eazy-E, yo' 8 Ball junkie

Bass drum kickin', to show my shit

Rappin holdin' my dick boy, I don't quit

Crowd rockin' motherfucker from around the way

I got a six-shooter, yo' mean hombre

Rollin' through the hood, to find the boys

To kick dust and cuss, crank up some noise

Police on my drawers, I have to pause

Forty ounce in my lap and it's freezin' my balls

I hook a right turn and let the boys go past

Then I say to myself, "They can kiss my ass"

Hip to get drunk got the 8 in my lips

Put in the old tape, Marvin Gaye's Greatest Hits

Turn the shit up, had the bass cold whompin'

Cruisin' through the Eastside, South of Compton

See a big ass, and I say word

I took a look at the face, and the bitch was to the curb

Hoes on my tip for the title I'm holdin'

Eazy-E's fucked up and got the 8 Ball rollin'

I was (cold kickin' ass)

I was (raised in L.A.)

I was (cruisin' down the street in my six-fo)

(Too much, posse)

Ridin' on Slausson, lookin for Crenshaw

Turned down the sound, to ditch the law

Stopped at a light and had a fit

'Cause a Mexican almost wrecked my shit

Flipped his ass off, put it to the floor

Bottle was empty so I went to the store

Nigga on tilt 'cause I was drunk

See a sissy-ass punk, had to go in my trunk

Reached inside 'cause it's like that

Came back out with a silver gat

Fired at the punk, and it was all because

I had to show the nigga what time it was

Pulled out the jammy and like a mirage

A sissy like that got out of Dodge

Sucka on me 'cause the title I'm holdin'

Eazy-E's fucked up and got the 8 Ball rollin'

Fuck it up y'all

Yeah

Olde English 800 'cause that's my brand

Take it in a bottle, 40, quart, or can

Drink it like a madman, yes I do

Fuck the police and a 502

Stepped in the party, I was drunk as hell

Three bitches already said, "Eric yo' breath smells!"

Forty ounce in hand, that's what I got

(Yo man you see Eazy hurling in the parkin lot?)

Stepped on your foot, cold dissed yo' ho

Asked her to dance and she said:

"Hell no!"

Called her a bitch 'cause that's the rule

"Bitch, who you callin a bitch?!"

Boys in the hood tryin' to keep me cool

You tell my homeboy you wanna kick my butt

I walked in your face and we get 'em up

I start droppin' the dogs, and watch you fold

Just dumb full of cum, got knocked out cold

Made you look sick you snotty-nosed prick

Now your fly bitch is all over his dick

Punk got dropped 'cause the title I'm holdin'

Eazy-E's fucked up and got the 8 Ball rollin'

Stomp a mudhole in your ass

Stomp a mudhole in your ass, bitch

Pass the brew motherfucker while I tear shit up

And y'all listen up close to roll call

Eazy-E's in the place, I got money and juice

Rendezvous with me and we make the deuce

Dre makes the beats so goddamn funky

Do the Olde 8, fuck the brass monkey

Ice Cube writes the rhymes, that I say

Hail to the niggas from C.I.A

Krazy D is down and in effect

We make hardcore jams, so fuck respect

Make a toast punky-punk to the title I'm holdin'

Eazy-E's fucked up and got the 8 Ball rollin'

City of Compton

City, city, city of...