Prince didn’t just write songs — he built entire worlds. Whether he was layering soulful falsettos, bending genre rules, or slipping double meanings between deceptively simple phrases, his songwriting had a magic that made tracks like “Raspberry Beret” feel as fresh in 1985 as they do today.

Raspberry Beret, highlighted in the package at the bottom of this article, is a perfect example of how Prince engineered timelessness. On the surface, it’s a breezy pop track about first love — light, whimsical, and driven by that jangly, psychedelic groove. But Prince rarely lived on the surface. He wove ambiguity into nearly every line, allowing listeners to grow with the song, discovering new layers over time. Lyrics like “The rain sounds so cool when it hits the roof” appear innocent, but Prince infuses them with subtle sensuality. His mastery of double entendre meant that a song could be playful, romantic, and quietly provocative all at once — and different listeners could interpret it differently for decades.

This was one of his secret weapons: elastic meaning. Prince didn’t dictate what his music should be — he invited listeners to make it their own. That’s why “Raspberry Beret” can be a coming-of-age memory for one person, a sensual metaphor for another, and pure nostalgia for someone else.

Prince’s writing also stood the test of time because he refused to box himself in. He fused funk, rock, soul, new wave, R&B, and pop long before genre-blending became the norm. He would pair poetic imagery with streetwise slang, or lace a catchy chorus with social commentary. In “Raspberry Beret,” lines like “She wasn’t too bright, but I must say the girl had style” go beyond describing a character — they speak to Prince’s fascination with unconventional beauty and individuality. He celebrated the overlooked, the odd, the stylishly imperfect.

Above all, Prince wrote with fearless authenticity. He didn’t soften his edge for radio. He didn’t dilute his individuality to fit trends. His music felt personal because it was — reflections of desire, restlessness, longing, humour, and rebellion. That honesty meant his songs aged not as relics of an era, but as emotional touchstones.

Nearly forty years after “Raspberry Beret,” people still dance, debate, reinterpret, and rediscover his work. That’s the hallmark of a true songwriting genius: the music doesn’t fade — it evolves.