Lyrical Breakdown of Game Ain't Based On Sympathy - A Journey through Words and Rhymes
Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Game Ain't Based On Sympathy" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.
- Lyric Overview: Witness how Rick Ross weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "Game Ain't Based On Sympathy" 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 Rick Ross 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 Rick Ross's narrative.
This lyrical analysis of "Game Ain't Based On Sympathy" not only celebrates Rick Ross'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!
"Reminiscing on that, uh
I remember they used to give us that free cheese
Give you the big block of that shit
Yeah, man I'm glad y'all ain't gotta get that cheese
Man, I thank God my kids ain't gotta see that cheese
Yo (Maybach Music)
You know what I'm saying?
You gotta feed it to them raw. Feel me?"
Renovating the ghettoes, moving me elsewhere
Daddy didn't see pension they took his healthcare
Affordable housing and they fed us welfare
Showed us Tony Montana, teachers couldn't care less
A young prince in Miami, son of a Pharaoh
This is deeper than raps, I can't run from the echoes
And I still hear the screams
Under my mattress box springs, I still see the C.R.E.A.M
Mac 11 next to Grammy invitations
I'm never quiet, tell my niggas all my aspirations
No more beefing with rappers
It's just murder or nothing
New positions to master, I perfected the others
Niggas shoot for the Magic, never heard of Matumbo
These are lucrative assets, golden words are mumbled
This the biggest
Corner store was the stage, I needed management
In a mansion that I could squeeze another Phantom in
Negative people just seem to fail first
I said I'm a genius, put in the legwork
You step to my niggas, suggest you stay alert
No, I've never been lenient, nor a man of mercy
I stick my dick in her tell her my net worth
Then we stare at each other and see who catch first
A pretty chick, she resembles Stacy Dash
If it was her, she had to kiss my feet and lick my ass
Pussy nigga want war, til' it's "bonjour"
Those hitters sitting a bomb outside your mom door
Got your people alarmed cause we the armed force
Easy as leaking a song before I go on tour
Uh
Gang violence ongoing, let's fight our own wars
Chicago been out of hand, the city lost its soul
Funeral every weekend or either you cremated
Homie's son, he been murdered, he didn't seem faded
Holding guns on the gram, out of my league baby
Real killers and hitters would rather live nameless
I got a homie I know with a twenty body count
Maybe only once or twice a month he leave the house
Older brother, type to get a curly perm
Pappy Mason type respect for holding thirty birds
Never was a gangster, I just wanted in
No longer could I deny that I wanted a Benz
Booby gave me blessings and a root for me to win
I showed him my ambition in two different fields
Also, said I was a rapper, Booby here it is
Real talk my nigga, here it is