Would you believe I just caught the Wheel of Fortune reference the other day? Bizarre. Don’t watch Desperate Housewives, dudes, but yeah, okay, and the monsoon of luxury fashion brands registers as yet more connective for tighter-than-Fort Knox rhymes I envy way more than the shopping-sprees-with-drug-cash amorality that’s (maybe) supposed to be the point here. Do they mean it, or are they camping? Doesn’t matter; what does (more than the painstaking craft Clipse practice) is the insistent, iridescent synth hook that repeats over and over throughout this song. I keep imagining Pharrell Williams stumbling upon it totally by accident, freaking out over how hot it is, then rushing out to buy some vintage Michael Jackson shades and a Nehru jacket, then coming back and knocking out that series of so-cold, so-sharp notes again and again while pretending to moonwalk until he can’t hold out anymore and so he two-ways Malice and Pusha T at 3 a.m. and says, guys, sorry, but you gotta hear this shit right now.
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