Nah, D.B. isn't here to sell you insurance, but that might be a more appropriate career for him than rapping, which he does in the pinched, nasally way of a weasel; there's a self-amused homeliness to these flows, as if they were intended for the entertainment of a select few pals but someone taped them then set them to shitty bargain-basement beats.
That the opening, one-note riff mimics a medical monitor is no accident; and cutting is no joke—I attended college with a girl who'd struggled with that compulsion for years and, somehow, won. Anyway, the very real risk "Knife" runs: impressionable moppets zoning out on the bwoing-bwoing echoes and interpreting its self-destructive autobiography as a kind of permissive ecstasy.
Best. Migraine. Ever.
Red Hot Chili Peppers
It's always the wrong girl, the wrong alley, the wrong stand-in guitarist. The burnt-out surfer-bro ennui stays in place; socks hang loose on withered cocks; the song remains quintessentially the same. Some things never change.
Kanye West & Jay-Z
No doubt contractual obligations compel Ye and Hov to cut brag-bangers like "Otis." (Plus they probably just like to.) For the most part this one delivers the luxury goods with goading and showing out a-plenty, except that once it's over you don't quite miss it, the game is no different than before, no desires ultimately sated. Tops "H.A.M."; can't even touch "The Joy."