Lyrical Breakdown of Brooklyn Babies - A Journey through Words and Rhymes

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

• Lyric Overview: Witness how RZA & Masta Killa weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "Brooklyn Babies" 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 RZA & Masta Killa 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 RZA & Masta Killa's narrative.

This lyrical analysis of "Brooklyn Babies" not only celebrates RZA & Masta Killa'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!

Bobby, I'm tired of yo' shit, nigga! I'm tired of you comin' in at 3 o'clock in the mornin' Nigga, you got a family here You act like you don't fuckin' know that shit Nigga, what the fuck? Yo, yo, yo, yo. Born up in Kings County Yo, yo, yo. Digital, these niggas should be crazy Growin' up as a Brooklyn baby This how, this is my life. Yo, yo, yo. A Brooklyn baby, I was born up in King's County Inside the womb seven months before the Queen found me Up in wroughty Brownsville with fiends around me Now roam gat in Staten with Cream Team around me They called me Bobby, cousin, really got the black Harley Taught his son how to snipe cats like Lee Harvey Oswald, all's well that ends well My big brother Divine, he pushed the Benz well I got the cherry Range, broke and rockin' heavy chains I'm from the tribe of men who would bury Kings On the back of the A-train, my daydream Should I make a phat hit or should I take CREAM? From the Clan that taught you Cash Rules I make soul grind tracks, you grab ass too Give respect to the Prince when he pass through Might have a chocolate deluxe in a glass shoe Cousin Billy, known to strap the black uzi Shot you in front of the Jakes like Jack Ruby Live on TV where you see B-O-B-B-Y D-I-G-I-T-A-L, A-L, things ain't too well Digital, these niggas should be crazy Growin' up as a Brooklyn baby This is how I live my life. Yeah. Peace Lafyetee, Stuyvessant, Malcolm X Shot dice on green, we live from Calasky y'all It's Fred Glassy, zig-zag-zig through traffic Get the herb, get the God, peace Ra' What's the word on things? Through the phone I heard the bangin' sounds In the background, layin' down I'm spittin' what the people missin' We extreme with the murder type theme Don't sleep, get ya head split to the white meat Big guns, down South we blaze Shippin' bodies back up North, it's the Weston Wild Texan, no trespassin' Long mics hit the dead arm Planet Earth, home of Islam Brooklyn, I was physically born, clothes torn Rough tacklin' the streets, Allah Math' spine Technics We bring heat to the block party, drinkin' Bacardi Baggin' shorties for the homies who ain't here Bobby, that's right, you ain't shit, nigga You ain't shit, but a big dick and a mothafuckin' cheque All that fuckin' Brooklyn shit, Shaolin shit Nigga, grow the fuck up! What the fuck is up with you, nigga? You ain't shit, nigga Comin' in high off that shit What the fuck? I'm tired of yo' shit What the fuck is that shit anyway? What the fuck? And your cousin Billy, I'm sick of that mothafucka That mothafucka could never come up in this Mothafuckin' house ever again He's a criminal mothafuckin' gangsta, see that shit? A criminal, I'm sick of that shit I'm sick of yo' shit, Bobby Brooklyn this, Shaolin that What the fuck, nigga? I don't know why I love your stupid ass anyway Pssh. but I do love you Bobby