All of Paul Thompson’s whips have Diplomat plates.
Young Jeezy has Louis Vuitton boostraps. (Wikipedia and Def Jam say the Young is gone but I anticipate liver problems and it’s too bleak and I’m still calling him Young Jeezy.) His wealth trickles slowly, he leans on tacit success stories. His jeweler looks like the Sheikh. He’s Barry Goldwater.
A New Yorker profile seems to suggest Elizabeth Warren won’t be running for President. Martin O’Malley is made of Play-Doh. Benghemails notwithstanding, Americans now view Hillary Clinton as a stronger leader than they did just a few months ago. The Democratic nomination should be hers to lose. But it isn’t. I believe in Shy Glizzy. The D.C. rapper and the Atlanta trapper teamed up this week for a remix to “Funeral,” the standout from December’s Law 3. Would you rob someone at a funeral? What if Boosie had a plus-one?
Draped in white linen, Glizzy has laments for those he wanted to fuck or stunt on (sometimes both), Lambos for his wheelchair-bound uncle, beyond-the-grave fan mail for the girl from Taken from Me: The Tiffany Rubin Story. Jeezy is setting up trust funds, dodging assailants and the estate tax with similar ease. The tension plays out in their warring voices, Jeezy’s rasp heavier with age, Glizzy’s nasally drawl not yet weighed down by years in label purgatory.
It’s vain, and that’s the point. There are millions willed away and ailing grandmothers with brand-new canes, but there’s mostly a lot of flexing to be done, even after they shrug off the jewelry and the mortal coil.
