Lyrical Breakdown of Back Sellin' Crack (Feat. ScHoolboy Q) - A Journey through Words and Rhymes

Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Back Sellin' Crack (Feat. ScHoolboy Q)" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.

• Lyric Overview: Witness how Vince Staples weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "Back Sellin' Crack (Feat. ScHoolboy Q)" 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 Vince Staples 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 Vince Staples's narrative.

This lyrical analysis of "Back Sellin' Crack (Feat. ScHoolboy Q)" not only celebrates Vince Staples'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 done beat the brakes off niggas, shot the face off niggas Pending case with the state, and I'm still out trippin' All the feds take pictures, fuckin' up my image Even mama bringin' drama, I don't trust no bitches See these hoes be out here switching their sides When its time for the killin' i ride Look right in my eyes, been ready to die Risk felony time for threatening mine, better than I, nobody alive Nobody live the life that I did, fighting to live since I was kid Playing in the yard with a 30-06 House look like a gun range, room look like a gun store Either you're gonna know my name, or niggas dying young and poor Either way don't give a fuck, you gon' find me northbound With the shit, I'm in the shit, you know I love them gun sounds 7's cry, macs applaud, they taking shots, I had to call You catch 'em out the shot gun, that's Roddy White from 50 yards No body shots, I'm hitting jaws Tryna run you Stephen Hawking You see I mean this shit I'm talking, you don't want no problem Slave to the rhythm, shoot my master in his back Two dope boys, in the Cadillac strapped Wood grain dash, windshield stained glass Beatin' down the ave, like we back sellin' crack Killin' for the karma, but livin' for my mama Trouble what the call us, and nothing what they offer Off 'em, and they wonder why niggas get shot And they wonder why niggas shot Where you at, where you from? Cause it's hot where I'm at Any time of the day you get robbed or get jumped It’s a game that we play, to get paid For the wants and the needs of the young Snakes slide through the grass Blades slide in the back of the used and abused Tryna walk in my shoes Get tripped by my fuse, too short Ask God what you want, he said I want your life Well I ain't live mines right But if I do the crime then I do the time I ain't scared of shit, I was born to die Extended clip, big .45, been quick to trip And been lost my mind, when I die, please don't let mama cry Cause she know it had to be him or I, and I got caught slippin' Get a gun and go knock that nigga Run up on him, no mask, no feelings, no room for that They shoot at us, then we shootin' back Burnin' shells till I burn in hell And I'm cool with that, that uzi packed I done learned a lot in these 19 years Lotta homies ain't shed one tear God decide what my curfew is So till the day, I'mma do my shit I proved my shit, they know my name Not proud of the outcome, either have regrets or Be out young, don't sleep Slave to the rhythm, shoot my master in his back Two dope boys, in the Cadillac strapped Wood grain dash, windshield stained glass Beatin' down the ave, like we back sellin' crack Killin' for the karma, but livin' for my mama Trouble what the call us, and nothing what they offer Off 'em, and they wonder why niggas get shot And they wonder why niggas shot I took tHe blue pill and its evidence was sHown Homies from elementary some tHem niggas gone I got tHis cocaine but my stove ain't turning on I got tHat knock-knock, uh, yeaH you know Riding in tHe wHip for sure, no Ls in tHe wHip for sure All tHe Homies strapped but it ain't for sHow Tryna Hit a lick, no envelope Nigga, weed ain't tHe only tHing get smoked Cuz got gHost 'fore He even got gHost Cuz got toast and He ain't old enougH to drink SHouldn't been singing, now His ass Murder Inc Sunny LA, wHere we never need a mink Sunny LA, wHere tHe youngins don't tHink Sunny LA, wHere tHe Heat get sprayed And every otHer word on tHe wall get K'ed All the Homies Hanging in your parking space THis my set, I ain't Hearing wHatcha say Back tHen Had to be in by 10 but out by 12 Mom made it safe to work, I got tHe text on tHe cell Back witH tHe Locs all raising Hell, found out tHe Homie in a cell I know He Hated school, but it's better tHan jail Gotta tHank God I was saved by tHe bell Tryna spit bars, I ain't trying to live beHind 'em So I keep my face Here rigHt wHen I find tHem Nigga my rawness fuck tHrougH a condom Ready wHen I'm rapping, no wonder wHy tHey signed Him Done witH the House licks, so wHatcha still pining Dead by tHe street ligHts, boy you sHining Talk about you grinding Figg side!