Lyrical Breakdown of On Me - A Journey through Words and Rhymes

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

• Lyric Overview: Witness how The Game feat. Kendrick Lamar weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "On Me" 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 Game feat. Kendrick Lamar 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 Game feat. Kendrick Lamar's narrative.

This lyrical analysis of "On Me" not only celebrates The Game feat. Kendrick Lamar'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!

Back when Dot was hangin' at Top's in the Benzo Freestylin' to them Chronic instrumentals, no pens and pencils I was out there Bloodin' like a menstrual With a Backwood clinched between my dentals, way back when When we was outside with the indo Hotboxin' rentals in front of Centennial, remedial thoughts Never thought that I would amount to shit Smoke chronic, fuck bitches, ride around bouncin' shit From Impalas to that Harley truck, to dishraggin' bitches That was hard to fuck, I came up, it was hardly luck Just left Compton, and I ain't have to use my AK What a day, what a day Back when my drivers license, was baby faced and triflin' I made my way through crisis, I made my tape And recorded portraits in front of sirens, I made you hate the vibrant You can't escape the tyrant, you can't relate where I've been In '98 my problem, actin' too grown and shit Cappin' at bitches, yeah my religion through songs and shit On me, that's on me Raise up, nigga, you are not the homie Bitch I'm well-connected from my section down to Long Beach Fumblin' with Tetris if your block neglectin' your ki Everyday I wake up with my face up to my father Makin' sure my heart is pure enough to grow my seed and harvest All my king stuffin', double up my plantation with dollar Every dream is such reality, my deja vu done caught up Bitch I'm brought up with the homies, that's on me 24/7, Kendrick revvin' these cold streets Know we live by it, die by it, then reincarnate And if Game told me, "Drive by it," I raise AK Ain't no shame on it, cry about it, fuck that, I'll play Like no name on it, blindsided, ain't no one safe Documentary had identities of where I'm from Therefore my energy had to make sure the better me won It ain't no better one, son, it ain't no tellin' me nothin' Nigga it's Chuck, Doc Dre and K, the legacy's done, BLAOW! Oh man, you thought these niggas with attitude would show gratitude Fooled you From 2015 to infinity it's still bomb weed and Hennessy I can pimp a butterfly for the energy Game I need acapella There I go, give me a minute, nigga 'Bout to hit a home run, K. Dot, grab the pennant, nigga Pin it on my Pendleton, trap late night, Jay Leno them Got my mom a tennis bracelet, Wimbledon of Wilmington Now can I rap for a minute? Black on the track for a minute Look in my rhyme book, see murder like when I was a fan of No Limit Ain't no gimmicks 'round here, this Compton, me, Doc and Kendrick Chronic, good kid, my first year, 3 documentaries Now I'm blockin' sentries, 16 Impalas They bounce like they Iguodala That's on my mama, niggas up and did me a solid I put that on me, that's on me You get a bullet fuckin' with the lil' homie Thinkin' back then like fuck your rules, nigga this is Piru Slide through with the Erykah Badu West side Compton, nigga don't mind if I do From Piru Street to my old street Nigga this Compton, grew up on a dead end Got an armful of dead friends Round here Crips be sweatin' us niggas like a headband Like what's up cuz (Yo dawg where you from?) No time to stop and think Pull your strap before they do or you get shot before you blink Straight outta Compton, 3 times I told you The third time I said it with TDE mothafucka I'll make you eat every letter Spoonfeed you niggas like toddlers, from the city of Impalas When shot callers take their pitbulls and feed them niggas rottweilers My clip full, I quick pull, no more slangin' 8 balls on the corner And all them niggas I used to freestyle with, I ate y'all on the corner Call the coroner, niggas dead out here Hangin' onto life by a thread out here Them niggas wearin' all that red out here P snapbacks on niggas heads out here So don't you come fuckin' with the little homie So OG they call me Tony Montana, no French, my red bandana legit My uncle told me before he died, "Just keep your hand on the brick" So I did Sell every chicken that a nigga had in stock, yes I did Walked to Compton, hot pocket full of rocks, yes I did Skipped class, yes I did, whooped niggas ass, yes I did Fucked a bitch behind the bleachers while on the rag, that's on Bloods Westside, that's on Bloods, this TEC fly, that's on Bloods You fuck with Dot, I'll let you choke on your blood I put that... On me, that's on me On me, that's on me On me, that's on me Raise up, nigga you are not the homie On me, that's on me On me, that's on me On me, that's on me Raise up, nigga you are not the homie