Let's face it, da DJ's batshit borrowed-beat patchwork probably wins MVP here: a relentless stream of peers' production where the quality is constant and the timbre is kaleidoscopic; allows you to cherish the era's Kanye-n-Neptunes and yearn to explore lesser-knowns Milwaukee Black, Johnny J, Mr. Lee. Relentless and a rocky stream as well, perhaps all the better for it. Songs succinct+stuffed face off against studio convos forever caught in an echo chamber, bullet-ridden bodies crashing into the mic and lotsa loud DJ tags flyin' wild escalating the chaos. Fun enough to excuse warts via uneven vocal volumes, anyway. And despite not being on his true lyrical pinnacle, The Baby Himself manages to exude enough raw tenacity-n-personality to match mood, and his affiliates ain't bad neither. Party time, excellent, this is still indeed "Wayne's World" -- for once I believe him when he says he don't write shit down; likely could just be formidable freestyle fuck-its being recorded in the downtime of dropped-a-week-earlier Tha Carter II. Don't mean his flows won't astound and amuse. Studio Convo Explanations: mixtape title, timelessly slurred record deal options, the hotel bedroom romp with a 250-pound "all fineness" stallion, the inclusion of a sketchy live snippet in which his song made fans cry. Oh, and: "If you don't know what I'm saying, then play this shit back cuz I don't know what I'm saying".
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