Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Crutches, Crosses, Caskets" 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 "Crutches, Crosses, Caskets" 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 "Crutches, Crosses, Caskets" 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!
Yeah
Uh-huh
Beautiful evils
Yeah
Check me out
Crutches, crosses, caskets
Crutches, crosses, caskets
All I see is victims
My young niggas sic' 'em
I don't get 'em
I just get back their jewelry if I'm fuckin' with 'em
Your man crush Mondays be owin' niggas
My skin is triple black, I'm the omen
You can't kill a God like the Romans, uh
Take my time to craft shit
'Cause I don't like back and forths with Puff about rap shit
Crutches, crosses, caskets
Crutches, crosses, caskets
All I see is victims
Rappers is victimized at an all-time high
But not I, you pop niggas thought I let it fly
I'm Yasiel Puig, I'm in another league
I defected, only thing we have in common, niggas bleed
In ya thousand dollar joggers as you rhyme about ya dollars
Is there shame when a platinum rapper's mother lives in squalor?
Mildred's in the Bahamas for the month
She's probably sitting in her pajamas having lunch
Swordfish, my reality is more fish
Banana clips for all you Curious Georges
Old niggas slapping young niggas
Ha Imagine that, where you from nigga?
Crutches, crosses, caskets
Crutches, crosses, caskets
All I see is death by the masses
The only asterisk is the change of address
My infinity pool as long as Magic's
Yeah I let Zillow change my pillows
The home is so inviting, the Porsche is the armadillo
The silhouette
The pop, pop, pop; the chop, chop, chop
The throwaway TEC's got Tourettes
It's more than this drug money, I love money
I speak to your soul and that's above money
This the ministry of street energy
The church of criminology, teaching my chemistries
Woo I'm the L. Ron Hubbard of the cupboard
To some certain motherfuckers gotta love it
Crutches, crosses, caskets
Crutches, crosses, caskets
All I see is victims
Crutches, crosses, caskets
Crutches, crosses, caskets
All I see is victims