Lyrical Breakdown of Come On - A Journey through Words and Rhymes
Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Come On" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.
- Lyric Overview: Witness how The Notorious B.I.G. weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "Come On" 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 Notorious B.I.G. 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 Notorious B.I.G.'s narrative.
This lyrical analysis of "Come On" not only celebrates The Notorious B.I.G.'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!
: The Notorious B.I.G.]
Nigga was Motherfuckin' hyped up
Nigga just grabbed a nigga and snuffed a nigga
And it was on from there wasn't nothing stopping him holmes
(What did the rest of them niggas do)
Them motherfuckers was ready for anything
Them niggas was packing burners, niggas ready to fight with them
Niggas doing what they had to do holmes
Niggas on the real flip mode holmes
Niggas coming out like a motherfucker
Niggas was ancy like come on, come on, motherfuckers
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Let's go deep into the phrase, feel the sun rays
Off the forehead, everything is real
Biggie put me on this joint, so I'ma be the big wheel
Watch it spin, hey dad, placed your bet on seven
Peace to 106, 108, 110 and 111th
Hey Biggie, I understand you're from Brooklyn
With .22s in your shoes, yo, keep this joint cooking
Well, why not blow up the spot with Sadat?
Release the brainstorm to make your motherfucking brain warm
A strange form, something kind of lyrical
Biggie the bastard, Sadat's kind of spiritual
Well, in God we trust, guns I bust
Got that disgusting, sewer-style dumping
And, uh, do you know where you're going to?
Do you like the things that I bring?
Make an MC wanna sing for a living
Take the beatdown we fucking giving
C'mon, motherfucker!
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
What? Niggas want drama, putting work on my block
When I told y'all last week that shit was too hot
Selling deuces and treys cuts my dimes
Somebody don't get paid, somebody's block get sprayed
Reaction is delayed as ya run down the block
Caught one in your chest, your breath come in spurts
Hey yo, Biggie, tell these niggas I'ma hit 'em where it hurts
The Big City, it don't spare no bodies
Call me papi chulo, to all the Spanish mamis
I'm about ten blunts down, drank three or four stouts
Seen five fat asses, passed this bitch with glasses
Hey, your money, that's your stock, yo bitch, pass the Glock
I'ma tell them, "It can happen, don't play me with that rap shit"
Life is real, so Biggie take the steel
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
I got seven Mac-11's, about eight .38's
Nine 9's, ten Mac-10's the shits never end
You can't touch my riches
Even if you had MC Hammer and them 357 bitches
Biggie Smalls, the millionaire, the mansion, the yacht
The two weed spots, the two hot Glocks
Huh, that's how I got the weed spot
I shot dread in the head, took the bread and the Lambsbread
Lil' Gotti got the shotty to your body
So don't resist or you might miss Christmas
I tote guns, I make number runs
I give MCs the runs dripping
When I throw my clip in the AK, I slay from far away
Everybody hit the D-E-C-K
My slow flows remarkable, peace to Matteo
Now we smoke weed like Tony Montana sniff the yayo
That's crazy blunts, mad L's
My voice excels from the avenue to jail cells
Oh my God I'm dropping shit like a pigeon
I hope you're listening, smacking babies at they christening
So you better grab your pistol
'Cause if you sit still, I'm gonna make your fucking shit spill
And I'm talking 'bout buckets, why did I have to do it?
Sadat said fuck it, you got a gun, nigga bust it
'Cause I got mo' shots to pop ya
Big Poppa, breaking you off something proper
Signing off is the hardcore rap singer
AKA crack slinger, bring it any time nigga
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on