the game - the documentary

[i'm running] with 99 miles left
on the avis rent-a-car blowin horns like miles davis
at the pearly gates, god let me in
give me a room by aaliyah's with espn
i know i got more sins than two lesbians
been back and forth across the border like mexicans
but [i'm running] like new york pedestrians
trying not to scuff my nike air checks again
it's funny how niggas be the best of friends
and fall out of a pussy and wanna dead they men
one of my niggas in the grave, the other one in the pen
she fuckin my enemies inside my homeboy's benz
now she beggin god's mercy cause she ain't listen to nas
and never heard about ike with the iverson jersey
he got a cousin named jason that rock the gary payton
now the same triflin bitch is a h.i.v. patient
true story

problem: new york gatekeepers buying out the west coast early, before any offensive elements can enter their market, working with a kid with bullet in his heart, a tongue ring and a tattoo of eazy-e, carefully buying into and creating the new strain of twee west coast nostalgia bullshit. but. but.
but it's one of those bright blank stares g-unit albums, cover art hallucinatory supervivid mix of weekday afternoon fox batman cartoon or dark sci-fi anime and airbrushed fantasy art on side panel of 1983 chevy van, crystal clear million dollar beats, no guests, made to tap into alternate history nostalgias about disappearing the last five years and thugs still having to sing love songs-- actually, filtering everything necessary through their formula. it works better than anything else, it's all heat, all these tracks you heard snippets of for the last two months with whoo kid gunshots over, game spitting amazing 50/banks-writtens over amazing beats, everything sounding lubricated and precisely weighted, perfect.