BUILDING BLUEPRINT
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Lyrical Analysis of...
59 lines
- My bars go over your head like a moonlit cruise ship
- U spew loose “mystical, subliminal rituals”
- but it’s fictional, minimal, pitiful intervals,
- light as whispers through Biblical visuals U never spit cynical
- so, choose to wanna knuckle up and I’ll rupture guts
- turn your “third eye open” to a literal injury
- critical, vision split in residuals, I don’t care if the lines U made are blades
- if U R a hybrid breed that thrives where slime recedes and climbs with speed
- through violent reeds reciting quotes that pierce through silent seas
- cause I leave those tyrants weak, I’ll come with lyrics that flip
- your dopest scripts, every single time —leave both your shoulders ripped
- broken wrists and molten lips U couldn’t hold a wisp of the quotes
- I spit, if I wrote this diss in blow that drips off golden bricks in Oprah’s crib
- Your flows slow —like old folks rowing
- toward a boat with holes poked, soul broke, no growth,
- wishing you’d switched your tone
- b4 the whole thing rolled and choked it’ll take way more than 4 +6 years
- to get within orbit of this tier I’m a titan beast slicing dreams
- till your psyche bleeds leave you shattered glass scattered past
- your battered path once the wrath is unleashed, if I hop on your song
- I'll decode your raps like a rogue with codes to crack, explode your tracks
- with folded maps of stolen stats and molten facts
- my words spin in a whirlwind verbal on site each bar burst from the curb
- at the right height, scope on the pad and I swerve with a bright light
- tagging names in my verse like turf on a freshly white sign
- Every line sprayed is designed with a snipers pride
- each stroke smoke throats like a pipe bomb timed in flight night
- my minds like high crime —divine in a timed fight
- grip on the stick like a bike ride and you’ll get chalked
- where you stand off a tight line whenever I slide by
- whenever I write rhymes they hit like a nines strike dash with a track meet pace
- when the wrath peaks pop out the box with a Glock grin jack in the box tease
- panic released when you’re tasked to speak, fabric collapses, static scrapes
- you’ll watch each pattern draft and break
- I’m graphic like peeps scrubbing blood stains off a taxi dudes backseat
- yours to be exact ‘cause you acted strapped but lacked heat
- Your crew ran up like an athlete at a track meet
- and I left the scene nasty —
- so gruesome the news at 2 +3
- refused to screen the massacre.
- Therefore, there’s frozen judgment:
- for your info —your dome is mostly bluffin’,
- opposite of rogue encodin’ loaded doctrines,
- close to omens,
- bars laced like missions cloaked
- in sacrificial Roman scrollin’.
- Your flows corrupted —tones erupted,
- souls disrupted —cold enough to
- shut your function, crush your structure,
- fold your substance,
- end your lungs in
- frozen tundra thunder.
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A blueprint is like a report card for your lyrics. It contains a lyrical breakdown and analysis of all the words, syllables, and rhymes in your song.
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