Freddie Gibbs, "Thuggin'"

It doesn’t take long to arrive at Freddie Gibbs’ definition of “Thuggin.” Simply put: “Fuck the rap shit.” Well, fuck.

Artists are entitled to self loathing and self doubt, of course. But while there is vitriol behind Gibb’s proclamation, he has constant control. His admittances, perhaps even his hypocrisies, are not splatter. As a drug dealer, he’s well past his “expiration date,” yet predicts he may well keep his pants sagging “‘til 40.” He’s closing the door on his latest “booty,” but repetition alone would suggest that these “sweethearts” are not just discards. With reluctant bite, he’s trying to “feed his family” while also serving them drugs. Hell, they would have just gotten it “up the street” anyway.

Robed in his fatalism, Gibbs embraces an existence “everlastin’.” His is a distinct morality, and he’s honed it to a “science.” He bemoans the funding for a patrol on his corner when “there’s politicians out here getting popped in Arizona.” Yet he’s performed the world’s most uninspiring heist and snatched his “geeker’s EBT card.” Punching neither up nor down, Gibbs is content to point, and deal. When every day is gifted, long-term planning becomes irrelevant.

And, astoundingly, exhaustion hasn’t dulled him. Rather, he’s swelled and sharpened a 3-verse nod to Fate. A current in control, cascading off the edges of stalwart rocks - check the “stolen microwaves” - he angles the dips and swerves. Water erodes, after all. It keeps moving, pushing. That’s his deal, and it seems that it has always been so.

“Thuggin’” opens with reference to a “Legend.” If you believe, as I do, that Freddie Gibbs is a living hip hop legend, it would be honorable to ask a question his song begs: Was he born this way, or made? And if, like me, you considered this while listening to “Thuggin’,” remember to smile and chuckle. For his part, Gibbs could assuredly “give a fuck” about our feedback.

There’s reassurance in a river’s persistence, I think.