Lyrical Breakdown of Bout It Bout It..., Part III - A Journey through Words and Rhymes
Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Bout It Bout It..., Part III" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.
- Lyric Overview: Witness how The Diplomats weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "Bout It Bout It..., Part III" 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 The Diplomats 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 The Diplomats's narrative.
This lyrical analysis of "Bout It Bout It..., Part III" not only celebrates The Diplomats'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!
Yo Cam, let's flip this thing on these niggas
Ya'heard me
(Let's do it my nigga) Well do your dizang
(There's nothing, man, Up top, down south
Right) oh yeah, oh yeah (We bout it)
Aiight whoadie (yeah)
Yo, this one here goes out to them boys
That's bout it bout it, Master P, Cam'ron
We taking this from the South to the East
Uhhhhh
I represent, where them killers at?
145th and Broadway, you get your head cracked
Get your legs snapped, arm-twist
Ribs cracked
Wig tapped, "play fair!", day care
Kids napped
You think you real? Well, my posse is crazier
Your moms? Mobbing and raping her
Saudi Arabia i'm '89 tho', Audi and Avias
Beef in NO, I had to call No Limit up
Baby MAC, baby Gat, shit to wake the baby up
My baby boo, cop the X5: that's a baby truck
Santana rolling big, Jimmy in the Caddy
Dayton, Youngstown, Cleveland, Cincinnati
In the double-O, I represent the C-O
Please hoe, Harlem World, 40th: that's me yo
Clips, 11 off, bricks, get 7 off
Snow so white only thing
Missin' is seven dwarfs
Killa Cam, you know he bout it bout it
Jim Jones, you know he bout it bout it
Freekey Zeke, you know he bout it bout it
Santana, that boy bout it bout it
Harlem World, you know they bout it bout it
Diplomats, you know they rowdy, rowdy
145th and Broadway, them boys real
You know them boys they don't play
Killa ayo
I'm bouncing through an ounce or two
My crib look like the Fontainebleau
A fountain too - no water
Only pumping Mountain Dew
Front on y'all little cats I was bound to do
I made it where chickenheads
Can't pronounce my shoes
I got head, but need more mouth
119th to the whorehouse
Soon as the tour's out papi's rotten
My block top and spot be popping
I pop ack over some Oxycontin
Cotton club and Roxy Robins
Rubies and rocks we popping
Booties, Uzis and Glocks'll stop 'em
Battery on his head: copper-top him
When I'm in the building dog
You've got to watch him
Got to spot him, Tre-8 a floor revolve him
The DA, sergeant and coroner's problem, now
Highs get 8 done, Dipset don't play none
Jim Jones, Freekey, Killa and the Great One
(Santana)
Killa Cam, you know he bout it bout it
Jim Jones, you know he bout it bout it
Freekey Zeke, you know he bout it bout it
Santana, that boy bout it bout it
Harlem World, you know they bout it bout it
Diplomats, you know they rowdy, rowdy
145th and Broadway, them boys real
You know them boys they don't play
You know I claim
(what you claim?) where them gangstas bang
15th and Lenox, 9- tre
They do they own thing
In Uptown, up on 40 a phat Sean hit the block
Dog, he move that water shit
He like the network over wet work
You come up short on that paper
Get a wet shirt
Then if you walking through Foster and Taft
Flossing that cash them gangstas put
The torch to your ass
And I can't forget AK and Wagner
My dogs straight crazy 'cause
The AK'll blast ya
One calling daddy Sheik and Q
LB's and Sally beat your crew, now come on
Shit and dope stacks
Right in front the liquor store
Hennessy, lil me
Me you know they flipped the raw
My Dipset, oh yeah they bout it
16 shots up out the Glock, I come up out it
I represent the South
Now the world gon' feel us
Worth $400 mil', still dump with gorillas
I'm in the project posted up, like Toys 'R Us
Retire my jersey - 65 for
Every chicken I plucked
Pass the purple stuff, whoadie
It's time to get swerk up on the block, 1
000 grams on Hogan and Kirk
We in them t-shirts and doo rags
P miller throwbacks when the No
Limit boys in the house
Haters get back, Hot One hold it down
In foreign ghettoes, Big Boys, Uptown
Rochablave and Erato c-Murder locked up
But his name still ringing
Me and Silk getting yoked, riding
Hustling and slanging
You know we bout it, I mean we rowdy!
New Orleans to the ATL: you know
They bout it bout it
St louis, they keep it swanging
LA to Las Vegas
Them homies out there gang banging
Oklahoma to Tennessee
Them boys ain't playing
Cause you know they B-O-U T
Texas, Florida Detroit, Georgia
Them boys dunn graduated from an
8th up on to water-water
Kansas bout it virginia rowdy!
Illinois boys to Mississippi: bout it bout it
New York, Arizona, the Bay Area
The whole California! North Carolina
South Carolina: throw dem bows
Pennsylvania, Alabama: bout to let 'em know
Missouri rowdy, Boston bout it!
The New No Limit, Roc-A-Fella
Is bout it bout it