Lyrical Breakdown of Too Much - A Journey through Words and Rhymes

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

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

This lyrical analysis of "Too Much" not only celebrates The Game'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!

I'm from the old hood, somethin' like yo' hood Where niggas don't know good, or know Suge, but the blow good So we rock it like Tracy McGrady Send it to Houston in a gray Mercedes I'm a product of my environment, grew up in the 80's So that mean, me Kanyeezy and Young Jeezy all crack babies And it's evident my flow is heaven-sent First LP, on the same shelf as the veterans Nigga I can't be fucked, like a lesbian I'm to hip-hop what Cartoon is to Mexicans I'm an artist, never claimed to be the hardest Just number one since B.I.G. and Pac departed Nate ridin' with me, Snoop ridin' with me All you other niggas used to be good like Ken Griffey I'm on fire like the tip of a blunt On fire like a nigga that let it drip for a month I'm a Blood, you can Crip if you want, just let it bump Like you got Scott Storch tied up in the trunk I'm the ice cream truck man, guns in the trunk man Drugs in the trunk man, call me the front man Too much Cris' in the club not to get drunk Too many bitches in the world not to fuck Too much chronic in the studio not to roll it up And too much bass in the trunk, so let it bump You look like you mad as fuck, but who cares? Grabbin' her by the arm, cause she stared Don't know how much attention you pay You better be ready to die, in this game I thought I told y'all I'm done with the beef, clown, my son three now And I've been watchin' Dre so long I'm makin' beats now Game on the rebound like Ben Wallace in the D-Town I mean Chi-Town, fuck it, it can go down Nigga I spit the whole round, fo' plus fo' pounds Nigga this the wild wild West, call it a showdown And I'm Billy the Kid 'til they split my wig I come back from the dead, tell 'em kill me again Put my head on a barrel, dare a nigga to shoot me I'm gangsta, took more shots than Tookie I'm alive, so I'mma take a Patron shot for Tookie Roll a California blunt and keep watchin' a movie Inspired by this gangbangin' shit since I was two I brought the West coast back, what the fuck you do? I'm the ice cream truck man, guns in the trunk man Drugs in the trunk man, call me the front man Drive fast, both hands on the dash Close both of your eyes and hope that you don't crash It's lyrical homicide, both airbags out Roll the fuckin' windows down, let the bass out Niggas, drop the top on whatever you in Bitches, let your ponytail blow in the wind Inhale the chronic, blow out dollar signs Nigga you can drive a Bentley if only in your mind Four doors, leather and wood Ride like I got a horse stable under my hood And I keep a chrome fo'five under my hood So if I die, nigga bury me under my hood Who had the hottest bitch in the game, wearin' they chain Mr. H to the Izzo, Nas and Hurricane Long as my family straight, read this at my wake I gave 'em The Documentary and they scraped the plate Twenty magazine covers, nigga look at his face I can not, will not ever be replaced Cause I'm the ice cream truck man, guns in the trunk man Drugs in the trunk man, call me the front man He wolfin' a lot of shit, he look scared You can't find your girl, she right here I'm not a bad dream, I'm a nightmare 'Sides there's way too many hoes in here