Yep. We been waiting like you been waiting. And now it finally happened: Big Ghost reviewed the new Drake album Nothing Was The Same. Without further ado, read on:
Ayo whattup…you now back in the presence of the one n only grand imperial Hands Of Zeus aka the illustrious Thor Molecules aka the mighty Cocaine Biceps…otherwise known as Shampoo Bracelets the panty melter…also known as the one n only Galaxy Knuckles or Broccoli Bundles the almighty… Yall might also kno me as ya boy Big Ghost aka Volcano Hands the inventor of slaps… Otherwise you might kno me as Phantom Raviolis or the grand immaculate Spartacus Deluxe. I kno what yall prolly thinkin…THIS N**GA DONE CAME UP…HE HOLLYWOOD…LOOK AT ALL THIS EXTRAVAGANTISM B…OH MY GAWD. I feel you my n**ga….I sense theres animosity n whatever whatever. I done started from the bottom n now Im here…straight up n down. I aint ashamed bout none of that. Im gettin this cake n Imma still be givin yall the raw uncut while I enjoy this luxurious splendor. Jus lemme flourish tho. Anyways yo….we aint here for all that so the gawd gon cut the introductions short so we can get this shit on n pippin.
Aight so once again we here to discuss the latest release from a dude who prolly gon need no introductions but Imma introduce him anyways namsayin…Yall might knohim as that owl-obsessed Aaliyah stan from the great white north wit the exotic budgie tat n the wild flamboyant hand gestures that makes bout 63 questionable facial expressions per minute while hoppin around on stage in a tank top who installed a a showerhead that sprays lavender scents into the air n a stripper pole in his crib n calls hisself Champagne Papi– but yo…hol up son… I mean only in this fake ass industry can you go from bein a silver spoon swallowin jewgro witta blend of melted butter n warm Ovaltine flowin thru ya bloodstream playin a paraplegic lame on a corny teen soap opera to becomin besties witta fake Blood who looks like a cross between a gremlin, a cabbage patch doll n a chupacabra n call yaself Champagne Papi n still be crazy respected by ya peers b… We talmbout a dude who done made songs so moist they could tenderize a steak if you left it in front of the speaker… Songs that could hydrate ya skin n cleanse ya pores n shit… Songs that could make swans appear at ya doorstep… Shit that could pasteurize milk. But yall guessed it…its the AJ Soprano of rap hisself…the 2013 Chandler Bing…the Human Rollerblade…Drizzy Drake.
I aint gon lie b…I aint what yall might call a “Drake fan” n shit. Matter fact most yall muthafuckas be like WORD YOU A DRAKE HATER B…which aint true. I actually appreciate a lot of what this beige muthafucka done accomplished in his career. I mean aint like I was a fan of ALL that shit but there was definitely joints that I was feelin since back in the Room For Improvement/Comeback Season era namsayin. Son wasnt whylin on some all the way corny shit back then tho. On the other hand he wasnt exactly what you might refer to as a n**ga you take too seriously neither. He kept it straight lightskinned n on some boy next door type shit n whatever. He was a “safe” n**ga. He seemed like the type of dude who actually knew what the fuck a backgammon board was for n shit. Son seemed like he done got busy witta pottery wheel at least a few times in his life before…shit like that. He seemed like a dude who would kno the difference between a dinner fork n a salad fork n might gon chuckle if he seen you usin the wrong one or some shit…the kinda dude who had hedgehogs or some other kinda exotic rodents growin up instead of a dog nahmean. He seemed like the type of n**ga who favorite hood flicks was Set It Off n Jason’s Lyric. Like he might coulda been the type to somersault down a hill laughin or make a short film of a plastic bag blowin round in the wind n have his friends come thru the crib to watch it n make smores n shit like that…the type of dude Alfonso Ribeiro would play on a tv show n shit.