Lyrical Breakdown of Warning - A Journey through Words and Rhymes
Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Warning" 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 "Warning" 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 "Warning" 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!
Stick me for my paper
Stick me for my paper
Stick me for my paper
Who the hell is this paging me at 5:46 in the morning?
Crack of dawn and now I'm yawnin'
Wipe the cold out my eye
See who's this paging me and why
It's my man Pop from the barbershop
Told me he was in the gambling spot and heard the intricate plot
Some people wanna stick me like flypaper, neighbor
Slow down, love, please chill, drop the caper
Remember all your peoples from the hill up in Brownsville
That you rolled dice with, smoked b- and got nice with?
Yeah, little Fame up in Prospect
Nah, them my peoples, nah, love, wouldn't disrespect
I didn't say them
They schooled me to some chumps that you knew from back when
When you was clockin' minor figures
Now they heard you're blowin' up like nitro
And they wanna stick the knife through your windpipe slow
So, thank Fame for warnin' me, 'cause now I'm warnin' you
I got the MAC, Biggie, tell me what you gonna do
Damn, why they wanna stick me for my paper?
Damn, why they wanna stick me for my paper?
Damn, why they wanna stick me for my paper?
Damn, why they wanna stick me for my paper?
They heard about the Rolexes and the Lexus
With the Texas license plates out of state
They heard about the pounds you got down in Georgetown
And they heard you got half of Virginia locked down
They even heard about the crib you bought your moms out in Florida
The Fifth Corridor, call the coroner
There's gonna be a lot of slow singin' and flower-bringin'
If my burglar alarm starts ringin'
What ya' think all the g- is for?
All-purpose war, got the Rottweilers by the door
And I feed 'em powder so they can devour
The criminals tryin' to drop my decimals
Damn, people wanna stick me for my cream
And it ain't a dream, things ain't always what it seem
It's the ones that smoke b- wit' ya', see your picture
Now they wanna grab they guns and come and get ya'
Bet ya', Biggie won't slip
I got the Calico with the black talons loaded in the clip
So I can rip through the ligaments
Put they bodies in a bad predicament
Where all the foul people went
Touch my cheddar, feel my Beretta
But what I'ma hit you with, your first reaction is to duck
I bring pain, bloodstains on what remains
Of his jacket, he had a g-, he shoulda packed it
Cocked it, extra clips in my pocket
So I can reload and explode on your a-
I mess around and get hardcore
C4 to your door, no beef no more
Feel the rough, scandalous
The more w- smoke I puff, the more dangerous
I don't give a damn about you or your weak crew
What you gonna do when Big Poppa come for you?
I'm not runnin', chump, I bust my gun and...
Hold on, I hear somebody comin'
C'mon, motherf-
Man, I'm comin' as fast as I can
Just bring your motherf- a- on, come on
Are we gettin' close, huh?
It's right over here
You sure it's Biggie Smalls crib, man?
Yeah, I'm sure, come on
This better be his motherf- house
F-, right here
This better be this motherfucker's house
Oh, shit
What? What's wrong?
What's that red dot on your head, man?
What red dot?
Oh, sh-! You got a red dot on your head, too
Oh, sh-