Lyrical Breakdown of MAMA'S BOY - A Journey through Words and Rhymes
Welcome to the detailed analysis of "MAMA'S BOY" 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 "MAMA'S BOY" 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 "MAMA'S BOY" 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!
Yeah, yeah, on my mama
Yeah, this one goes out to all the baby mama's mama's mamas
On my mama (yeah)
Mama's mama (uh-huh), on my mama (yeah)
Baby mama's mama, on my mama, mama (on my)
On my mama (boom)
You ain't gettin' blue strips, what?
You ain't ever shoot shit, what? (Say what?)
Went into the precinct, cuh, told them who did what
Niggas be way too tough (tough), finna call your bluff, pick up
Hoe rep, she smut, mouth runnin', you an athlete, huh?
Gotta chase that bag (bag), can't let it pass me up (no way)
Keep one tucked, the opps don't play
Been way more beef since I got paid
I ride 'round town with Ray Charles tint
The police search, they won't find shit
I'm way too rich for sleepless nights
The beef on sight and I won't miss
(On my mama) yeah, I love this shit like my mama
(On my mama, yeah) I love this shit like my mama
(On my mama) I love this shit like my mama (yeah)
Live for the money and die for the dollars (die for the dollars)
Home of the killers and flockers (flockers)
(On my mama) I love shit like my mama
Michelin stars (yeah), we gotta eat, soon as he Tweet
Sent to the Lord (bang), land of the beast, runnin' the streets (runnin' the streets)
Glory to God (thank God), answered my mama in prayers
I got my weight up, workin' my way up
Now I don't go 'less they pay us
Money ain't everything (nah, it's not)
But I promise, it help the pain (on God)
I just paid for a body and got the receipt, baby, let's celebrate (dead homies)
Makin' money, makin' moves (yeah, yeah)
Channel 7, breakin' news (yeah, yeah)
Competition, what you on, run up on me, I'ma (boom, boom)
(On my mama) I love this shit like my mama
(On my mama, yeah) I love this shit like my mama
(On my mama) I love this shit like my mama (yeah)
Live for the money and die for the dollars (die for the dollars)
Home of the killers and flockers (flockers)
(On my mama) I love this shit like my mama
On my mama (dead homies)
On my mama (on my mama, nigga, run down)
On my mama (just like my mama gunned down)
On my mama (just like my mama)
Yeah, on my mama (mama)
Yeah, on my mama (niggas talkin' 'bout all that like)
Put this on my mama (dead homies, nigga)
Put it on my mama
I'd like to think that
Had I not to had to work three jobs, two jobs
I could've spent a little more time
And maybe he would not have become a monster
Dead homies