Lyrical Breakdown of Missed Count - A Journey through Words and Rhymes

Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Missed Count" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.

• Lyric Overview: Witness how Young Dolph weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "Missed Count" 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 Young Dolph 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 Young Dolph's narrative.

This lyrical analysis of "Missed Count" not only celebrates Young Dolph'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!

Hello? Woah Ayy, I’ma call you right back bruh I’m trynna finish countin this money bruh You makin me fuck up bruh I’ma call you right back bruh shit man Aye, aye I keep fuckin up the count I keep rollin out the pound I keep nothin but real ones round me Turn my hood to kush county aKA Castalia I pay her rent and she hold my sack Nigga, that’s a favor for a favor You can have them bitches I just want the stacks Lil nigga came up from shit Somedays I just sit and reminisce Who was fuckin with me back then? Who was fuckin with me back when? Back when my momma and my daddy was smokin When a young nigga was fucked up And hopeless they don’t like this shit And I know it fuck ‘em Went and bought another Rollie Got a pocket full of guacamole I got nothin but designer on me Two hundred thow worth of bling glowin If it ain’t raw i ain’t even pourin If it ain’t bout money i ain’t even goin You already know what I’m on San Fransisco cookies got me stoned Pick up the paper and I’m gone I keep fuckin up the count I keep blowin money i keep rollin up weed In the strip club, throwin money All these niggas say they real But most of ‘em the fakest Two labels offered me two milli But I didn’t take it i’m chillin I’m good i’m straight These rappers, they broke i’m paid Codeine in my pink lemonade Givenchy my attire today For my niggas, I go out of my way Pussy nigga move up out of my way I had to go hard for this shit Nigga, I put my heart in this shit Never gave my heart to a bitch I won’t even argue with a bitch Some of these bitches more Realer than these niggas Back seat of the Bentley The choppa hold bout 50 in and out the city Yo bitch said she missed me I keep on startin over Cause I keep fuckin up the count I’m steady startin over I keep fuckin up the count I keep on startin over Cause I keep fuckin up the count I’m steady startin over I keep fuckin up the count Got my foreign drop top Parked in front of yo bitch house I’m headin to the trap Just came from out yo bitch mouth I’m fresh as fuck i’m high as hell Just smoked about a ounce I’m steady startin over I keep fuckin up the count