The thing Kendrick understands is AIPAC Shakur has something broken inside him (no homo), and is plagued by a narcissistic void as a result. Drizzle gives off the energy of someone who can never actually be
that nikka in his own mind, so he has to spend all his energy convincing as many other people as he can that he’s a real nikka, because the insecurity is so nagging.
His feeling good is contingent on making other people feel bad. Every insult relies on the juvenile insinuation that he maybe fukked some woman before you or while you were with her, or that your wife doesn’t love you, or that he owns a manor in Rome and you only have an apartment in New York or a beachfront condo.
The weird tough talk is just the cherry on top of a transparent bullshyt sundae. You’re an emu-faced Jewish child actor from an exclusive CAC neighborhood in Toronto, man. You’re both famous and rich beyond belief but the nikkas who end up around you clearly can’t believe what a dork you are and never really take to you. The famous chicks in the industry clearly won’t claim him if he’s even fukking them. He’s seeding up hideous build-a-body thots and grooming baby-faced broads. He leaked his own fun-time-with-my-peen video, which reeks equally of a deep insecurity and puerile perversion. The cornrows are just clownish. His son looks like an albino turd. The blaccent roulette game he plays is, as the diminutive Compton native said, just cringeworthy.
I was listening to Family Matters and halfway through I realized “this lame is flowing his ass off.” But I’m also distracted by the fact an uber-wealthy Canadian Jewish weirdo is dancing around with a cartoonish Asian grill-maker/jeweler, creating a product that feels like an inverted and distorted minstrel show, trying to catch a club bop with the same ol’ same ol’ content while the nikka he’s battling is essentially calling him an empty, awkward, lost soul of a joon.
Nothing about this dude’s music or schtick ever sticks to the ribs.
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