Lyrical Breakdown of White Benz - A Journey through Words and Rhymes
Welcome to the detailed analysis of "White Benz" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.
- Lyric Overview: Witness how Remy Ma weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "White Benz" 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 Remy Ma 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 Remy Ma's narrative.
This lyrical analysis of "White Benz" not only celebrates Remy Ma'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!
Nah, Ion want that
Nah I want a purp.
What? Naw, not a Beamer
I did that already, red is crazy
I want the white, want a white, I want a white
Blue? Nah
That's just not right...
I want a white, droptop two door Benz
With a custom interior, 22 inch rims
I want auto parking, auto brakes
I want an automatic starter with a jet off take
I want satellite radio, internet, phone
Know I gotta talk to my nigga when I'm on the road
That's what I want, that's what I want
That's what I want, that's what I want
Rem really rappin', these broads just yappin'
I press a chick quick like "bitch what happened?"
I'll never see these hoes in the trap
And if you think I'm throwin' in subliminals, bitch catch
Got a gun charge cause I'm a lil' ratchet
And all you hoes dyin' to be me get a casket
Bandana in your back pocket just fashion
When I do it, I'm reppin' my gang, I'm flaggin'
BP, Exxon, Shell, who gassed 'em?
Bitches scared to breathe in my presence, they're gaspin'
They can't eat when I'm around, stomach's touchin' backs and
I'ma call it Remadan, yeah they fastin'
Y'all done signal lights just for flashin'
Ms. Martin in the Aston, yeah ask 'em
I'm laughin', and I don't want burgundy
Brown, blue or black, bitch
I ain't even gotta try hard, these hoes diarrhea
Their shit watery, get the fuck out of here
Niggas like "Rem, please, you gotta drop quick"
I'm like, "Easy, hoes can't even fuck with my old shit"
I'm talkin' rhymes that I spit six years ago
They still listenin', nah but y'all don't hear me though
These chicks comedy, yeah they Mike Epps
I'm a fucking horror movie and they're scared to death
Not for nothin', bitches frontin', they don't want me to come back
The fans is kinda smart and they can see that you dumb wack
My swag, tried to jack it, but couldn't quite catch it
Your flow is mediocre, your whole style plastic
This ain't just rap, bitch, I don't give a fuck
See it could go down, mothafucka what's up?
What's good, what's hood, what's really, what's Gucci?
What's Farragamo, what's Prada, what's Pucci?