Lyrical Breakdown of Money On Money - A Journey through Words and Rhymes

Welcome to the detailed analysis of "Money On Money" 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 "Money On Money" 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 "Money On Money" 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!

Wheezy Outta here! (808 Mafia!) The Wagster, turn me up some Yeah, okay Money on money, these millions, ya dig? I'm spending this shit on my bitch and my kids I'm sittin' in the Bent, not the Benz This motherfucker pink slip nigga, no rent I don't want you going to do nothin' If I gotta be the one tell you to spin These fuck niggas tellin' for nothin' And I gotta be the one callin' 'em friends (Grrah) drop top Rolls-Royce I don't know the kind I don't know the name of it Fuck this lil' bitch last night and this morning But I don't know the name of her She told that pussy she don't know nothin' about him And it fucked his fame up We want the same mud, not the green, my nigga, the same mud Mama you a thot (ah) I don't want shots (ah) Brother you a rat (my brother) Twin, you a pack (twin you) Runnin' through Saks (hey!) Louis V slacks (Louis) Hermès Trench (Hermès) Swimming pool heated (ooh) Yeah, she ain't tryna eat it (she ain't tryna what?) Shawty, you can beat it Drinkin' two liter, riding two-seater, ridin' with a eater (uh, beast) Callin' me papi, I'm callin' her mami and señorita (uh, yeah, all of it!) I ain't been cocky, but I been puttin' on ever since beepers (no kizzy) Fuck me good the first day, a nigga might keep her (fuck a nigga good) Blowin' money fast like a fucking cheeta (mm, that's good) I been in the trenches filled with Hyenas (ah, Hyenas, yeah-yeah) Bugatti Spyder whippin' that bitch from the side Money on money, these millions, ya dig? I'm spending this shit on my bitches and kids (put that shit up for my kids) I'm sittin' in the Bent' not the Benz This motherfucker pink slip nigga, no rent (no rent, ya dig?) I don't want you going to do nothin' If I gotta be the one tell you to spin These fuck niggas tellin' for nothin' And I gotta be the one callin' 'em friends (on God) (Grrah) drop top Rolls-Royce, I don't know the kind I don't know the name of it (I don't know the name of it) Fuck this lil' bitch last night and this morning But I don't know the name of her (what's her name?) She told that pussy she don't know nothin' about him And it fucked his fame up (ha-ha) We want the same mud, not the green, my nigga, the same mud You identify my bitches with AP She ain't got an AP, she is not mine You cold, he cold She belongs to the streets (ski) (Ayuh) Spoiled lil' bitch wearin' a Patek (ayuh) Rose gold snake, she a baddie (ayuh) Transport foreign, go slatty (ayuh) Doggin' out the hoe like Shaggy (bih) Could've went Spec', went Caddy' Pull up with the cutter, we ready (yeah) Fucked a opp bitch, I'm petty (ah) Iced out bolognese spaghetti (yeah) First off, gotta go baguette (slime) Talk less, do more spinnin' (yeah) Walk down shit'll get drenchy Turn the whole city up litty (skrrt) Bad bitch could've went viddy (wow) Savage, 21 killers (brr) Brat bitch ridin' with her sister Dog ass ho, you a thotty, ugh Bruh turn cop new body, ugh Twin you rat, you smoke, ugh Shoot em' in the head, you the GOAT, ugh Coulda went fed, went broke, ugh Trap nigga livin' out the ocean, yeah The Phantom, the Rolls I don't know The eaters go everywhere I go (ayuh) Money on money, these millions, ya dig? I'm spending this shit on my bitches and my kids I'm sittin' in the Bent' not the Benz This motherfucker pink slip nigga, no rent I don't want you going to do nothin' If I gotta be the one tell you to spin These fuck niggas tellin' for nothin' And I gotta be the one callin' 'em friends (Grrah) drop top Rolls-Royce, I don't know the kind I don't know the name of it Fuck this lil' bitch last night and this morning But I don't know the name of her She told that pussy she don't know nothin' about him And it fucked his fame up We want the same mud, not the green, my nigga the same mud