Kevin Gates: he really does it. For murderous street narratives, there is only him and Kendrick. Maybe Gibbs and The Hybrid when they want. Who else has lines like: where were you when I was slumped over, gums hurting from an old bullet, in front the toilet puking my insides while I was hunched over.” Then there’s a flashback to an old friend he was rumored to kill in cold blood. You can have 5 a.m. in Toronto. I will take 4:30 a.m. in Baton Rouge every single time. This is stolen Jaguars picking him up as he’s moving weight. There is no substitute for having real stories. Fuck your cliches about spitting that real. There is something that you feel when the artist has lived it. There are the small details, the sadness, the strong aroma. The music made when the memory is still strong–when you still remember that you have to learn to live with regrets. When the time is never right.
There’s a new other new Gates songs that I’m also posting below the jump. Stranger Than Fiction comes out in three weeks, which cannot come soon enough.