![]() Bun's voice, even at its clumsiest, carries weight. Worse, he's developed a new tendency toward forehead-slap dumb punchlines: "Go ask the white boys they'll say you he's totally tubular/ Fuckin' bad bitches rub my dick against they uvula." He's no longer packing his verses with tricky internal rhymes, and everything he says feels like something he's said better before. But on Trill O.G., that eternal baritone-rumble feels tired and beaten-down. After all, it's not like he's forgotten how to rap- so far this year he's put in impressive guest appearances for guys like Gucci Mane and Yelawolf. It's tough to imagine how a rapper as great as Bun has managed to turn out an album as consistently turgid and leaden as this. Instead he merely seems to dutifully plug away every time he touches a mic. ![]() Throughout, he works in the same weary and vaguely clumsy cadence, never bringing the ebulliently eloquent verve he brought to his best UGK verses. ![]() works in much the same way- except this time, Bun is all out of great moments, and it's less attuned to the styles he adapts. Instead, Bun adapted his style to his guests and producers, turning each LP into a patchwork of whatever was popular in rap that particular month. Trill and II Trill both had great moments, but they didn't work as unified albums.
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