Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Xplosion (feat. B-Real)" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.
- Lyric Overview: Witness how undefined weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "Xplosion (feat. B-Real)" 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 undefined 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 undefined's narrative.
This lyrical analysis of "Xplosion (feat. B-Real)" not only celebrates undefined'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!
Hello Lord, it's me again
I just wanna make love to the whole globe
And all her girlfriends
Now don't that make ya mind move
Like smoke patterns, me on my way to Saturn wit' a bomb
Nam-viet, Viet or Saudi Shawty
I figure before the first gun blast, they know who gon' win
Now won't that make us all fools, like class clowns
Praying Private Ryan comes 'round
Sound travels at one-thousand-one-thirty feet per second
Niggas in the street they want it, hurry
When niggas stop biting, that's when 3000 starts to worry
A little knowledge from the college of wizard Ray Murray
Answer quick, "Do you know what desire is?" (Huh?)
Apparently not, that's why you get what you got
Now answer this, "Do you know what fire is?" (Yeah!)
The body of hot, the motivator of pots
Snot, spit, shit are characteristics of release
Ask your niece or nephew, you think we left you
What the future holds in its sweaty palms
Think I'm finna vom'?
You move it like you mean it, she'll come
Prom night might excite a down right fight like
White blood cells to the common cold rebel
Night gets jealous of day, play is no longer
The feelin' gets stronger than ammonia sticks inhale
We just can't be amazed
Even if you pull the pin from your hand grenade
We just can't be amazed
Even if you pull the pin from your hand grenade
We just can't be amazed
Even if you pull the pin from your hand grenade
We just can't be amazed
And we some home-made bombs
Finna blow right up in your face
Look at the way you look at me, I see it on your face
All your hate emanates, but you still hesitate
'Cause you want inside of my head, but don't know how
To brainwash me to be a commercial clown
Fuck that, I see the way you were
See the way you smirk
I'm catching you where you work
God only knows all the trouble that grows
Deep beneath my soul dealing with you assholes
Can I blast those who point the finger at me
Who criticize and talk shit so freely
Fuck XXL, you're a size too small
I should hire Eminem so we can kill you all
Whether you live to talk shit about the Real
Then kiss my ass in person how much you love the Hill
I'm the outcast coming to blaze the grass
Outlaw due to my life that's come to pass
Dré, pass me the glass of wine
So I can pour it over my homies grave and mine
For all those who fallen and answered when God was calling
Jump into my ragtop and get all in
I'm the bomb, planted in your car, why you frozen?
Pop the tape in ignite the explosion
The world is mine, the world is yours, the world is ours
The world is lost, the world is tossed
We just can't be amazed
Even if you pull the pin from your hand grenade
We just can't be amazed
Even if you pull the pin from your hand grenade
We just can't be amazed
Even if you pull the pin from your hand grenade
We just can't be amazed
And we some home-made bombs
Finna blow right up in your face
With a one-two punch, B-Real and André drop they verses
Your homeboy Daddy Fat Sax playin' clean-up, so it worsens
People and persons on the opposite teams, oh, yes, its curtains
No bullets burpin', oh, just lyrically twerking, oh
Making a statement when you freestyle and your mind is in a free state
It's kinda hard to execute when you ain't feeling it that day
Jumpin' the gun and rushing your flow
Babbling on the mikie like auctioneer
Got the public's ears fucked up, can't hear
Atlanta, Georgia, where y'all at? (Right here)
OutKast this Dirty South to death the Dungeon Family Camp
Got this thang licked like stamps and nine-volt battery end caps
Making that music that make your neck hurt
And the beats that bother your back in my Cadillac
Six woofers and four amps
Lo pro vogues on swole, with the carriage lamps
Diamond tucked velour pistol in my lap
Come in peace, but then explode like boobie traps
We just can't be amazed
Even if you pull the pin from your hand grenade
We just can't be amazed
Even if you pull the pin from your hand grenade
We just can't be amazed
Even if you pull the pin from your hand grenade
We just can't be amazed
And we some home-made bombs
Finna blow right up in your face
Do-do-do, do, do-do-do
Do-do-do, do, do-do-do
Do-do-do, do, do-do-do
Do-do-do, do, do-do-do