Music is everywhere. It’s in our ears at the gym, humming through the grocery store speakers, and vibrating in the background of every TikTok we scroll past. But most of it? It’s basically sonic wallpaper. You hear it, but you don't feel it. The difference between a hit that fades in three weeks and a classic that stays in your head for thirty years usually comes down to one specific, agonizingly difficult thing: well done song lyrics.
It’s not just about rhyming "heart" with "apart." Honestly, that’s the easiest way to lose a listener. People crave truth. They want that weird, specific detail that makes them go, "Wait, I’ve felt exactly like that, but I didn't know how to say it."
The Trap of Generalization
Most amateur writers think they need to be "universal" to reach a big audience. They use big, sweeping words like love, pain, freedom, and sadness. But here’s the thing: generalities are boring. They don’t stick to the ribs.
When you look at truly well done song lyrics, they are almost always hyper-specific. Take Joni Mitchell. In "A Case of You," she doesn't just say she's sad or obsessed. She writes, "I drew a map of Canada / Oh, Canada / With your face sketched on it twice." That is such a bizarre, lonely, and vivid image. You can see the pen on the paper. You can feel the boredom and the longing.
Specificity creates a bridge. Paradoxically, the more personal and "small" a lyric is, the more people relate to it. If you say "I'm lonely," I believe you, but I don't feel it with you. If you tell me about the "leftover Thai food getting cold on a Tuesday night while the TV glows blue," I’m right there in the room.
Why Simplicity Usually Beats Complexity
There is this huge misconception that "good" writing means using a thesaurus. It doesn't.
Some of the most impactful lines in history are written at a third-grade reading level. Look at Bill Withers. "Lean on me / When you're not strong / And I'll be your friend / I'll help you carry on." There isn't a single "smart" word in that entire chorus. But it’s perfect. It’s sturdy. It’s well done song lyrics at their absolute peak because the sentiment is unadorned.
If you try too hard to be poetic, you often end up sounding like a greeting card. Or worse, a bad creative writing assignment. Real people don't talk in flowery metaphors when they’re hurting. They use short, blunt sentences. They stumble.
The "Show, Don't Tell" Problem in Songwriting
We’ve all heard this advice in English class, but it’s 10x more important in a three-minute pop song. You have very little real estate.
👉 See also: Cast of The Amateur (2024 Film): What Most People Get Wrong
If a character is rich, don’t say "he had a lot of money." That’s lazy. Do what Paul Simon did in "The Boy in the Bubble" and mention "the way the light hit the ice in his glass." It’s an elite way of signaling status without being a bore about it.
- Bad Example: "I'm so stressed out by my job and my life."
- Good Example: "The fluorescent lights are humming a pitch that makes my teeth ache."
See the difference? One is a complaint. The other is a physical experience.
The Architecture of the "Hook"
A hook isn't just a catchy melody. The best hooks have a lyrical "turn"—a moment where the meaning shifts or crystallizes.
Think about Taylor Swift’s "All Too Well." (The ten-minute version, specifically, because that’s where the craft really shines). When she talks about leaving a scarf at a sister's house, it seems like a throwaway detail. But by the end of the song, that scarf becomes a symbol of everything that was lost. That is intentional architecture.
It’s about setup and payoff.
If you introduce an object in the first verse, it should probably mean something different by the time the bridge hits. If it doesn't move the story forward, it’s just filler. And filler is the enemy of well done song lyrics.
Where Modern Lyrics Are Failing
We have to talk about the "algorithm effect."
Because of how Spotify and TikTok work, songs are getting shorter. Intro sections are disappearing. Writers are being told to get to the chorus in under 20 seconds. This has led to a "vibes-based" approach to writing where the lyrics just need to sound good phonetically, even if they make zero sense.
There's a place for that—dance music doesn't always need to be Dylan—but we’re losing the art of the narrative. When everything is written by a committee of six people in a Los Angeles "songwriting camp," the edges get sanded off. The weirdness disappears. You get a polished product that sounds like everything else on the radio.
Real well done song lyrics usually feel a bit "wrong" on the first listen. They might have an awkward rhyme or a line that’s one syllable too long. But that’s what gives them humanity.
🔗 Read more: Flynn Rider and Rapunzel Costume: Why Most People Get the Details Wrong
The Kendrick Lamar Factor
If you want to see someone treating lyrics like high art in the 2020s, you look at Kendrick. His work on Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers is a masterclass in uncomfortable honesty. He isn't trying to make "cool" music. He’s using lyrics to perform a public exorcism of his own trauma.
He uses "internal rhyme" (rhyming words within the same line) to create a sense of claustrophobia. He changes his voice—his literal tone and pitch—to match the emotional state of the lyrics. That’s the "expert" level. The words aren't just sitting on top of the beat; they are woven into the very fabric of the sound.
How to Actually Analyze a Lyric
If you’re trying to figure out if a song is actually well-written or just has a good beat, ask yourself three things:
- Could anyone else have written this? If the lyrics are so generic that they could apply to literally any person on earth, they aren't great. They’re just functional.
- Does it respect the listener's intelligence? Great lyrics don't explain everything. They leave gaps for you to fill in with your own life.
- Is the "prosody" right? This is a technical term for the marriage of the lyric and the music. If the song is about a frantic breakup, are the words short and staccato? If it’s about a lazy summer day, do the vowels stretch out?
Practical Steps for Better Writing (or Listening)
If you’re a songwriter or just someone who wants to appreciate the craft more, stop looking at "top hits" for inspiration. Go back to the songwriters who had to survive without flashy production.
- Read poetry. Not the stuffy kind from 100 years ago, but modern stuff like Ocean Vuong or Mary Oliver. They understand how to pack an entire world into four lines.
- Eavesdrop. People say the weirdest, most poetic things in coffee shops when they don't think anyone is listening. Write those phrases down.
- Write the "ugly" version first. Don't worry about rhyming. Just write exactly what happened. "I went to his house and he smelled like cigarettes and I wanted to leave but I didn't." Then, and only then, do you start turning it into a song.
Well done song lyrics are ultimately about bravery. It’s the courage to be uncool. It’s the willingness to admit you were the jerk in the relationship, or that you’re scared of dying, or that you actually really like the way the light looks on a dirty sidewalk.
Stop trying to write a "hit" and start trying to tell the truth. The hits usually follow the truth anyway.
Next time you’re listening to your favorite track, pull up the lyrics on your screen. Read them without the music playing. If they still move you as a piece of text on a white background, you’ve found something special. If they look silly or repetitive without the beat, it’s just a "track." And there’s nothing wrong with a good track—but it’s the lyrics that will make you remember where you were when you first heard it ten years from now.
To improve your own lyric-writing or appreciation, start a "Lines I Love" notebook. Every time you hear a phrase that makes you catch your breath, write it down. Don't analyze it yet. Just collect them. After a month, look for the patterns. You'll notice that the lines you love aren't the ones about "partying all night"—they're the ones that mentioned the specific color of someone's eyes in the morning light.