1. 2 Chainz

2 Chainz, formerly known as Tity
Boi, was brought up by Ludacris,
featured on many of the South’s top
act’s songs, and is a 3-time certified
gold artist for “No Lie,” “I’m
Different,” and “Birthday Song.”
MTV and BET have both given him
solo accolades for his 2012
breakout, and that year he was The
Source’s Man of the Year. His 40
guest appearances in that time are
impressive in theory, and his hit
songs have the snagging hook and
catchiness for days, but, all of this
does not excuse him of his
completely uninspired verse.
Chainz most memorable lines are
the type that inspire ironic glee:
“She got a big booty, so I call her:
big booty” is almost defiant in its
lameness, which is probably why it
is so often repeated by people
looking to scream random shit out
the window of a passenger’s seat.
Moreover Chainz's stilted, pausing
flow is identical from one song to
the next. He could have written
everything all at the same time ten
years ago, and we would be none
the wiser.

2. Waka Flocka Flame

Much like 2 Chainz, Juaquin James
Malphurs is a bit of a groundball for
a list of this nature. Much like 2
Chainz, he is not exactly a critical
darling, nor do the hardcore, Beats-
by-Dre bashing fans admire him
very much. Like 2 Chainz, he is an
animated showman. Like 2 Chainz,
he is a Georgia native with a
penchant for chorus writing. And,
like 2 Chainz, Waka Flocka’s status
in hip-hop sits high above his verbal
prowess.
Waka Flocka has admitted to not
being a lyricist, and, better yet, this
cosmic claim: “I ain't got not no
lyrics” affords his slack jawed
sensibilities a bit of honest
credibility. However, call me old-
fashioned, but I think household
names in the rap game shouldn’t
eschew the use of … lyrics, or
consonants for that matter.
The M.O. of any given Waka Flocka
track is a tired one, literally. He
shamelessly slurs his way through a
bunch of misogynistic tropes “ben’
over, drop it girl, blablabla bands” in
any given song like he just
discovered ordering a woman
around as replacement for actual
thought. What he actually
discovered was a paradox in vocals:
lazy shouting. Then, perhaps as an
apology, Flocka arhythmically calls
over his own shouting on backup
vocals, often screaming his own
moniker over and over again, as if
we forgot it was him. “Flocka, Waka,
Waka, Flocka, Squad!”
It is well documented that Waka's
mother is the former manager of
Gucci Mane, who brought Waka to
the forefront. Whether or not we can
chalk Waka’s fame to this unclear,
but either way it is not important.
What is important is the fact that
Waka is devolving Southern hip-
hop. Did we really need a second
rate Mike Jones on Xanax?

3. Kendrick Lamar

It was painful to put Kendrick Lamar
in the same sentence as Waka and
2 Chainz, but even K Dot cannot
avoid the scrutiny that the limelight
has earned him.
Kendrick Lamar first gained a robust
internet following for his
independent albums, and then got
stadium status for his hit singles off
Good Kid, m.A.A.d. City (what’s with
these backronyms in the album
name? Whatever.) At any point in
his career, there is a thread of chill:
the warm sunny breeze of Compton,
California, and the faint smell of
weed-laced zen blows through his
sound. This is enough to warrant a
successful career, but sold out
arenas? Really?
Perhaps it is physiological inkling
that I find irksome when I hear it,
like the opposite of hairs standing
on the back of one’s neck, if there is
such a thing, but I find Kendrick
Lamar to be stylistically unsavory at
times. Indeed, much Kendrick’s
mindset is based on the inception
point in his career: being 16-years-
old and rapping from the seat of
parked car. However, this rather
quaint approach falters at many
points, even in his hit songs.
Whether he’s singing fantasies
about pools of liquor, sitting under a
tree made of money, or having his
“dick grow big as the Eiffel Tower,”
his imagery and, more often, his
cadence, are just as worthy of an
indignant, oafish guffaw as they are
a bloodshot-eyed head nod. His
staccato flow, his points vocal
emphasis in his phrasing (Ya BISH)
and host of other tricks give him a
distinct brand to float on, but that
same unique approach does not
always amount to something good.
Straight up, he just sounds corny.

4. Jay-Z

In case you forgot, which is
understandable, this supposedly
untouchable cultural icon, former
franchise owner, and current sports
agent is also a multi, multi-platinum
rapper who hasn’t put out a good
solo album in over a decade. While
working to strengthen the
buttresses of his oligarchy in hip-
hop, and stretching to Renaissance
man status, Shawn Carter lost that
hunger for the rap game kept his
lyrics tight, his songs hard, and his
flow mercurial.
One of his last hit songs, “Otis,” is
an embarrassment. He and Kanye
West trade off on some of whackest
lines of their careers, over a loud,
obnoxious beat the sowed the seeds
for Yeezus, without any of the
lascivious, horror-core edge. Most of
Watch The Throne was winning, but,
it was obviously Kanye’s turn as the
dominant creative force on all fronts,
not just the production (On “Gotta
have it”: Kanye equates himself to
LeBron, and then Jay-Z to D Wade.
“wait …” Jay Z mutters in the
background, as if he could deny his
little brother the truth).
Worst of all, there is his biggest hit
in recent years, the confectionary,
soppy drip of radio syrup, Blueprint
3’s “Empire State of Mind.” We New
Yorkers point to Nas’ Illmatic as
rap’s best attempt to communicate
the local’s perspective on the
feeling of normal life in the real,
grey metropolis, far flung from the I
heart NY shirts, the bright lights,
and tourists skipping around
gleefully. “Empire State of Mind” is
their New York it is not our New
York. Shouldn’t Jay-Z know that?
Has he lost touch? This 43-year-old
hundred millionaire was moving
crack at the turn of the 90s (as he
loves to remind us, between songs
about “redefin[ing] black power”).
“Yeah, I’m from that Bed-Stuy/
Home of that boy Biggie” Jay-Z
recalls, faintly, his Brooklyn
heritage. “Now I live on billboards.”
You said it, Hova, not me.

5. Macklemore

Macklemore (neé Ben Haggerty) has
had a very recent, and very
triumphant jump to the top. The
Seattle-born hairdo is known for his
collaboration with producer Ryan
Lewis. The duo has gone double
platinum as independent artists,
which is an unmatched achievement
in this era of music.
I encourage the public to consider
the lyrical content that Macklemore
brings to the music. The chorus he
penned for the singer Wanz in the
wonky hit song “Thrift Shop” go as
follows: “I'm gonna pop some tags/
Only got twenty dollars in my
pocket/I - I - I'm hunting, looking for
a come-up/This is fucking
awesome.” This is probably the only
song to go platinum wherein the
artist basically gave up on writing
the chorus halfway through. For
such ham-fisted, cornball
songwriting, you would hope that
some of the words would at least
rhyme, right? Well they do not.
“Awesome,” “tags,” “come-up,” and
“pocket” do not even slant rhyme.
The chorus in their only other
noteworthy song, “Can’t Hold us” is
more appealing, but Macklemore
ruins that song, too with his red-
faced flow and inane braggadocio.
“I’m eating at the beat like you gave
a little speed to a Great White Shark
on Shark Week” he blurts out, while,
ironically enough, trying desperately
to keep with the breezy pace of the
melody.
Even the rather wonderful, pro-gay
“Same Love” is bogged down by a
lack of rhythmic tidiness.
Conscientiousness is hard to fit into
a rap song, but M&RL have a good
go at it. Still, Macklemore’s words
for thought are better suited to slam
poetry, in that song or any other.
Perhaps he should just let Ryan
Lewis just go at it by himself with
other artists on the next album,
maybe? 

Just a personal opinion.Feel free to add yours

Did u forget Nikki minaj?
Though I know u didn't write dis

delugadou:
Did u forget Nikki minaj?
Though I know u didn't write dis

hmmm well I agree with u