Lyrical Breakdown of 100 Yards - A Journey through Words and Rhymes
Welcome to the detailed analysis of "100 Yards" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.
- Lyric Overview: Witness how T.I. weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "100 Yards" 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 T.I. 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 T.I.'s narrative.
This lyrical analysis of "100 Yards" not only celebrates T.I.'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!
Ay Young Dro, ya'll already know what it is man
Ay X, who the smoke man
Bola, Sunshine, Young Dro, let's go
All we make is cash, straight drop last
Nigga try to jack you get a straight drop ass
Trunk on blast and all my cars go fast
Choppa make a nigga do a hundred yard dash
Bankhead veteran, got em takin' Excedrin
Them suckas caught headaches when they saw me on David Letterman
Ridin' round severin', off the heads of my bredren
Man this gangsta picture been on Paul Wall ever since
I was young with Bevers since, now I'm in the yellow Bent'
Thought the shit was lame, that's why
I ain't go and get the yellow tint
Tell em Kent, we ridin' Phantom supplyin' anthems
Body full of reptiles, camels and fine panthers
Shyne Emperor, fox fur, submarine box third
Kill a nigga ass on time, they call me clockster
Light skin Mossberg, not the black but the chrome one
26 Davins, the black back with the chrome front
All we make is cash, straight drop last
Nigga try to jack you get a straight drop ass
Trunk on blast and all my cars go fast
Choppa make a nigga do a hundred yard dash
Brass gold Astro, big shipment in the van
Dead fresh nigga, plaid Polo Castro
Give em what they ask fo', twenty thousand in sacks
Stand on the trap till I see the damn task force
Come back in a black Porsche (with who?) me and Bola
It's ecstasy time, when it's sunshine it's over
White cola, systems of metric, force successive
Ain't no choice I'm aggressive, when my broads walk on Giuseppe's
Zinati, Marc Jacob in the maple Maserati
I'm rich, nothin' to do, so I'm takin' up karate
I'm tapin' up my body like a NFL quarterback
Michael Vick shit, I know how to bring a quarter back
All we make is cash, straight drop last
Nigga try to jack you get a straight drop ass
Trunk on blast and all my cars go fast
Choppa make a nigga do a hundred yard dash
Bitch please, shawty I know you ain't got these
Feragamos on my face and some Juicy Couture jeans
Bitch I'm ballin' with some pimps who be lettin' they shoulder lean
Know them grills gon' bling and them banks go (ching)
Listen, I'm a queen, five karat rings
See through blouse and my nipples ain't seen
E'rybody know that I'm quick to beat a ho ass
In a quick flash, make them bitches hit the flo' fast
Drop top, in the other seat, I got plenty cash
Always first class, bitch I was made to last
You a old rag, still stuntin' with a Coach bag
Young fly bitches like to ride when the beat blast
All we make is cash, straight drop last
Nigga try to jack you get a straight drop ass
Trunk on blast and all my cars go fast
Choppa make a nigga do a hundred yard dash