Lyrical Breakdown of Belts To Match - A Journey through Words and Rhymes
Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Belts To Match" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.
- Lyric Overview: Witness how UGK weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "Belts To Match" 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 UGK 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 UGK's narrative.
This lyrical analysis of "Belts To Match" not only celebrates UGK'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 piece, the chain, the gangsta hats
The alligator shoes with the belts to match
The piece, the chain, the gangsta hats
The alligator shoes with the belts to match
Oh yes it's Bun B but no applause, please unlock your jaws
Just unbutton 'em, unzip 'em, squeeze out 'em, you got no flaws
You get your rocks to call, you know you got what's making 'em head
All pause, having 'em meeting up in the ladies room
Getting in y'all cars, Caravans, Benz, Cadillac and minivans
Pull a cut up, your Smitty, what up?
Ain't no time to nut up, I suck my gut up
Then I let them boppers talk until I let 'em shut up
Say baby raise that tut up, it's that face down, jazzed up
I can't pass up, hey C, fill your brother glass up
The spot I blast up, just in case you gassed up
The last up, for you it's all down from here
Far as we concerned y'all need to get y'all self around from here
Used to clown a year, man I'm known to wreck a century
Giving industry enemies, infantries, infinite injuries
Instantly, if it's meant to be, behold the pimp in me
Ain't no sipping me, kick back relax, baby you're pimp to see
The piece, the chain, the gangsta hats
The alligator shoes with the belts to match
The piece, the chain, the gangsta hats
The alligator shoes with the belts to match
The piece, the chain, the gangsta hats
The alligator shoes with the belts to match
The piece, the chain, the gangsta hats
The alligator shoes with the belts to match
I be flipping and whipping, in this game I ain't tripping
Candy paint on my double O, Northstar keep dripping
Fifth wheel, bumper grill, slightly tinted windshield
With a solid gold pistol pin 'cause you know I'm trill
Drop screen, sipping lean, assorted ranchers in my cup
In the scene, diamonds gleam, a young playa with big bucks
You can tell I'm a pimp by the way that I walk
You can tell I'm a playa by the way that I talk
You know I'm super fly by the car that I drive
And you know I don't love broads, I'm hollering pimp or die
I'll drain you dry and have you out there selling your snatch
You met your match, the day you got too attached with the
The piece, the chain, the gangsta hats
The alligator shoes with the belts to match
The piece, the chain, the gangsta hats
The alligator shoes with the belts to match
The piece, the chain, the gangsta hats
The alligator shoes with the belts to match
The piece, the chain, the gangsta hats
The alligator shoes with the belts to match
I'm Pimp C, trick we got the funk
If you a baller in the south we in your trunk
If you 'bout it and you know it hold it, oh
And you ain't riding in my Benz if you ain't smoke
If you a square type chick then get round
Mouth it up, pop that thang and touch the ground
Now get crunk, get buck
And let me see it, if you don't give it up
I'm trying to lean in your girl like Dirk Diggler
ATL Gentlemen's Club, H-Town Caligula
Get on your job girl and make it disappear
And drop a three karat diamond in my ear
Now I'm daddy, I'm daddy
Gripping wood, it feel good in the Caddy
In '99 we ain't messing with no rats
It's time to put some real life pimping on the track
And make my money back, trick
T-K Records, know what I'm talking 'bout
Smoking something for the '99
Hold up, need to get your mind on your money
Get down about your paper
Down here we ain't making hip hop songs, know what I'm saying
We making country rap tunes
So uh, that separate us from the rest
You heard what I'm talking about