Just blasted through the whole thing twice and I’m proper gassed. Hit-Boy and Spank Nitti James have cooked up something ridiculous with Yeast Talkin’. The beats are stupidly crisp, every kick and snare lands like it owes you money, and Spank’s flow is pure South Central poetry, half menace, half Sunday sermon. “Bread Winner” is already on repeat, that sample flip is evil.
Hit never misses when he’s in producer-MC tag-team mode, but this one feels different. You can actually hear the chemistry, like they finished each other’s bars in the booth. Seventeen tracks and not a single skip in sight, which is bloody rare these days. Album of the year contender for me, no cap. Already pre-saved and telling everyone who’ll listen. West Coast stand up. This one’s going straight into the car for the foreseeable.

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