Lyrical Breakdown of 12 Hurt Yo Eyes (Ft. Young LA) - A Journey through Words and Rhymes
Welcome to the detailed analysis of "12 Hurt Yo Eyes (Ft. Young LA)" on Lazyjot. Here, we unravel the lyrical complexity and artistic brilliance that define this iconic song.
- Lyric Overview: Witness how Young Thug weaves words into powerful emotions and vivid imagery. From intricate rhyme schemes to compelling storytelling, every line in "12 Hurt Yo Eyes (Ft. Young LA)" 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 Thug 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 Thug's narrative.
This lyrical analysis of "12 Hurt Yo Eyes (Ft. Young LA)" not only celebrates Young Thug'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!
Now baby I can't tell him
We gon catch him in these streets
Bust his cerebellum
Looking for him like the police
With my umbrella, when I hop up out the phantom
I bang watermelon, that's the color bandan
Molly got me [?], see all of these plotting niggas
I'm like the president, niggas they want to bury me
Bitches they want to [?] the kid
I'm fly like pelican, all of these bitches wait for bids
I'm sick and tired of the critinitics
All the critics want to bite into my dip sum
I ain't playing, I'm for real for some
King cobra nigga killing off
Too many, too pretty, these the city bitches
All these [?] niggas riding dick without permission
All these critics tryna kill me but its benefit me
There's a mill near my shit, get it
That's my shit, get it
Get it
All these --- out here ---
So many foreign bitches in my phone
Imma pull outside with purple
All this goddamn money on me
It'll hurt your eyes, it'll hurt your eyes
It'll hurt your eyes, it'll hurt your eyes
It'll hurt your eyes, it'll hurt your eyes
It'll hurt your eyes, it'll hurt your eyes
On the phone with bloody, listening to the chain gang
When I was young I used to wonder how it feels to gang bang
Now that I bang it feel like my phone don't ever stop ringing
Play with big B's and that funeral ain't gon never stop singing, nigga
Nigga riding round with Glock 40s
No lady, but we riding round, looking for shorty
Pistol old, but you know them bitches only 30
I been busting since I was 12, my scrap ain't no virgin
Young niggas, climbing up the fucking ladder
We gon reach you, push a nigga like you came out of [?]
Hundred shots hit him, fold him up like a centipede
D K O J, he like to smoke a nigga, no weed
Baow, baow, baow, baow
Man down, get him
Baow, baow, baow, baow
These these fucking missiles
Nigga playing with the squad, we coming too hard
We coming to hard, better play the squad
All these --- out here ---
So many foreign bitches in my phone
Imma pull outside with purple
All this goddamn money on me
It'll hurt your eyes, it'll hurt your eyes
It'll hurt your eyes, it'll hurt your eyes
It'll hurt your eyes, it'll hurt your eyes
It'll hurt your eyes, it'll hurt your eyes